In all, there were a dozen combinations, with identical formats. Each began with the G/T or GO TO instruction, followed by the six binary digits 101000. That might be an arbitrary number, but it was more likely to have some mnemonic association. A common trick was to use one’s day or year of birth; Karl had been born in ‘40, and Duncan was not surprised at the answer when he converted 101000 to base ten -though he was a little disappointed at so obvious a subterfuge.
Yet the code was secure enough, for the chances were astronomically remote that anyone, in a random search, would ever hit upon the alphabetical sequences that followed. Though they were easy to remember-at least for a
Titanian-they were safe from accidental triggering. Each was a name spelled backward-another old trick, but one which never lost its effectiveness.
The list began with G/T 101000 SAmrm and continued with G/T 101000
SYHTET,
G/T 101000 suNAj, G/T 101000 ENom, G/T 101000 EBEOHP. Then Karl grew tired of moons, for the next, unsurprisingly, was G/T 101000 DNAmRA. That would certainly be a personal message-and so, of course, would be
G/T 101000
YDNILAC….
There was no G/T 101000 NAcNm. Though it was unreasonable to have expected it, Duncan stiff felt a momentary flicker of regret.
A few more family names, but he scarcely noticed them, for his eyes had already caught the final entry: G/T 101000 suGRA. The search was
ended. But it was not yet successful; there could be one last barrier. Most men had some secrets that they wished to preserve inviolate, even after death.
It was still possible that unless these codes were used correctly, they might trigger an ERASE instruction.
Possible-but unlikely. Karl had clearly intended these memories to be released, or he would not have ‘left the codes in his will, with no warning attached to them. Perhaps the wisest move would be to Telex Armand again, just in case Karl had left any further instructions that his distraught father had overlooked.
That would take hours, and it might still prove nothing. Duncan scanned the list again, looking for clues and finding none. The sequence 101000 might mean ERASE. He could speculate forever, and get nowhere.
There was no # or EXECUTE sign at the end of the sequences, but that proved nothing at all, for few people bothered to write down anything so obvious; nine times out of ten, it was omitted as understood. Yet one of the standard ways of canceling a secret ERASE order was to hit EXECUTE twice in quick succession. Another was to do so with a definite interval between the two keyings. Did Karl’s omission have any significance, or was he merely following the usual convention?
The problem contained its own solution, though emotion rather than intelligence pointed the way to it. Duncan could see no flaw, though he explored every possibility that he could imagine. Then, feeling a faint trace of guilt, he tapped out G/T 101000 YDNILAC, pausing for a fraction of a second before he completed the sequence with A
If he was wrong, Calindy would never know what she had lost. And though
Karl’s last message to her might have been erased, none of the other stored memories would be placed in hazard.
His fears were groundless. Duncan heard only the opening words–-~“Hello,
Calindy, when you hear this, I shall be…”~—before he hit the STOP key and the Minisec became silent again. He was after bigger game.
Perhaps one day, when he had the time-no, 274 that was a temptation he would be strong enough to resist…. And so, in the secluded luxury of the Centennial Hotel, with a Do NOT
DISTuRB block on all visitors and incoming messages, Duncan keyed G/T 101000 suGRA A For two days he canceled his appointments, and had all meals sent up to his room. Occasionally, he made an outgoing call to check upon some technical point, but most of the time he was alone, communing with the dead.
Finally he was ready to meet the Argus Committee again, on his own terms.
He understood everything -except, of course, the greatest mystery of all.
How delighted Karl would have been if he had ever known about Golden
Reef…. he room had not changed, and perhaps the invisible audience was the same.
But there was now no trace of the slightly uncertain Duncan Makenzie who, only a few days ago, had wondered if he should opt for diplomatic immunity.
They had accepted, without any dispute, his explanation of the word
“Argus,” though he did not imagine they were much impressed by his suddenly acquired knowledge of classical mythology. He could tell from the brief questioning that there was a certain disappointment; perhaps the Committee would have to find some other justification for its existence. (Was there really an organized underground movement on Terra, or was it merely a joke?
This was hardly the right time to ask, though Duncan was tempted.)
Yet, ironically, there was a small conspiracy, in this very room-a conspiracy mutually agreed upon. The Committee had guessed that he now appreciated the significance of the name Argus to Terran security -and he knew that it knew. Each side understood the other perfectly, and the next item of business was quickly adopted.
“So what was Mr. Helmer’s Argus?” asked the woman whom Duncan had tentatively placed up on the Moon. “And can you account for his odd behavior?”
Duncan opened the stained notebook to display 275 that astonishing fall-page sketch which had so transfixed him at its first revelation. Even now that he knew its true scale, he could not think of it as anything except a drawing of a sea urchin. But Diadenta was only thirty or forty centimeters across; Argus would be at least a thousand kilometers in diameter, if Karl’s analysis was right. And of that, Duncan no longer had any doubt, though he could never give his full reasons.
“Karl Helmer had a vision,” he began. “I’ll try to pass it on as best I can, though this is not my field of knowledge. But I knew his psychology, and perhaps I can make you understand what he was trying to do.”
You may be disappointed again, he told himself -you may dismiss the whole concept as a crazy !cientist’s delusion. But you’ll be wrong; this could be infinitely more important than some trivial conspiracy threatening your tidy little world….
“Karl was a scientist, who always hoped to make some great discovery-but never did. Though he was highly imaginative, even his wildest flights were always soundly based on reality. And he was ambitious….”
“If it were so,” murmured a quiet voice from the air beside him, “it was a grievous fault. And grievously hath Caesar answered it. Sorry-please continue
The reference was unfamiliar to Duncan, and he showed his annoyance at the interruption by pausing for a few seconds.
“He was interested in everything-too many things, perhaps-but his great passion was the still unsolved cETi problem—communications with extraterrestrial intelligence. We used to argue about it for hours when we were boys; I could never be quite sure when he was completely serious, but I am now.
“Why have we never detected radio signals from the advanced societies which must surely be out there in space? Karl had many theories, but in the end he settled on the simplest. It’s not original, and I’m sure you’ve heard it before. “We ourselves broadcast radio signals for only
276
about a hundred years, roughly spanning the twentieth century. By the end of that time, we’d switched to cable and optical and satellite systems, concentrating all their power where it was needed, and not spilling most of it wastefully to the stars. This may well be true of all civilizations with a technology comparable to ours. They only pollute the universe with indiscriminate radio noise for a century or two-a very brief fraction of their entire history.