After a moment’s pause he went on.
“It's a few years now since we had anything like this. But they're hard to clear out altogether. I sometimes think it's odd how military fant variations persist. Do you remember the Magnussen business?”
I did. Magnussen, a part-time volunteer helper at this very museum and a member of a now quietly closed-down body called the Scandinavian Historical Association, had evolved a theory from ceremonial objects he had examined that his ninth- and tenth-century Danish and Norwegian ancestors had been members of a warrior culture living in part by war and plunder. It might have seemed a very academic point to some, and frankly very few people would have been interested one way or another, but ARM had not wanted it sensationalized.
Actually, Magnussen had been hard done by: Those of us inside ARM, and working professionally in the field knew that indeed there still had been sporadic outbreaks of large-scale organized violence later than officially admitted, at least in remote areas away from the great cities of the world. I didn't want or need to know more of the details than my work required, but of course I had an outline. Well, whatever the reason Magnussen's ancestors had put to sea, he himself had gone on a longer voyage.
“I do think we're getting rid of them though,” Alfred O'Brien said. “Sometimes I've thought there's no end to human perversity and folly… Speaking of which…” He drummed his fingers on the table, hesitated again, and now I was sure he seemed embarrassed.
“There is another matter,” he said at last.
“Yes?”
“An odd one.”
“I can tell that.”
“Yes. It's a bit out of our usual line, but we've been asked to look into it. Do you remember the Angel's Pencil?”
There had been a send-off a long time ago, shortly after I was seconded to the special literary research section of the program. It must be beyond the orbit of Tisiphone by now. “I've heard the name,” I said. “A colony ship, wasn't it?”
“Yes. With a mixed Earth-Belter crew. It left for Epsilon Eridani eighteen years ago.” He touched a panel on his desk and a hemisphere map beamed up behind him. More time had passed than I thought. The ship's telltale reached out to a point light-years beyond the last wandering sentinel of the Solar system.
“Don't tell me they've got military fants on board?”
I laughed. We had had a little worry recently about a scientific exploration ship named Fantasy Prince. Finally we had decided after investigation that the name was an innocuous coincidence and had nothing to do with military fants.
He didn't laugh.
“I don't know. But it might be something like that. They've had trouble. If trouble's the right word for it…”
“We thought we knew every tanj thing that could go wrong in space, but this one came out of nowhere.”
He lit one of his 'cigars'. He'd copied that from Buford Early. It wasn't usual that he had trouble putting words together. This, I thought, is going to be something bizarre. But then, he would hardly have sent for me otherwise. ARM has plenty of people available for normal problems.
“It may be something mental affecting the crew. Something the ship's 'doc quite evidently can't handle. We're getting its readouts and it's diagnosed nothing wrong.”
Docs failing in space were a nightmare, for spacers at least.
“Either that, or it's criminal behavior, which we like even less… They're sending back messages about… Outsiders.”
“Yes?”
He heard the excitement in my voice. Alien contact was one of the Big Ones. It was also a mirage. We had looked for friends among the stars for four hundred years and more and some false hopes had been raised and dashed. His next words damped my excitement.
“No. Not real Outsiders. There would be people involved at much higher levels if they were real. What they are sending back is quite impossible.”
“Delusions?”
“Nothing so simple, though that would be serious enough. They've sent back pictures, holos. You can't transmit photographs of delusions… There may be some sort of group psychosis. I know that's hardly a satisfactory description, but… they've made things… not very nice…”
He nodded to himself, muttered something, and then went on.
“The whole report of alien contact is bizarre but carefully detailed nonsense. They've gone to a lot of trouble in some ways to try to be convincing, but in others they've made elementary mistakes. Mistakes in science so obvious they look deliberate. Why? Maybe one crew member has got control of the others.”
“I don't see what that's got to do with me. I'm not a medical man. Or a Psychist. You know what I am.”
“We've got medical men working on it too. But a stronger possibility is criminal conspiracy: Someone may stand to make a financial gain from this.”
“But a criminal could only be rewarded on Earth — or in the Belt. Why commit a crime light-years beyond any reward? Besides, surely being crew on a colony ship… It just about guarantees a good life at the end of the trip.”
“That may be taking a bit for granted. Colonies haven't always gone as planned. And being beyond reward means being beyond prosecution as well. But I won't speculate on possible Belt motives. You can think of some yourself. And even on Earth, family could be rewarded.”
We didn't like families very much. But, thinking it over in silence for a moment, another question came to me that seemed rather obvious.
“If it's a hoax, then, at the bottom line, does it matter? I mean, it's a long way away, isn't it?”
“You know the sort of money that's involved in colonization,” he said. Then he continued. “No, on second thoughts you probably don't know. But think of this: What if it comes to be believed that long space flights send crews crazy, light-years from treatment?”
“Not so good.”
“Another thing: A colony founded by criminals — or military fants — well, that's an entire world we're dealing with. Think about it.”
I thought. It didn't take much thought to feel a chill at the long-term implications.
“Maybe that's a worst-case scenario,” he went on, “but anything that might affect space colonization matters, given the type of money we're dealing with. A colony ship is never a good investment, Karl. It's money and resources thrown away, at least from the point of view of a lot of political lobbyists. It's never easy to… persuade… a politician to take the long-term view. One more negative factor at any time could tip the balance against the whole program.
“There's another thing, too: the obvious ARM thing. We don't like anything we don't understand. We can't afford it. One thing is sure: This business had its origins on Earth or in the Belt and we want to know why and where.
“It doesn't look like a simple practical joke. And the whole thing is detailed enough to make me believe it's not going to stop there. I think this was set up on Earth before they took off. There was once a practice called blockbusting. Have you heard of it?”
“No.”
“It was marginally legal for a long time, or at least illegality was difficult to prove. A joker wanted to buy real estate. He spread rumors of nasty diseases in the neighborhood, even paid nasty neighbors to move in, perhaps spread stories of nasty developments in area planning. Property values fell, he bought the property for less than its real value.
“For obvious reasons, that hasn't happened for a long time on any major scale, but this may be blockbusting brought up to date. The rumor gets out that space travel of more than a few light-years sends people crazy. Shares in all space and colonizing industries fall. Some smart guy buys them up, then—”