worlds to discover. And as he gazed out at the Vega ships. .
His thoughts were interrupted as a stream of electromagnetic
vibrations from somewhere below was transformed into the code which
alerted the Mercury’s flight-control processor. The stubby wing
outside the cockpit dipped and the aircar turned, beginning the
smooth descent that would merge its course into the eastbound
traffic corridor that led to the heart of the city at two thousand
feet.
chapter five
The morning sun poured in through the window and accentuated the
chiseled crags of the face staring out, high over the center of
Houston. The squat, stocky frame, conceivably modeled on that of a
Sherman tank, threw a square slab of shadow on the carpet behind.
The stubby fingers hammered a restless tattoo on the glass. Gregg
Caldwell, executive director of the Navigation and Communications
Division of UN Space Arm, reflected on developments so far.
Just as he’d expected, now that the initial disbelief and
excitement had worn off, everyone was jostling for a slice of the
action. In fact, more than a few of the big wheels in some
divisions-Biosciences, Chicago, and Space Medicine, Farnborough,
for instance-were mincing no words in asking just how Navcomms came
to be involved at all, let alone running the show, since the
project obviously had no more connection with the business of
navigation than it had with communication. The down-turned corners
of Caidwell’s mouth shifted back slightly in something that almost
approached a smile of anticipation. So, the knives were being
sharpened, were they? That was okay by him; he could do with a
fight. After more than twenty years of hustling his way to the top
of one of the biggest divisions of the Space Arm, he was a seasoned
veteran at infighting-and he hadn’t lost a drop of blood yet. Maybe
this was an area in which Navcomms hadn’t had much involvement
before; maybe the whole thing was bigger than Navcomms could
handle; maybe it was bigger than UNSA could handle; but- that was
the way it was. It had chosen to fall into Navcomms’ lap and that
was where it was going to stay. If anyone wanted to help out, that
was fine-but the project was stamped as Navcomms-controlled. If
they didn’t like it, let them try to change it. Man-let ’em try!
His thoughts were interrupted by the chime of the console built
into the desk behind him. He turned around, flipped a switch, and
answered in a voice of baritone granite:
“Caldwell.”
Lyn Garland, his personal assistant, greeted him from the screen.
She was twenty-eight, pretty, and had long red hair and big, brown,
intelligent eyes.
“Message from Reception. Your two visitors from IDCC are here-Dr.
Hunt and Mr. Gray.”
“Bring them straight up. Pour some coffee. You’d better sit in with
us.”
“Will do.”
Ten minutes later formalities had been exchanged and everyone was
seated. Caidwell regarded the Englishmen in silence for a few
seconds, his lips pursed and his bushy brows gnarled in a knot
across his forehead. He leaned forward and interlaced his fingers
on the desk in front of him.
“About three weeks ago I attended a meeting at one of our Lunar
survey bases-Copernicus Three,” he said. “A lot of excavation and
site-survey work is going on in that area, much of it in connection
with new construction programs. The meeting was attended by
scientists from Earth and from some of the bases up there, a few
people on the engineering side and certain members of the uniformed
branches of the Space Arm. It was called following some strange
discoveries there-discoveries that make even less sense now than
they did then.”
He paused to gaze from one to the other. Hunt and Gray returned the
look without speaking. Caldwell continued: “A team from one of the
survey units was engaged in mapping out possible sites for
clearance radars. They were operating in a remote sector, well away
from the main area being leveled. .
As he spoke, Caidwell began operating the keyboard recessed into
one side of his desk. With a nod of his head he indicated the far
wall, which was made up of a battery of display screens. One of the