Timothy Zahn - Spinneret

Meredith paused. "You mean that puff of cinnamon smoke was my security clearance or something?"

"Either that or a confirmation signal that you were logged onto the computer. It may be that that tentacle was recording your scent or heartbeat or something."

"That's ridiculous," Meredith snorted. "I can't possibly smell anything like a Spinner."

"Maybe the data's been lost," Nichols suggested. "Maybe the Gorgon's Heads are trying to reestablish it, using you as a prototype."

"But—" Meredith closed his mouth. "Okay, let's put it to a real test, then. That other squad of Gorgon's Heads must be downstairs by now. If they don't give me any trouble, I'll concede you may be right."

He had to walk through the lobby and all the way around the base of the tower, but by the time he started up the stairs again he was convinced.

"I don't believe it," he puffed as he entered the control room. "Damn things acted like a bunch of pet poodles—took a sniff and then ignored me completely." He turned to Barner, motioned him forward. "Let's see if it'll accept you, too, Major."

It did; and in the end all five of them submitted to the Gorgon's Head's olfactory inspection. "I still don't understand it," Barner shook his head as the others cautiously tested their new immunity. "Why should their security system be the only thing that's fallen apart after all this time?"

"And fallen apart in just the right way to help us," Nichols added, gingerly touching one of the Gorgon's Heads' shells. "It could just as easily have decided to keep everyone out of the tower."

"It may not be nearly as providential as you think," Perez said. "You could explain it just as well by a single minor failure plus a breakdown in communications.

Suppose, for instance, that there's supposed to be a lock or independent security scanner elsewhere in the building, and that system's broken down. Now, these Gorgon's Heads find us here; but since the other system shouldn't have let us in if we weren't allowed, we must be allowed. You see? And since the Gorgon's Heads don't have us on their VIP list, they hurry to remedy that gap in their memory."

"Clever idea," Hafner grunted. "But pretty stupid of the things."

Perez shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I've used the same technique myself. Once you're actually inside a restricted place it's not too hard to stay there."

"Well, whatever the reason," Hafner shrugged, "being in the Gorgon's Heads'

good graces will come in handy when the anthropologists get here. I don't suppose they'd like working with snakes looking over their shoulders."

Meredith frowned. "What anthropologists are these?"

"Should I have said linguists? The people who we're going to have to call in to translate all this." He waved over the control boards.

"Probably need computer experts, too," Nichols added. "Also mathematicians, materials specialists—"

"Hold it a second," Meredith cut him off. "Just where do you think we're going to find these people?"

Nichols blinked. "We got Dr. Chang and his group easily enough, didn't we? All we should have to do is send a list back with the next shuttle."

Meredith glanced at Perez, noted the sour look on his face. For obvious reasons, the colonel hadn't exactly advertised news of the Council's ultimatum and Chang's forced departure; it now appeared that no one else had given it much publicity, either. "As it happens, Doctor," he told Nichols, "Dr. Chang is no longer with us.

He left because of a Council resolution barring non-Astrans from Spinneret facilities." He inclined his head toward Perez in a caricature of supplication.

"Unless, of course, the Council would consider scrapping its edict."

Perez flushed; whether in anger or embarrassment Meredith couldn't tell. "The resolution was meant to protect Astra from having its only resource plundered by outsiders and being left then to rot or starve. That danger still exists."

"Aren't you being just a bit melodramatic?" Hafner grunted. "Not to mention living in the nineteenth century? We're not exactly native savages here, you know, who'll just sit around while the Spinneret is taken apart and shipped back to Earth."

"The secrets can still be stolen," Perez pointed out. "Besides, we don't need anyone else. The Ctencri have computer programs that can decipher an unknown language— they translated Earth's major languages in less than a week, I'm told."

"They also had some hundred thousand radio and TV channels as their database,"

Nichols pointed out. "All we've got are a bunch of control switches."

Perez still had a stonewall look on his face, but Meredith could tell he was weakening. "Well … if we kept the investigation team small—and international," he added, glancing at Meredith, "I suppose we could take adequate safeguards."

"Why international?" Barner asked suspiciously. "The U.S. has all the experts we could want."

"Let's not argue about that right now," Meredith interjected.

He didn't want to fight with Perez in front of Hafner and Nichols; the threats he might have to make on this one would best be delivered without witnesses around.

"We'll figure out who to invite after we decide exactly what we need and after the Council decides whether or not to make trouble on the whole issue."

"In that case, maybe we ought to head back," Hafner shrugged. "I'm sure there's more to see around here, but we're not going to hit all of it in the time we've got left."

"Good point." Meredith stepped to the window and gazed out for a moment, scanning the cavern wall and fixing in his mind the direction of their marked exit tunnel. At least two more tunnel openings were visible, one of which ought to lead to the gravity equipment under the volcano cone. A complete mapping of this labyrinth would be an early priority, he decided, followed by a thorough examination of the tower and any other control areas they found. After that …

repair the digging machine he'd found? Maybe. It would be instructive to see what part it was supposed to play in this ballet … and why its contribution hadn't been missed. "Yeah, you're right," he sighed, turning back. "There's too much here for one day. Come on; let's go home."

The first napkin had been easy, but for some reason Carmen had to fold the second one four times before she finally got it right. Setting it down in the center of the plate, she stepped back to survey the result. Terrible, she decided, the perfectionist within her choosing that moment to surface and be offended.

Starburst napkin designs on Army-issue plates. Miss America at the shipyards.

Oh, well. Peter probably won't even notice.

That last, at least, was almost certainly true. Not that Hafner was uncultured; she would hardly enjoy having him around if he were. But the past weeks had been hectic ones for him, and the last four days had topped even that. It'd only been with great difficulty that she'd been able to draw him back to Unie long enough for this dinner.

Which brought up another issue entirely. She'd known Hafner for almost four months now, and while she appreciated him as a friend she had no feelings toward him that could remotely be considered romantic. So why had she missed his company so much while he was out poking around the Dead Sea? For that matter, why had she knocked herself out to make this evening something special? Maybe I've simply forgotten what it's like to have a really good friend, she thought—which was a rather depressing thought all by itself. No doubt about it; I've got to settle down somewhere one of these days.

There was a tap on the door, and she glanced at her watch with mild surprise.

Hafner was seldom very late for appointments, but he usually wasn't this early, either. But no matter; things were adequately ready. Smiling, she opened the door.