Baxter held one tab in each hand, then held them to the sides of his head. "What now?"
Simdna pointed toward a panel. "This will begin the record." He pointed at a slotswitch. "The more you pull this toward you, the faster will run the record."
Baxter nodded. "Thank you. I don't think I'll need anything else."
Simdna turned, left the room and the door closed after him. Baxter studied the screen then looked at the panel for starting. He leaned forward and pushed it with the palm of his hand. At once, a feeling of mild intoxication swept him. It stayed as he pulled the switch, and images and narratives attacked his senses at high input levels. He realized this, but realized also that he understood it all, as fast as it was. He pulled again at the slotswitch…
… The Nitolans were a highly-evolved race, with self-made imperatives of right and wrong, a structured social system, great cities, long before man thought these even to exist. In the midst of the great reptiles, the Nitolans had science, law, and the creation of wealth, for the Power was theirs. They studied truth…
… And the knowing ones read their instruments and saw the death of every creature that could not hide within the mud or beneath the waters. The night brightstar would grow in brilliance, until it washed all other stars from the sky, and even paled Amasaat from the day sky. To survive, the Nitolans must leave the planet for as long as the planet took to again become green and alive with creatures.
While the wisest of the knowing ones searched the future for a time that would serve the race, others of the knowing ones spread across Nitola to tell the things that they had learned. "We must leave Nitola, else the race shall die."… Many believed and helped to construct the great ships that would protect precious cargo through the vacuum of space and the emptiness of time. Others did not believe and the Power was turned against itself as the factions decided the issue through blood.
As the ships were completed, the war concluded, and the victors gathered among the ships to depart Nitola. The knowing ones looked at their planet and saw the ravaged cities, the gaping wounds of mines and quarries, their own structures for building the ships. They wondered if this evidence, if left behind, would lead an alien visitor or a newly evolved race to find them and destroy them as they crossed the void. The Power was turned against the cities, and the other marks they had made, removing all trace of their existence. Then, they swept the planet and removed all traces of the substance of the Power, should they return to find a newly evolved race using the Power and turning it against the homecomers.
When all was done, the ships were filled, the travelers' life processes were slowed, and the journey begun…
"There are many of us who share your mind, Deayl."
Deayl looked from Nozn to his companion Suleth, then back to Nozn. "My mind has been voted down by the council. What brings you to my quarters?"
Nozn studied Deayl. "We read the piles and can see what the hue-muns do. Many of us would not wait until the creatures render Nitola unfit for habitation."
Deayl turned away and studied a blank wall. "If there are such as you talk about, they would disgrace themselves by acting against the common mind."
Suleth looked from Nozn to Deayl. "We have had enough of these word games, Deayl. Do you plan to take an action?"
"Action?"
Suleth nodded. "Will you lead us?"
Deayl lowered himself to his sleeping pallet, placed his head on his cushion, and looked up at the overhead. "I will speak with you two later."
Nozn placed a clawed hand on Suleth's arm to quiet him, then nodded at Deayl. "It is my mind that this task would be bonded by our exchanging of names. Is this your mind as well, Deayl?"
Deayl rolled over and propped himself up with an elbow. His black eyes fixed Nozn to the deck. "No! Treason to our race is no excuse for friendship!" He lowered himself back to his cushion. "Leave me now. I will call you if I wish to converse further."
Nozn and Suleth bowed and left Deayl's quarters. Deayl rolled to his left side, his eyes tightly shut. I belittle myself enough by the enterprise I have undertaken. I shall not suck others into the same mire. He opened his eyes and spoke to a dark corner of the compartment. "You are my governor, Lothas, and you speak for the common mind." Deayl sighed. "But, you stand between us and our home. Isn't yours the greater crime?" Deayl closed his eyes and tossed. The question was yet to be answered in his own mind.
Midway through the next planetary cycle, Baxter bid farewell to his Nitolan friend Illya, then entered his quarters and flopped onto his sleeping pallet. He detached the insulated gloves from his suit, threw them aside and placed his hands against his cheeks. His face felt drained of color. Without rising, Baxter keyed his transceiver. "State, this is Messenger." He opened his eyes and looked at the overhead. "State, this is Messenger. Do you read?"
"Go ahead, Baxter. This is Wyman."
Baxter licked his lips, took a deep breath, then sat up. "Wyman, are there any manned missions on the Moon—secret things that I don't know about?"
"I'm sure there aren't, but I can check it for you. Is it important?"
"It's important. I also want to know if the Soviets have anything on the Lunar surface, and if so, where."
"Understood. What's going on, Baxter?"
Baxter shook his head. I'm rattled, that's what's going on. Calm down.
"I was taken on a demonstration today. It's a thing they call 'the power.' I saw a quarter of the Lunar surface turned into glass in less time than it's taking me to tell you about it." Baxter licked his lips again. "My guide took me down about two hours later and I walked the surface. The dark side now has a mare that makes Imbrium, Serenity, and Tranquility together look like a wading pool." The radio remained silent. "Did you copy that, Wyman?"
"Baxter, what is your feeling about it?"
Baxter's eyes widened. "My feeling? How in the Hell do you think I feel about it? If these lizards want to, they can fry my entire planet in about twenty minutes!"
"What I meant, Baxter, is your feeling about the purpose of the demonstration."
Baxter thought a moment, then flushed. "I suppose its purpose was to produce exactly the kind of hysterical gibbering I've been doing; correct?"
"Correct. Look, Baxter; you are not dealing with an overweight Congressional committee or the local school board. You can't make a mistake, then go back and patch it up later with an apology or some syrup from the White House. You have to keep your head clear and your feelings out of it, while you look for angles, feel out the edges, find out where to push, and where to back off. You understand?"
Baxter shook his head. "You diplomatic types have all the sensitivity of an oyster."
State paused for a long moment. "It's not lack of feelings, Baxter; it's called guts. Grow some. Wyman out."
Baxter released the key on his transceiver, stood, and began shucking his pressure suit. At least I wasn't as rattled as Deayl. The Nitolan had walked the Lunar surface with him, and had been strangely quiet. Deayl's answers to direct questions were brief, shaken, and almost incoherent. I wonder what my old buddy Illya was nervous about?
The iris to Baxter's compartment opened and the Nitolan called Simdna entered. "I extend an invitation from Lothas, our governor, to meet with him in private before you meet with the full council."
Baxter nodded. "I am most happy to accept his invitation." I'm already beginning to talk like a diplomat. "When does Lothas wish to see me?"