“Rather a blow to one’s ego, isn’t it?” Cavendish murmured.
“What hurts most is that it won’t come close enough for us to study in detail.”
“Yes. Pity.”
With a sigh that he hadn’t realized he had in him, Stoner nodded. “No more radio pulses, and our alien visitor is leaving us. Looks like we won’t need Kwajalein after all.”
“Puzzling.”
“Damned frustrating.”
Cavendish paced along the dining room table. “Do you always work this late?”
Leaning back in his chair, Stoner answered, “I was hoping the computer could give us an accurate projection of the alien’s track tonight, so we could get some kind of fix on where it’s heading. But there must be a glitch in the system somewhere. Nothing’s coming through.”
“Perhaps the machine’s gone to sleep?” Cavendish said it with a vague smile.
“It never sleeps.”
“Neither do you, apparently.”
“You’re up kind of late yourself, Professor.”
Cavendish’s smile crumpled. “Yes, quite. You see, sleep is something of a bad show with me. I dream, you know.”
Stoner turned in the heavy dining room chair to follow the old man’s pacing.
But Cavendish changed the subject. “So the thing is actually heading out of the solar system.” He pointed at the silent computer with the stem of his pipe.
“Looks that way.”
“Good. Get rid of it. Godawful nuisance. Something more for the East and West to fight over. Be a blessing if the damned thing would just go away.”
Stoner felt surprised. “But we’ll never find out where it’s from, who sent it, what it’s all about.”
Cavendish shrugged his frail shoulders. “We already know the important part of it, don’t we? We are not alone. It really doesn’t matter who made it or where it’s from or even why it was sent here. The important fact is that we know now, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that there are other intelligences out there, among the stars. We are not alone in the universe.”
“We know it,” Stoner grumbled, “but the rest of the world doesn’t.”
“Oh, everyone will, in time. Don’t be so impatient. The whole world will find out soon enough.”
“Not if Tuttle and Big Mac have their way.”
“They won’t,” Cavendish assured him. “Not for long, at any rate. The news will be out sooner or later.”
Stoner sat back and waited for the old man to say more. But Cavendish merely walked to the window and stood staring out at the tempestuous night, puffing clouds of aromatic blue smoke from his pipe. The wind shrieked out there, and from high above came the trembling whine of a distant jetliner.
With a glance at the strangely quiet computer terminal, Stoner got up and headed for the telephone, in the living room.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he told Cavendish. “I’m going to call the computer center and find out what the hell’s going on with this machine.”
“Good,” said Cavendish. “In the meanwhile, I think I’ll pour myself a brandy. Good night for it.”
“Fine. Make one for me, if you don’t mind.”
“Certainly,” Cavendish said.
Jo sat in the little secretary’s chair at the main input console of the computer. The glareless fluorescent light panels up in the ceiling gave the huge room a sense of timelessness. There were no windows, no way to tell if it was day or night.
Like a Las Vegas gambling casino, Jo told herself. They want your whole attention devoted to the machines, not to any distractions like sunshine or rain.
The clock on the far wall showed it was well past twelve. Jo knew it was midnight, but a nagging part of her mind warned her that she just might have it all wrong, and it could just as easily be bright noon outside the solid walls of the computer complex.
“Hey, I’m going out for coffee.”
Startled, she looked up to see the other graduate student who was working the graveyard shift this week.
“You want any?” He grinned down at her. Pleasant face, young, unlined. He was trying to grow a beard but only a few wisps of blondish hair marred his jawline.
“No, thanks. I brought a lunch.” She glanced at the big shoulder bag resting on the floor near her chair.
“Okay. I’ll be back in ten—fifteen minutes. Don’t open the door for anybody; I’ve got my key.” He dangled the key from its ring. “Too many freaks out there this time of night to take any chances.”
“I’ll be all right,” Jo said.
“Okay.”
He pranced off, whistling off-key to himself.
Once he closed the heavy steel door behind him, Jo rose to her feet, stretched her cramped legs and arms and started some deep knee bends. The only sounds in the room were the sixty-cycle hum of the lights, the deeper rumble of the computer’s main core and her own rhythmic breathing.
The computer was working on something, a problem that was soaking up a large part of its capacity. It had been humming and blinking to itself without a single line of printout ever since Jo had shown up for her shift, nearly an hour ago.
Maybe it’s working on a problem for Keith, she thought as she bent down to sit on her heels. The corners of her lips tugged down. More than two weeks now and he hasn’t called, hasn’t even sent a message through Dr. Thompson or any of the other people who go up to the house.
He just doesn’t care, Jo realized. He doesn’t give a damn about me. I was just a convenient lay for him.
The phone rang.
Grunting, she got to her feet and went over to the handset built into the console, next to one of its keyboards.
“Computer center,” she said into the phone.
“This is Dr. Stoner,” Keith’s voice replied. He sounded slightly annoyed. “Who am I speaking to?”
“Keith…” She tried to mask the sudden breathlessness of her voice, tried to tell herself it was from the exertion of the exercises.
“Jo? Is that you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re working at the computer center now?”
She nodded, then realized how foolish it was. “Yes. That’s what they’ve got me doing now. I’m on the swing shift this week.”
“How are you?”
“I’m…” she hesitated, put her thoughts in order. “I’m all right, Keith. And you?”
“About the same.” His voice became guarded, too. “Not much we can say over the phone, is there?”
“No. I suppose the security regulations…”
“Yeah, I know.”
Suddenly there was nothing she could say.
After a moment’s silence, he asked, “How’s Big Mac treating you?”
A flash of electricity went through her. Does he know? she wondered.
“I heard from Jeff Thompson that he’s written a letter to NASA for you.”
She could feel the cold anger in his words. Just as coldly, she replied, “That’s right, Keith. He has.”
“Good for you,” he said acidly. “You’re a girl who knows what she wants. I hope you get it.”
You ignorant fool! she wanted to scream. You think I’m doing this for myself?
But she answered aloud, “I’m all right, Keith.”
“I’ll bet you are.”
“Why did you call?” she asked woodenly.
She heard him pull in a deep breath before he replied, “I punched in a trajectory problem a couple of hours ago and my terminal’s been dead silent ever since. What’s going on down there? The problem shouldn’t take that long for the computer to work out.”
“The machine’s been running ever since I came on shift,” she said. “Some of those special trajectory problems of yours have built-in subroutines that take a lot of time.”