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Text File
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1986-10-29
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6KB
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181 lines
HOMER NARR2-PD/Ref@5469
"Salt-cycle transports approaching from
the northwest," the computers told
Peter. "Estimated arrival 16 minutes."
"Thank you," Peter said. "Give me Eyesat
visuals."
Abruptly a new image replaced the
flowing alphanumerics.
"What is it?" The shape twisted like
smoke into itself, shaded in grays and
dark blues and deep shadow. Bright
streamers flowed outward. Gradually
Peter could discern a tangible shape, a
sphere coupled with a disk.
"It has been named the Anomaly," the
computer answered.
"Size?"
"Less than one solar diameter."
"Distance?"
"19.643 light years."
"Direction?"
"Vega."
"Vega? Did you say Vega?"
"Yes. Is that significant?"
"I don't know."
"The first transports are landing on the
ice. Estimate landing forces arrival at
McMurdo four hours seventeen minutes."
"Notify the others," Peter said. He made
his way to his living quarters and
looked at all he had accumulated in the
short time he'd been here -- the
clothing, the holo crystals and
datachips, the hand-crafted artworks. In
this brief time, he thought, he'd grown
attached to the place.
The others were already gathered in the
refectory.
"ENC has landed on the ice," he said.
"They'll be here soon. You all know the
strategy; originally we'd be in on it.
Something's come up, though, and we'll
be leaving."
"Driven out?"
"Ah, Shem. Always angry. Yes, we're
being driven out."
"They drive us out of the Northwestern
Alliance. They chase us down here to the
Pole. Where is there left to go?"
Thatcher moved quietly to the front of
the room and whispered something to
Peter, who frowned and shook his head.
"We'd have to go anyhow," he said
distinctly.
Thatcher shrugged. "It's your show," he
said.
"OK. I'll tell them. Listen, there are a
lot more transports coming in than
anticipated. We can't move until they're
all down, and meanwhile troops are
already on their way. We may have more
of a fight than we anticipated. Should
we stay to help, or should we go now, as
Mentor urged? There are no guarantees
we'll find where we're going. There are
no guarantees we'll survive here,
either. Some of us could end up yams, or
worse."
"Go," Larin shouted. "That's what we're
supposed to do. This isn't our fight."
"Like hell it isn't," Rover stood to
shout her down. "We're the reason for
this idiotic invasion. They've been
drumming up hatred for us for years."
"They were doing that before we came
down here. You're talking as if you were
born an Ant. We just got restructured;
did you forget?" Beth-Raine said calmly.
"Of course not." Rover glared at the two
women.
"Besides," Larin put in, "we can't go
back. We have to go on."
"You're damn well right we can't go
back."
Thatcher clapped for silence. "Intercorp
has feared Antarctica for a long time,"
he said. "We offer something intangible,
a notion of freedom or individuality, a
place where things are different. But
most people don't want things different.
Intercorp runs the world pretty well;
there weren't many things you couldn't
have or do elsewhere in the world. You
belong to a very small group, people who
want to pursue a proscribed science. But
perhaps some sciences should be
proscribed. Many people believed in the
last century that atomic energy should
have been proscribed, that it led to
great evil. The psion equations might be
the same. Certainly what you have done
is upsetting."
"What're you saying? We should let them
invade us? We should run away? What are
you saying?" Shem asked.
"I'm saying," Thatcher said quietly,
"that you have to make up your own
minds. We've expected this for years.
Intercorp fears us because we exist;
it's as simple as that. Eventually they
would have come. We're ready for them.
Because of their numbers, some will get
through. But the problem as a whole is
not so great. It truly isn't your fight.
Only stay if it feels right." He sat
down.
"We should be going," Larin insisted.
"We shouldn't be sitting here talking."
"No. We should stay and help," one of
the older women said.
"Isn't our program important?" Larin
insisted. "We're about to find a way to
do what we've been dreaming of doing.
Literally dreaming it!"
"There may not even be a Terminus,"
someone said. "There's a granddaddy
storm out there, too. We should stay."
"Yes. We should stay," someone else
said.
"How many to go?" Peter asked. Eight
raised their hands.
"Stay." Eight again.
They all looked at Peter, who turned to
Thatcher. "Is there a way out if it
looks bad?"
Thatcher smiled. "We'll find one."
"Then we stay. For a while."