“I’ve heard people argue along those lines,” I admitted.
“So what do you think, genius?” he demanded, with a hint of a sneer in his voice.
“I don’t know,” I told him, truthfully. “But I do think we might find the answers to more questions than we ever dared to ask if anyone does get to the centre of Asgard. I saw enough down there to convince me that there are people in the deeper layers who make the Tetrax look primitive. The Tetrax suspect it too. They worry about it—they really like being the neighbourhood superstars. They love to call the rest of us barbarians, and I don’t imagine they’d like to be shoved into that category themselves. They’re very keen to find out what Asgard really is, but I’m not so sure they’ll like the answers.”
“Like the rest of us to do their spade-work for them, don’t they? God, I hated working for them—though I have to admit that they taught me a thing or two about security systems. If it hadn’t been for the damned war I’d really have been in a position to make it big back here. Learned some neat tricks on Asgard. They may be monkey-faced bastards, but they’re prepared to share what they know when it suits them. Or did they only open up Asgard to the rest of us so saps like you and me could take their risks for them?”
“That’s only part of it,” I told him. “If they’d been able to keep Asgard a secret, they probably would have. But they weren’t the only ones who knew about it when they began building the first base there. It serves their interests better to encourage multi-species research, and to do their own spade-work behind the scenes. They are genuinely committed to the idea of a peaceful and harmonious galactic community. They think it’s the only way to ensure that any of us are going to survive. Those biotechnics they sold the Salamandrans—I don’t believe that was just profiteering; it was also an attempt to change the way the war was being fought, to quiet it down. They’re afraid of firepower, because of the way whole planets can get smashed up. Genetic time-bombs and subtle biotechnics are much more their style, because weapons like that don’t cause ecocatastrophes.”
My heart wasn’t really in the conversation. I’d spent too much time on Asgard concocting fanciful stories about the possible story behind the artefact, and puzzling over the other mysteries of the galactic status quo. I’d discussed such matters with cleverer men than John Finn, and I wasn’t in the mood to go over old ground for the sake of what I still believed—despite all his claims of expertise—to be a crude and unfurnished mind. I reckoned that if he wanted to be educated, he ought to use his telescreen.
I wondered whether there would be any telescreens where we were going.
If we were going anywhere at all.
“Tell me about these bacteria and viruses orbiting Uranus,” I said, deciding that if we were going to talk, we might as well talk about something that intrigued me. “Surely it can’t be more than thirty K out there.”
“About that,” he confirmed. “Gets up to one-twenty K in the outer atmosphere.”
“Nothing can live at that sort of temperature!”
“Nope,” he said laconically. “Bugs are deep frozen. Just like being in a freezer, though—when we thaw ’em out, they’re as good as new. Some of them, anyhow.”
“How long have they been frozen? Where the hell are they supposed to have come from?”
“That’s what these boys are trying to find out. Asgard’s not the only mystery in the universe, you know. You didn’t have to go chasing off to the galactic rim to find something strange. There are great enigmas even on your own doorstep. We’ve had Tetrax out here, you know. Was a Tetron bioscientist on Goodfellow a couple of years ago, while the war was still hot. Went on out to the halo afterwards.”
“Don’t tell me the dust in the cometary halo is also full of bugs,” I said, sarcastically.
“Not exactly full,” he said. “No more’n a few. Now here, so they say, we’ve got more biomass than the Earth. Crazy, huh?”
I shook my head in bewilderment. The idea that Uranus had life more abundant than Earth, all of it deep-frozen, was a little difficult to take in. “But where were these bugs before they got deep-frozen?” I asked, again.
I could tell Finn was enjoying this. “Right here,” he said, with an air of great condescension. “At least, that’s the fashionable idea.”
I couldn’t work it out. I just stared at him, and waited.
“Wasn’t always this cold around here,” he said. “Only since the sun stabilized. A few billion years ago, when the solar system was still forming, the sun was super-hot. Was a balmy three hundred K in these parts. Hot and wet, plenty of carbon and nitrogen. Not exactly fit for people, but okay for bugs.”
“Jesus!” I said, impressed in spite of the fact that it gave Finn such satisfaction to see it. “There was life out here before the Earth cooled down? DNA and everything?”
“Sure,” he said, cockily. “Where’d you think life on Earth came from?”
When I was small, somebody had spun me a yarn about the molecules of life evolving in hot organic soup. They’d implied that the soup was slopping around in the oceans of primeval Earth. Obviously, the story had been updated in the light of more recent news. It didn’t take much imagination to push the story back still further. How had the parent bacteria got into the hot organic soup floating around the early Uranus?
From elsewhere, presumably.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise. As Finn had been reminding me only a few minutes earlier, the fact that all the galactic humanoids have an effectively identical biochemistry does strongly suggest a common point of origin. I’d already known—without quite being fully conscious of it— that the story had to go back billions of years. Asgard, apparently, had been deep-frozen for a long time. While studying the ecology that had run wild in one of the lower levels, I’d hazarded the guess that Asgard must be several millions of years old. Now, that guess didn’t seem so very wild. Perhaps, if I worked hard enough, I could make up a story which would let Asgard be billions of years old. Was it possible, I wondered, that all the DNA in the galactic arm had originally come from Asgard?
I thought about it. After all, I had nothing better to do.
All through the four hours, I expected some nasty little surprise package to pop up from somewhere. I thought that the heroes of the Star Force were bound to spring out from some unexpected hiding-place, flame-pistols blazing. After all, Ayub Khan might care far more about the possibility of losing the produce of years of careful research than about the possibility of two Star Force deserters getting away, but the likes of Trooper Blackledge could hardly be expected to give a tuppenny damn about Uranian bugs. And what I knew about the Star Force suggested that they wouldn’t worry too much about the priorities of intellectual microworlders.
But nothing happened.
I should have realised that that was the most suspicious thing of all, but somehow I just couldn’t put it together.
Anybody can be stupid, once in a while. I was having a bad week.
When the four hours were finally up the phone warbled again, and we were told that a ship would be docking momentarily. Finn issued his instructions with all the imperiousness of a man whose right to command is secure. He specified that the men from the cargo-ship should come out of the umbilical one by one, unarmed and unsuited. He told Ayub Khan that he’d have his hands on the precious tanks, ready to let the beasties out at the least sign of anything wrong. We watched the instrument-panels in the docking- bay, following the progress of the ship’s approach and the connection of the umbilical. Everything looked absolutely fine.
Finn and I waited patiently, mud guns at the ready. Finn was so confident by now that he still had his helmet unsealed, so that he could talk. Obviously, he thought he’d have time to zip it up with one hand while he was letting the bugs out of the tank with the other. I had my suit on by now, but I left my helmet unsealed too. I wasn’t feeling terribly happy, but I saw no immediate cause for alarm.