of evolution. With no comprehension of DNA, protein transcription, cell
differentiation, and the like, it’s not easy to explain the totality of a rabbit
or account for how it came together in the first place.” Spearman entered
another command, waited to check its effect, and turned back to face the others
once more. “The Taloids had the same problem. They were confronted by the
end-products of a long history of alien technology, plus probably millions of
years of evolution after that, without any of the benefit of attending the
schools and technical colleges that the alien engineers went to. So the physical
sciences remained a mystery. But dabbling with biological techniques was
something they could figure out for themselves, using the resources they had.”
Thelma reflected for a few seconds. “You mean for a long time they never even
experimented with simple tools as we know them? . . . They’d have had enough raw
materials lying around down there. It seems … oh, strange somehow.”
Spearman smiled faintly. “The reason’s pretty obvious when you think about it,”
he said.
“What?” Thelma asked.
“Tools as we know them are made out of refined materials like metals, glass,
plastics, and so on,” Spearman said. “In other words, the same kinds of
substances that are produced naturally all over the place on Titan. They
wouldn’t last very long. Neither would anything you tried to make with them.”
Crookes gave a puzzled frown. “How come?”
Webster spread his hands. “Anything like that would probably turn out to be
‘food’ for something or other. And besides . . . who’d dream of making tools,
ornaments, and houses out of candy bars and pizza?”
The crew mess hall inside the larger of the two prefabricated domes that
constituted Genoa Base One was warm, stuffy, and crowded. At the serving window,
Massey picked up a mug of hot coffee and a donut and walked away from the short
line of bulky figures in extravehicular suits waiting to snatch a last-minute
snack before another expedition into the city. Since he had come down from the
Orion thirty-six hours or so previously and just awakened from a rest period, it
was really breakfast, he supposed. The Taloids remained continuously active for
a period of a little over ten terrestrial days, centered around the time of
maximum total illumination that resulted from direct solar radiation and
reflection from Satum as Titan progressed through its sixteen-day orbit. Since
Titan kept one hemisphere permanently toward Satum, one side of Titan
experienced changes in both direct radiation and reflection while the other side
experienced the direct component only, the areas in between receiving a mixture
of both in varying proportions; thus the light-dark cycle was a complicated
function of orbital motion, and on top of that, varied from place to place.
“And how is the rationalist today?” a jovial voice inquired from behind him.
“It’s not a good time of year for the debunking business, I hear.”
Massey had recognized Zambendorf even before looking round. Although many of the
mission’s scientists had shown some signs of disdain and aloofness toward
Zambendorf and his team three months previously at the time of leaving Earth,
things had changed noticeably in the course of the voyage. Now Zambendorf,
Abaquaan, Thelma, and the rest were simply accepted as a normal part of the
day-to-day life of the Orion’s community. Whether this was a psychological
effect of everyone’s sharing the same, tiny, man-made environment hundreds of
millions of miles from Earth, Massey didn’t know; but in his conversations he
had detected a not-uncommon attitude among the scientists of amused respect
toward Zambendorf and his crew for at least being indisputable masters of their
chosen profession; the scientists’ contempt was reserved more for those who
chose to adulate Zambendorf’s team.
Massey turned to find Zambendorf grinning at him over the metal-ring
helmet-seating of his EV suit. “It looks as if you might last a few more days
yet,” he conceded grumy.
“I should hope so too,” Zambendorf said. “Surely it must be obvious by now, even
to you, Gerry, that there is more important work to be done than wasting time
with trivia that belong where we should have left them—a billion miles away,