“Like I said, neat,” Merlin repeated. “One theory does it all.”
Wernstecki was intrigued. It fitted with the criticisms he’d heard Vicki express on previous occasions about the reliability of the dating systems once thought to be unquestionable. “Do you have a time for this yet?” he asked her.
“Not really. The whole question of chronology is under revision right now.”
“But you’re saying it was a different event from the Saturn separation? This is something that happened earlier?”
“Right. The Saturn breakup, we put at about 10,000 b.p. Experienced by people. Described in myths. What caused that is still a good question. We think probably a gravitational interaction with something. It was a less violent event.”
“Could it have been a Venus encounter—one of them, or two of them; whichever turns out to be correct?”
“Some people argue that,” Vicki said. “Personally, I don’t think so. Neither does Emil. He sticks by the Vedas, which put that around five thousand years later. Earth was solidly a planet of the Sun by then.”
“There’s still lots to do, then,” Wernstecki observed, sitting back and raising his cup.
“If we’re allowed to get on with it,” Vicki sighed.
A short silence signaled the change of mood. “What do you think’s going on at Earth, Jan?” Tanya asked finally.
Wernstecki shook his head. “I can only guess. And my guesses are as good as anybody else’s.”
* * *
On the Bridge Deck of the Aztec, the Communications Officer reported to Commander Reese that the object detected astern, which had been gaining on them for several hours, had announced itself as the Trojan. By the authority of the newly constituted Terran Planetary Government, it declared its intention to put a party aboard the Aztec and requested acknowledgment accordingly. It reminded Aztec’s commander that it was equipped as a vessel of war with long-range offensive capability, and suggested strongly that a cooperative response would be in the best interests of all.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
It was just a kit of survival rations, but Keene couldn’t remember food ever tasting so good. He hadn’t been able to resist opening some of the packs from the probe’s store and nibbling while he used the emergency-band unit to talk to Heeland and Sariena. At the same time, while shielding the compartment with his body, he had surreptitiously removed the automatic and concealed it in his clothing. After finishing the calls, he set aside the medical provisions and a selection of clothing and food items to take back down for Charlie. Now he could do nothing but wait for Sariena to call back, and so sat with his back against the probe’s engine, savoring the almost forgotten luxury of cheese, crackers, a mint cake bar, and self-heating coffee. His three young escorts, possibly having acquired a partiality for Kronian food from earlier visits, hadn’t been able to resist the temptation either when he offered them samples. At first they had approached warily as if suspecting a trick, but now they were squatting around him, munching chocolate squares and fruit drops approvingly. Keene wondered how much they might know of where the departed expedition was heading.
“Jorff? . . . Sky Soldier who commands.” He made signs and gestures that attempted to convey the concept. The youths looked back at him with expressions of what looked like genuine concern to be of help, but total incomprehension. One of them said something and accompanied it with motions that left Keene equally at a loss.
Weariness was creeping over him. Something hot and wet burned his knee. He jerked his head up with a start, realizing he had been fading and let the mug tip in his hand. He tried again, making movements in the air to represent flying vehicles, then indicated the open ground below, where the flyers had landed. One of the youths nodded finally that he understood and pointed to the north. “Sky Base. Serengeti.” No, Keene groaned under his breath. He already knew where they had come from. How to get across that he wanted to know where they had gone to?
The boy sitting in the center put his hands in the position of holding an imaginary rife and then pointed to his chest. “Me with gun. Shoot,” he informed Keene proudly. One of the other two said something that sounded derogatory. The third laughed. Keene accepted that he wasn’t going to get anywhere.