this idea that Anna Voolink came up with about alien factories?” he asked,
looking up at Keyhoe.
“Well, we’ve got to agree it’s a possibility, Joe,” Keyhoe said. “Why?”
Anna Voolink was a Dutch NASO scientist who had been involved several years
before in a study of a proposal to set up a self-replicating manufacturing
facility on Mercury for supplying Earth with materials and industrial products.
She had speculated that Titan’s machine biosphere might have originated from a
similar scheme set up by an alien civilization, possibly millions of years
previously, which had somehow mutated and started to evolve. What had caused the
system to mutate, why the aliens should have chosen Titan, and what had happened
to them since were questions that nobody had ventured to answer even
tentatively.
Fellburg leaned forward to prop an elbow against the side of the console and
gestured vaguely at the screens. “It occurred to me that if everything down
there did evolve from some superadvanced version of what NASO was talking about
setting up on Mercury, then maybe radio could have been the primary method of
communication in the early days. But if the aliens were any kind of engineers at
all, you’d expect them to have provided some kind of backup, right?” He looked
from Keyhoe to Crookes. Crookes pinched his nose, thought for a second, and
nodded.
“Makes sense, I guess,” Keyhoe agreed.
Fellburg spread his hands. “So couldn’t the answer be that the primary system
went out of use—maybe because of a mutation error or something like that—and the
secondary became the standard? What we’re picking up from those centers could be
just a remnant of something that doesn’t serve any purpose any more—coming from
a few places where it hasn’t quite died out yet.”
“Mmm . . . it’s an interesting thought,” Keyhoe said.
“I wonder if the Taloids would still be capable of receiving anything,” Crookes
murmured after thinking the suggestion over for a second or two.
“I suppose that would depend on where their blueprint information comes from . .
. their ‘genetics,’ ” Keyhoe said.
Fellburg rubbed his chin again. “Well, if it’s not functionally relevant
anymore, and if their evolution is driven selectively the same as ours is, I
guess there wouldn’t be any strong selection working either one way or the
other. So probably some of them can receive radio and some of them can’t. Some
sensitive ones might still be produced.”
Dave Crookes smiled to himself. “If that’s true, I wonder what all our radio
traffic over the last few weeks might have been doing to them,” he said.
“What’s your background, Joe?” Crookes inquired casually an hour later in the
transit capsule that he and Fellburg were sharing on their way back to Globe II.
“How d’you mean?” Fellburg asked.
“Your technical background … I mean, it’s pretty obvious you know something
about electronics and pulse techniques.”
“Why?”
“Oh . . . just curious, I guess.”
“Well, Michigan Tech—master’s. Six years in industry, mainly computer physics
with IBM. Ten years army, finishing up as a technical specialist with
intelligence. Good enough?”
The capsule passed a window section of the tube, giving a momentary view of the
outside of the Orion and of Titan hanging in the background, partly obscuring
the magnificent spectacle of Saturn and its rings. Crookes eyed Fellburg
uncertainly for a few seconds. “Can I ask you something personal?” he said at
last.
“Sure. If I think it’s none of your goddam business, I’ll say so, okay?”
Crookes hesitated, then said, “Why are you mixed up with this Zambendorf thing?”
“Why not?”
Crookes frowned uncomfortably. Obviously he’d come about as close to being
direct as he was prepared to. “Well, it’s … I mean, isn’t it a kind of a
wasteful way to use that kind of talent?”
“Is it? Do you know what I’d be getting paid now if I’d gone back into industry
after I quit the army?”
“Is that all that matters?” Crookes asked.
Fellburg thrust out his chin. “No, but it’s a good measure of how society values
its resources. I’ve already had enough Brownie badges to stitch on my shirt
instead of anything that’s worth something.”