The Hercules Text Page 14

  Sunlight streamed into the room. The NSF group was visible through arched windows, spread out across the White House lawn, officials, parents, teachers, and kids, taking pictures, comparing awards, and generally having a good time.

  They heard voices in the corridor outside; then the door opened and Hurley entered. “Hello, Ed,” he said, extending his hand. “Good to see you.” He turned to Harry. “I wanted to thank you for suggesting Rimford. He was magnificent out there today.” The President took a chair opposite Gambini, and solicited his comments on some of the prizewinning projects. Gambini announced himself duly impressed, though Harry could see he was too preoccupied with his own concerns to have paid much attention. “I’m glad you came by,” the President said. “I’ve been meaning to call you. Ed, Hercules has interesting possibilities. I’m intrigued by what you and your people are doing over there. But you know how I get my information? You talk to Rosenbloom, Rosenbloom talks to a couple of other people until it gets to the top of NASA, and then it comes over here to Schneider.” That was Fred Schneider, Hurley’s meek, eager-to-please science adviser. “By the time it gets to me, I don’t know how many distortions it’s picked up, what’s being shaded, or what’s been left out altogether.” He pulled a memo pad across the coffee table, wrote a number on it, tore it off, and gave it to Gambini. “That’s where you can reach me whenever you need to. If I’m not immediately available, I’ll get right back to you. In any case, call every morning at, ah, eight-fifteen. I want to be kept informed about what’s going on out there. I especially want to know about any breakthroughs in reading the stuff. I want to know what kind of material we’re getting. And I’ll be interested in hearing your views on the implications of what we learn.”

  Somehow Harry wound up with the phone number.

  It was a bit warm in the room. “You are still making progress?” he continued. “Good. In that case, why don’t you tell me why you were so eager to attend the NSF function today.”

  “Mr. President,” Gambini began hesitantly, “we’re not being as efficient as we might be.”

  “Oh? And why not?”

  “For one thing, our staff is too limited. We haven’t been able to get the people we need.”

  “Security problems?” asked Hurley. “I’ll look into it and try to speed things along a bit. Meantime, Ed, you have to realize the sensitivity of this operation. As a matter of fact, I signed an order this morning assigning code-word classification to the Hercules Text. You’ll be getting some assistance with your security measures this afternoon.”

  Gambini looked pained. “That’s just what I’m complaining about. We can’t get things done when we can’t communicate with the experts in these various disciplines. Security clearances take time, and we don’t always know ahead of time who we’re going to need. If we have to wait six months to get someone in here, we might as well not bother.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Is that all?”

  “Mr. President,” said Harry, “there’s strong feeling among the investigators, and in the scientific and academic communities, that we have no right to keep a discovery of this magnitude to ourselves.”

  “And how do you feel, Harry?”

  Harry looked into the President’s piercing gray eyes. “I think they’re right,” he said. “I know there are risks involved here, but somewhere we’re going to have to take a chance. Maybe this is the time.”

  “The academic and scientific communities,” Hurley said with studied annoyance, “don’t have to deal with the Kremlin. Or the Arabs. Or a hundred and forty tin-pot countries that would like nothing better than to develop a cheap new super-weapon to lob over the back fence at someone they don’t like. Or the loonies who’re sitting in that power plant in New Jersey. Who knows what might be on those discs?”

  “I think,” said Gambini, putting everything he had into one roll, “we’re being a little paranoid.”

  “Do you really? That’s an easy conclusion for you to draw, Ed. If you’re wrong”—he shrugged—“what the hell!” He closed the blinds and shut the sunlight out of the room. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to sit on a nuclear stockpile? Tell me, Gambini, have you ever held a loaded gun on anybody? I’m holding a gun on every human being on the planet. No: every human being who will ever walk this world is in my sights right now. You have any idea what that feels like?

  “Don’t you think I know how this makes us look? The press thinks I’m a fascist, and the American Philosophical Society wrings its hands in anguish. But where the hell will the American Philosophical Society be if we set in motion a chain of events that leads to a catastrophe?” He sneered. It was an expression unlike any he would have allowed himself to use in public. “You can’t have the extra people until we’re sure we can trust them. If that means an extra few days, or an extra few years, that’s how we’ll do it. We keep the transmissions to ourselves. I’ll give you this much: you can announce that there’s been a new signal, and you can release the pictures, the triangles and whatnot. But the other stuff, what we haven’t been able to read yet, until we can tell what it is, it stays under wraps.”

  An hour later, Majeski greeted them with the latest news. “We’ve found the Pythagorean Theorem.”

  MONITOR

  ASU BLASTS HURLEY

  Science Group Demands Assurances on Hercules

  MOVE TO LEGALIZE GAINS STRENGTH

  IN CONGRESS

  Cocaine, Other Drugs, Will Be Dispensed through Clinics

  AMA Announces Support for Measure

  DEADLOCK IN GENEVA

  U.S. Hints Walkout

  OLYMPIAN HOPEFUL HAS LEUKEMIA

  Track Star Brad Conroy Collapses during Workout

  KIDS DERAIL FREIGHT TRAIN

  Iron Bar Upends Diesel; Two Hurt

  CURE FOR DIABETES MAY BE CLOSE

  DRIVE TO EVICT PUBLIC FROM PETRIFIED FOREST

  Permits Only Answer to Vandalism, Says Murray

  But Critics Wonder What Will Go Next

  TERRORISTS STILL HOLD TWO HOSTAGES AT LAKEHURST

  Nuclear Cloud Could Drift over Philadelphia

  Governor Rules Out Use of Force

  HOW TO LIVE TO BE A HUNDRED:

  “Pa” Decker, on His Birthday,

  Recommends Sense of Humor

  But It’s Getting Harder, He Says

  BRITISH SEIZE IRA BOMB

  Flying Squad Raids Manchester Pub on Tip

  PENTAGON CHARGES TWO SOVIET MISSILE PLATFORMS IN ORBIT

  8

  HARRY SET UP the press conference for 10:00 A.M. the next day. He brought in an artist to produce some graphics of the Althean star system and spent a sizable chunk of Thursday evening preparing a reluctant Ted Parkinson to deliver a prepared statement, field questions, and release the first data set. Parkinson, who was Goddard’s chief of public relations, felt he’d already been damaged by the handling of the Hercules transmissions; he was not entirely happy with management. But they needed his platform skills and his excellent working relationship with the press. Parkinson commented dryly that he hoped it was a relationship that would survive the day.

  Rosenbloom was visibly upset.

  “The President directed it,” Harry said somewhat awkwardly, without getting into details.

  The Director huffed. “It’s a blunder, Harry. But the damned fool will do what he wants, and nobody can tell him different, us. All right, go with it. But have Ted keep it as short as he can.”

  The press room would not be adequate for this conference. Harry commandeered every loose chair he could find and grabbed the biggest available space, which was in Building 4. They changed the drapes and hung pictures of whirlpool galaxies, tracking relay stations, and rocket launches. Most of the rear wall was already covered by the Fourth Uhuru Catalog Map, displaying prominent X-ray features throughout the galaxy. Parkinson had several models of boosters and satellites brought over from the Visitor Center.

  When they were finished, Harry was satisfied. “We’ll tr
y to keep this room available,” he told Parkinson as the TV trucks began to arrive. “We’re going to need it again.”

  He retreated to his office and absorbed himself with maintenance reports. A few minutes before ten, he turned on the television. Two NBC newsmen were speculating about the Goddard conference, and, not entirely to Harry’s surprise, they immediately guessed that a second signal had come in.

  They ran aerial views of the facility and sketched a brief history of the Space Center, ending with clips from the Presidential press conference of the preceding week. Then, precisely at ten, the cameras cut inside, and Parkinson entered the meeting hall.

  The young public relations director projected exactly the sort of image Harry wanted: a youthful, energetic appeal, laced with good humor and a sense of dedication. He did not intend Parkinson to be the sort of press officer so common in the upper tiers of the government, reading a self-serving statement and ducking for cover.

  A computer stood beside the podium.

  The audience hushed.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “You will wish to know that, at one-oh-nine A.M. last Saturday, SKYNET detected a second signal from the Hercules group.” Deftly, he described the characteristics of the transmission, and then he delivered the bombshell: “I can also tell you that we’ve been able to read certain small portions of the transmission.” The cameras cut to the audience, which, as one, leaned forwardly expectantly.

  “What we have so far,” he continued after a moment, “is only a beginning: a few mathematical images and some well-known theorems. All of that material is located in the first segment, or data set, of the transmission. The transmission itself now appears to be complete. It has been divided by the Altheans into a hundred and eight data sets. This one”—he held up the silver laserdisc—“appears to be designed primarily as a greeting and instruction manual. Let me take a moment here to say that, despite our progress, we are a long way from actually being able to understand the transmission.”

  He described the method that had been used to enter the binary code. “We had an assist,” he said, “from Kirk and Spock.” That got a laugh, and broke the tension. Harry’d had reservations about telling that part of the story, but Parkinson insisted that it was exactly the sort of colorful ingenuity that made good copy and won friends. In the tradition of the Space Center, however, no individual credit was given, and Harry lost his chance at fame.

  “Now,” he continued, “I’d like to show you the first pictures ever received on earth from another world.”

  They’d made a videotape. It was about two minutes long, a montage of the cubes and cylinders contained in the instruction manual. While the images ran, Cass Woodbury commented on the contrast between the “mundane figures and their transcendental significance.”

  The audience applauded the Saturn representation.

  And then the computer drew the vaguely spidery figure that might have been an Althean.

  “What’s that?” asked a woman from the Philadelphia Inquirer. Her voice denoted idle curiosity, nothing more.

  “We don’t know,” said Parkinson. “It could be anything, I suppose. A tree. A wiring diagram. I suspect, before we’re finished, we’ll find a great deal that we can’t explain.”

  It was a good response; nevertheless, an uneasy feeling crept over Harry. He’d debated leaving that one out, and now wished he had.

  Rosenbloom summoned Harry to his office in midafternoon. He arrived expecting to receive a few kind words on the smooth execution of the press conference. The Director never mentioned it.

  “Harry,” he said, “you know Pat Maloney.”

  Maloney was a thin, nervous man with a weak mustache, a three-piece suit, and a permanent cringe. He’d begun life as a real estate agent, an occupation at which he’d apparently been successful, had got himself elected to the Jersey City Water and Sewage Board, and had moved on up to his present exalted position as White House special assistant for security.

  Harry shook his hand. It was damp.

  “And this is Dave Schenken,” continued Rosenbloom. “He’s a security specialist.”

  Schenken nodded. He was a tall, wide-shouldered black, with a wedge-shaped face and hard eyes. The amusement with which he regarded Harry did not soften them.

  “Dave’ll be spending the rest of the afternoon with you,” said the Director. “He needs to get an overview on the security system here; and he’ll want to make some suggestions.”

  “Actually,” said Schenken offhandedly, “we’ve already had a pretty good look at your security arrangements.” His voice was dry, like paper that had been too long in the sun. “I don’t want to be offensive, Carmichael, but it amazes me that nobody’s walked off with one of your telescopes.”

  “We don’t have any telescopes,” Harry answered curtly, and turned toward Maloney. “Look, maybe we should start by realizing that this isn’t a defense installation. We don’t keep secrets here.”

  “In fact, Dr. Carmichael,” said Maloney, “you will have to start keeping secrets, or we’ll move the Hercules Project someplace where they can.”

  “I’m not a doctor,” said Harry.

  “Now, for the record, all the materials related to Hercules are code-word classified. Dave will give you the details. Incidentally, the lower level of the Research Projects Laboratory is being converted now so that you can continue to operate in there.”

  “Converted?”

  “We’ve restricted access,” said Schenken. “And we’ll be making some structural changes to the building.”

  Maloney traced the edge of the Director’s heavy desk with his fingertips. It was almost a sexual gesture. “In addition,” he said, “we’re running security checks on the employees. At the President’s direction, we’ve issued temporary clearances, but it may be that, as a result of our investigations, some of your people will not be able to continue with the program. I mention that to you ahead of time because, with so many involved, I have no doubt there’ll be some problems.”

  Schenken held a bound volume out to Harry. “We’d like you to read this,” he said. “Everybody involved with Hercules will get one. It’s a description of the procedures for handling classified information and of the responsibilities of the individual employee.”

  Rosenbloom made no move to intervene. “We have a security force,” said Harry.

  “It’s not adequate,” said Maloney. “Dave will be running security operations here from now on.” He saw Harry’s discomfiture. “Try to understand: the nature of the operation is different now. We are no longer talking about issuing a parking ticket or ejecting an unruly drunk from the Visitor Center. We are talking about keeping vital information safe against determined efforts by foreign intelligence forces. You may think what you like, Dr. Carmichael, but it is nevertheless a very serious reality.”

  Maloney, irritated with Harry, turned his attention to the Director. “The situation is fluid, and as things now stand, Goddard has severe security problems. I would be less than honest with you, Dr. Rosenbloom, if I did not tell you up front that I intend to recommend that the operation here be terminated and moved, probably to Fort Meade. Meantime, we’re going to concentrate on the three places where we’re vulnerable. We’ve already talked about the Lab. We will also have to secure NASCOM, where the signal arrives, and the library, where you maintain a duplicate copy of the transmission.”

  “My God!” thundered Rosenbloom. “You’re going to seal off the library?”

  “No.” Schenken’s lips pulled back in a kind of grimace. It was an expression he seemed to use when he believed he was being accommodating. “We’re moving the duplicate set into a storage area in the basement, which can be blocked off from the rest of the building. Only the corridor to the storage area will be secured.”

  “Can they do this?” Harry demanded of Rosenbloom.

  “It needs to be done,” said the Director. “Just stay out of the way and let them do their job.”

&
nbsp; Maloney looked bored. “So we understand each other, Carmichael: I don’t like this any more than you do. I understand the special problems you have, and we’ll try not to create any more trouble than we have to. But we have to maintain control over the transmission, and we will, by God, do just that!”

  Harry and Pete Wheeler were having dinner that evening at Rimford’s residence in the VIP section behind the Geochemistry Lab. While they grilled steaks and baked potatoes, they drank cold beer and waited for the newscasts.

  “Actually, we’re not doing badly,” said Rimford, when Harry asked about progress with the translation. “We can read the numbers now, and we’ve assigned working symbols to a lot of the bytes that seem to occur in patterns.

  “Some of the symbols are directive in nature—that is, they perform the functions that correlatives or conjunctions would in a grammatical system. Others have a substantive reference, and we’re beginning to get some of those. For example, we’ve isolated terms meaning magnetism, system, gravity, termination, and a few more. Other terms should translate, because they’re embedded in familiar mathematical equations or formulas, but they don’t.”

  “Concepts,” offered Harry, “for which we have no equivalent.”

  Wheeler grinned. “Maybe.” They were sitting in the kitchen. The world outside was dark already, only a bare glow in the west marking the passing of the sun. “How much in advance of us would they have to be,” he wondered, “to be able to do the things we know they can do? Are we likely to have anything at all in common?”

  “We already know,” said Harry, “that we have a common base in math and geometry.”

  “Of course,” snapped Wheeler impatiently. “How could there be any other condition? No, I’m thinking about their philosophy, their ethical standards. I was interested in your account of Hurley’s fears regarding the contents of the transmission. He has a valid point.” He refilled his mug and drank with a purpose. “But he’s worried for the wrong reason. I’m not nearly so afraid of the technical knowledge we may find as I am of the possibilities for poison of other kinds.”