"Major Rothenburg is afraid that the Pitar might try something, isn't he?"
"He just wants to be prepared. That's his nature. A consummate alpha personality."
"I want Alwyn to find the mollysphere, of course," Tse murmured, "but more to prove that he's been telling the truth all along than for any other reason."
Nadurovina was slightly taken aback. "What about bringing the butchers of the six hundred thousand to justice?"
Tse hesitated momentarily. "If Alwyn's right and the Pitar were responsible, if they did all the terrible things he says they did and he can bring forth proof of it, it will mean war, won't it?"
The psychiatrist nodded slowly. "One does not need an advanced degree in human psychology to envision the explosion of rage that would result. Personally, I cannot see anything less than all-out hostilities satisfying the atavistic revenge response that would ensue. The limits of such a conflict would remain to be defined, of course."
Tse looked unhappy. "There are interstellar wars with limits?"
"We have no experience in such matters, but if the thranx are to be believed, they have been engaged in just such a contest with the AAnn for more than two hundred and fifty years. I do not see anything that time-consuming happening in this case." She looked thoughtful. "We do not have the patience or the forbearance of the thranx. Or so the relevant literature insists. Myself, I have never met one of the bugs. Someday I think I would like to do so."
"Not me." Tse spoke with conviction. "I don't care how intelligent they are. Every time I see one I'm reminded of the time I snuck into my mother's pantry looking for candy and a bunch of cockroaches fell out on me. I was washing my hair for days afterwards."
"They do not look like cockroaches. Haven't you seen the tridees? More like mantids."
"I don't like them either." Tse pushed back from the table. "I don't like anything that eats with multiple mouthparts, or has honeycombed eyes, or walks on more than four legs."
"You are phobic. I am surprised. A woman with scientific training like yourself."
"I'm not perfect," Tse contended. "Everybody's afraid of something. Major Rothenburg is afraid of not having everything sufficiently organized. Dr. Chimbu is afraid of losing a patient. You are afraid of Alwyn losing his mind again."
"And Alwyn Mallory is afraid of the Pitar," the psychiatrist concluded.
"No. You're wrong there." There wasn't a hint of doubt in the nurse's voice. "Alwyn isn't afraid of the Pitar. He hates them. What he's afraid of is himself."
Consistent, disciplined activity was the norm on the bridge behind him as Rothenburg gazed out the port. Mallory was right, he reflected. Treetrunk One was not much of a moon. Easily overlooked, it was hardly worthy of the astronomical designation. Looking at it put him more in mind of a captured asteroid than a moon. But it was more than large enough to hide a small ship behind. Something as small as a lifeboat would be swallowed entirely.
He had seen the tridees of the tiny vessel Mallory had used to escape the holocaust that had swept over Treetrunk. The interior had immediately struck him as uninhabitable. The outside was worse. Somehow the irascible engineer had not only coerced it into lifting off without exploding on ignition, but had managed to coax it to the point of achieving escape velocity. Without its outmoded navigation equipment to automatically hone in on a destination, Rothenburg knew it would have gone sailing silently off into the starfield, never to be seen or heard from again.
Instead a quirk of luck had led to its being found by ingenuous aliens and its pilot being returned to his people. Subsequent events had precipitated a sequence of scarcely credible concurrences culminating in the arrival proximate to the minor satellite of Treetrunk of the most powerful expeditionary force this sector of starfield had ever seen. It was hardly to be believed.
Rothenburg believed it, just as he believed that in a very short while that same pilot was going to embark on a return visit to the scene of his recent madness. All the medical technology human science and experience could muster was going to be brought to bear on that singular individual to ensure that a recurrence of his dementia did not take place. Even so, Rothenburg knew that nothing was certain. The best minds and the most skilled techniques could not warrant that upon setting foot on Treetrunk One Alwyn Mallory would not go stark raving mad or lapse into coma or otherwise react in a fashion guaranteed to drive Rothenburg, Nadurovina, and everyone else connected with the current enterprise a little crazed themselves.
They could only hope and do their best and put more trust than they wanted to in the ministrations of an ordinary duty nurse with a less-than-extensive professional history.
As so often happens at such times, events progressed in ways unforeseen by even the most adept prognosticators. Mallory allowed himself to be suited up without complaint or hesitation, joking at the ongoing process and lending a hand when and where he was able. Meantime, while everyone was focusing on the indispensable patient, they neglected to consider the condition of his personal attendant. Having never worn an environment suit before, much less been outside a ship in space, Irene Tse was rapidly working herself into a state of near hysteria.
The consequences of this were as salutary as they were unforeseen. Instead of being left to worry about himself, Mallory spent the last moments before disembarking working to soothe and reassure the nurse. Only when he was convinced of her well-being did he condescend to board the military repair vehicle that would carry them from the vast cocoon of the dreadnought to the surface of the tiny moon below. This time it was he who gripped her hand reassuringly.
They were not alone. A small flotilla of armed lifeboats, repair craft, and other vessels awaited, hovering like so many incandescent bees around a darkened, mottled hive. Their operators had been primed to respond instantly to any requests from Mallory - once these had been quietly cleared by Major Rothenburg or one of the two extensively briefed lieutenants who were assisting him.
The major's declaration that if circumstances demanded it they would tear the moon apart to find the mollysphere was held in abeyance. Stir up the satellite's surface and they might bury the inestimably precious recording permanently. Or worse, the abysmally low gravity might allow it to drift off into space. In respect of everything that could go wrong, each ship kept its preassigned distance. Only one descended, with infinite deliberation and care, to the surface of the moon itself. It did not quite achieve touchdown. Hovering just above the battered, eroded surface, it adjusted its position until the best records available insisted it was occupying the exact same coordinates as the patient's lifeboat had previously. Even the north-south axis of the repair craft was oriented identically. Stepping outside, Mallory theoretically should be able to recognize his surroundings, theoretically ought to be capable of retracing his steps to the spot where he had buried the recording. Theoretically.
He entered the lock effortlessly and without apparent trepidation. Two techs preceded him while a third accompanied a visibly agitated Tse. She was controlling herself with an effort, insistent upon being included in the excursion, knowing that if Mallory suffered a relapse she wanted to be with him. She needed to be with him, and not just for his sake. Their relationship had progressed beyond that. Nadurovina followed her into the lock while a fourth tech signaled to those on the other side of the barrier that all was well and the landing party was ready to proceed.
All was not well, but Tse knew how to utilize various mind- and breath-control techniques to stabilize her system. Such skills were part of her training. It was the first time she had used them on herself, however, and not on a patient. Con- trolling her emotions was another matter entirely. Somehow she managed that as well.
The outer door opened, and the dusky light of Treetrunk's star poured in. The first pair of techs exited efficiently, one after the other floating gently down to the rocky surface. In defiance of proper procedure, Mallory insisted on taking Tse's hand and egressing with her. To everyone's unspoken relief, the tandem descent was acc
omplished without incident.
Once the entire landing party had left the repair craft, Mallory moved clear of the group and sought to establish his bearings. If the larger vessel was positioned exactly the same as his lifeboat had been when he had been marooned here, then there ought to be a hill resembling a broken tooth approximately forty degrees to his right. Turning in that direction, he was gratified to see that the landmark was exactly where and how he remembered it. Approximately fifty meters from where he was standing there would be a small, shallow crater. As he paced off the span, the others followed at a respectful distance. No one watched his movements with more intensity than Irene Tse.
The crater was a little farther than he remembered it, but it was unarguably the same depression. To make certain, he walked off the diameter. Seven meters, more or less. Remembrances were lining up like winning numbers on a gambling machine, with a jackpot payoff at the end no bigger than a fingernail. Looking back at the hovering repair craft to properly orient himself, he drew a mental line in the rock between the ship and the snaggle-topped hill. Walking to the half-meter-high rim of the crater, he looked down at its edge, searching for the large, flat rock he had placed there. It had a distinctive triangular shape, which was why he had chosen it. The rock was not there.
Frowning behind the faceplate of his suit, he followed the crater's rim to the right. Still no sign of the marker he had carefully left behind. When he had walked perhaps a fifth of the way around the crater he retraced his steps and began searching in the other direction. Tse advanced to join him. The consequent intimacy was only physical. Anything they said to one another could be overheard clearly by everyone else in the group, as well as by the crew of the repair craft and, via relay, everyone listening back on board the dreadnought.
"It's here." Mallory paused long enough to look over at Tse, their faceplates nearly touching. "I know it's here."
"Of course it is," she told him reassuringly. "It's only natural for you to be a little disoriented. It's been a long time, and you had other things on your mind when you hid it."
"I'm not disoriented!" Seeing her flinch behind the faceplate he hastened to apologize. "Really, I know exactly where I am. Sometimes my words still get all mixed up, but not my actions. Everything is just as I remembered it." Turning, he indicated the location and position of the repair craft, the jagged hilltop looming in the distance, the shallow circular crater. "This is all correct. Everything is where it should be. Except for that damn rock."
"Which damn rock?" she inquired quietly. "I'll help you look for it." Turning her head, she glanced back in the direction of the assembled group. "We'll all help."
Mallory hesitated. It was his rock, his potential vindication, and he wanted to find the damn thing. But it wasn't where it was supposed to be. Maybe he was forgetting something. Or maybe he was imagining it after the fact. Maybe... maybe the Pitar who had visited him in the hospital room had been right all along and his brain was inventing elaborate cover-ups for his debased memory. Panic threatened to rise in his throat like vomit.
"Okay, sure. Why not? Everyone can have a look. The important thing is not who finds the rock but finding it, right?" Smiling tenderly behind her faceplate, Tse nodded encouragement. The others gathered around.
"We're looking for a flat stone about this big." Mallory used his hands to trace size and shape in the vacuum. "About eight centimeters thick. No other distinguishing features."
"What color is it?" asked one of the techs from the ship.
Mallory had to laugh. "Look around. You've got a choice of two: dark gray and darker gray. It's the shape that's significant."
The party split, half searching to the left, the other half marching methodically in the opposite direction. When they met unsuccessfully on the other side of the crater they passed each other and kept going. By the time they met again, back at the original starting point, discouragement and the first flickerings of serious mistrust were beginning to make their psychological presence felt among several of the searchers.
"Are there any other identifying landmarks?" Nadurovina probed as gently as she could. It would not do to challenge the patient too forcefully or say anything accusatory. Upsetting him could only have deleterious mental consequences.
She need not have worried. Mallory was already actively upsetting himself. The strain showed clearly on his face.
If he had imagined burying the mollysphere, then maybe he had imagined having it. If he had imagined having it, who knows what else his mind had invented? The presence of the Pitar? Not the devastation of Treetrunk - that was real enough. All too much proof of the atrocity was hanging in the sky on the other side of the small moon. Under incredible psychological pressure and mental stress, had he written on the blank sheet of his memory an elaborate scenario that had never taken place, that was the product of an overheated imagination instead of cold, composed reportage?
He could see the faces of his companions through the transparencies of their faceplates, could see the skepticism stirring in their expressions. Outwardly they remained committed and supportive, but within themselves they were beginning to question, to wonder, and he lay square at the nexus of their mounting uncertainties.
Where was that damn rock? A man could contrive any number of chimeras, but a rock was a real thing: solid and unforgiving, a piece of stellar matter made hard and cold. Ignoring the accusing stares, he focused on the surface on both sides of the crater: scanning, searching, scrutinizing. There were plenty of rocks, hundreds of rocks. Some were the right size, but none were quite the proper shape, and not one was where it had been when he'd first decided on the hiding spot.
"We have to go back." The voice of the tech reverberated like a bell in Mallory's helmet: tolling failure, ringing fiasco.
He was studying a gauge. "Overall, group air is down to fifteen percent. Return to ship is standard security procedure."
Tse remained at Mallory's side. "It's okay, Alwyn. While the suits are recharged we'll have something to eat and drink. We'll talk about it, and you can collect your thoughts. Then we'll try again." She smiled hopefully. "Maybe all you need is a fresh start."
"That's right." Though it was not required of her, Nadurovina did her best to encourage him. "If you stepped out of the ship facing the wrong way, you could have started off on the wrong tangent right at the beginning."
"We'll recheck the location and orientation of the repair boat, too." Rothenburg's tone belied the helpfulness of his words. "If it's off even a few degrees it would mess everything up."
Everything was already messed up, Mallory thought apprehensively. The repair craft was properly positioned. He knew that was the case because the cracked hill stood exactly where it ought to be. So did the crater. He knew it was the right crater not only because it was situated precisely where it belonged, but because it was the proper size, shape, and depth. He remembered. There was nothing wrong with his memory - unless he was so seriously impaired that his imaginings had become that real to him. If that was the case, then maybe what he thought was reality was in fact the foundation of his madness. Maybe he wasn't even here, on this runt rock of a satellite. Maybe he was lying in a hospital somewhere back on Earth, with a solicitous but otherwise disinterested Tse bending over him. He'd been given a lot of medication, he knew. Maybe his return to Treetrunk was drug-induced instead of Kurita-Kinoshita powered.
"Alwyn, don't look like that!" Tse was at his side, gripping his suit and shaking him. "You're scaring me."
Blinking, he nodded slowly as he met her gaze. "It's nice to have company. I'm scaring me, too." Gently disengaging his arm, he turned to look at and past the crater rim. "This is right. Everything is right. It's just as I remember it. The rock should be here. The recording should be under it."
He became aware that the two techs were now flanking him. "Mr. Mallory, sir," one of them was saying inside his helmet, "we're running low on air. Regulations require that we return to the ship for recharging."
Angr
y and confused, he allowed himself to be led back toward the waiting repair boat. Aware that their words were common currency via the suit channel, none of his companions voiced their thoughts or feelings. Vacuum helped to dissipate the growing tension, but could not banish it entirely.
Halfway back to the ship, Mallory halted as if shot. When he whirled to confront Rothenburg, the officer recoiled slightly but held his ground. He did not care for the look on the patient's face.
"When the technicians from the Ronin retrieved my lifeboat, what method did they use?"
"Excuse me?" Taken aback by the abruptness of the question as well as the confrontation, Rothenburg stalled for time. "How did they reclaim it?" Mallory was in a fit of impatience, not madness. "Did they use a tractor beam from the big ship, did service personnel adjust its position before signaling for it to be taken aboard, did they try to fire the boat's engine? What recovery techniques were employed?"
"I don't know," the major admitted. "But I can find out." Switching to suit to boat to mothership relay, Rothenburg conveyed the query while Mallory and the rest of the party waited. Not in silence, though, or in contentment.
"Really, Mr. Mallory," the tech standing on his right declared. "Suit air is approaching ten percent. We absolutely must return to the boat."
"You go on if you want to." All of Mallory's attention was focused on Rothenburg, waiting for a reply, waiting for an explanation. "I'm not finished here yet. Ten percent is more than I need." At his side, a hesitant but supportive Tse stood with him. With an effort of will, she avoided looking down at her own suit gauge.
Rothenburg finally switched back to suit-to-suit. "Two manned repair craft were used to move your old boat from here to the Ronin. They were smaller than the one we came down on, but larger than your lifeboat."
"Propulsion systems." With that Mallory turned and began to retrace their original line from the repair ship, not walking deliberately this time but moving in long, bounding strides through the low gravity. Each time he touched down his feet kicked up a cloud of slow-settling dust - dust and small rocks.