Spinneret (13 page)

“What?” Stewart snapped.

“The temp just …
dropped,
Captain; dropped like a stone all the way down to … well, to a few degrees absolute.”

“Superconductor,” Brown murmured, sounding awed.

“That's impossible,” the astro retorted. “The reading was well above superconductor temperatures when it dropped.”

Stewart ordered several more tests run, but each one simply added another mystery to the growing list. A portable wire-tester was hopelessly inadequate for measuring tensile strength—the cable didn't even stretch, let alone break. A standard metal detector gave no reading even a few centimeters away from the cable, but a direct measurement of resistivity showed that, under sufficiently high voltages, the material became a superconductor of electricity. And possibly the oddest discovery of all came when one of the astros accidentally brushed the cable and stuck fast. In attempting to cut him loose, his partner found that the “glue” had somehow penetrated several centimeters
into
the spacesuit fabric, rendering that section nearly as unbreakable as the cable itself. In the end they had to cut a gaping hole around the affected material; leaving the astro to do a decompressed reentry to the shuttle.

“I don't know about you,” Meredith told Stewart when the two astros were back inside, “but I'm ready to call it a day. It's obvious we're not going to find out anything more with the equipment you've got out there. I think we're going to have to bring the cable back here.”

“As in Astran orbit, you mean?”

“As in groundside.”

There was a long pause. “And how, may I ask, do you intend to land two kilometers of heavy cable?” Stewart asked. “Without endangering one of my shuttles, that is?”

Meredith looked at Brown, gestured toward the mike. “We've been studying the problem ever since the cable was discovered,” Brown told the captain. “Given the length and stickiness, I think it would be most reasonable to wrap it around itself, pretzel fashion, and tow it into near orbit. Once there, you could put a remote booster and some parachutes on it and send it on down. There are lots of open areas we could drop it in—north of Wright might be good, since a lot of our heavier equipment is up there.”

“Out of the question,” Stewart said. “We'll tow it back to Astran orbit, but that's where it's going to stay. Bring it down and you'll never see it again under the layer of dirt it'll collect. “

“And then you'll run off and report all of this to the Pentagon, right?” Meredith asked.

“In a few days, yes. Why?—Were you planning to keep it secret?”

“No. But once you're gone, what's to keep someone else—the Rooshrike, perhaps—from towing the cable back
out
of orbit?”

There was another long silence. “Do they know about the cable?” Stewart asked.

“I haven't the foggiest. You want to take that chance?”

“Damn.” Stewart let out an audible breath. “Major Brown, let's hear those numbers you said you'd worked out.”

In the end, with a maximum of difficulty and a minimum of actual damage, they brought the cable down.

I
T WAS. KNOWN COLLOQUIALLY
as the “silent room” because it was the only place in the White House proper that was absolutely guaranteed against all forms of audio, electronic, or laser-scan eavesdropping. Today, President Allerton reflected, it was even more silent than usual. There were none of the normal mutterings or whispered discussions among the assembled advisors, Cabinet officials, and military men; just the soft sounds of pages turning. Generally speaking, their faces made up for the lack of vocal expression.

Allerton gave them plenty of time before clearing his throat. “Well. Comments?”

General Klein got in first with the obvious one. “Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable. Something on Astra
made
this thing?”

National Security Advisor Thomas Morley was staring into space. “I trust you realize, Mr. President, how self-contradictory this report looks. A supersticky metal that doesn't show up on metal detectors? And stronger than graphite-boron sandwich but only four-fifths as dense as water?”

“I assure you, Mr. Morley,” Captain Stewart said quietly, “that I was present while the cable was being tested. I don't understand any of it either, but the numbers
are
accurate.”

“Wasn't implying they weren't,” Morley said. “I was just anticipating what others are going to say when we release this.”

“Why release it at all?” Admiral Hamill rumbled. “It was discovered by American citizens on an American colony—that makes it American property.”

“Except that we're technically running it under a UN mandate,” Allerton reminded him.

Hamill's snort concisely gave his own views on that.

“I think Tom's right, sir,” Secretary of State Joshua Purvis spoke up. “We've complained all along that the UN should be footing more of Astra's bill. Someone's bound to accuse us of making up this cable and this—this planet-sized spinneret for the sole purpose of stirring up interest and funding. And so far there doesn't appear to be any way to bring a section of the cable back here to show.”

“Why do we have to show them anything?” Hamill persisted. “If you think we have to tell the UN, all right; but if they don't want to believe it that's
their
problem. I hope they don't, in fact, because that'll leave us free to send
our
experts out to study the thing.”

On that point, at least, everyone was agreed, and the rest of the meeting was devoted to deciding on the procedure for recruiting the necessary scientists and getting them to Astra as quickly and quietly as possible. Afterward, Allerton put through scrambled phone calls to the British, Japanese, Soviet, and Chinese heads of state, whose reactions combined fascination and thinly veiled disbelief in about the proportions Allerton had expected. And lastly, he made a call to UN Secretary-General Saleh.

Saleh was silent for a long moment after Allerton had finished, his face almost expressionless as his eyes probed Allerton's own. “You would not,” he said at last, “insult me by creating such a ridiculous lie. What are your thoughts about this—did you call it
Spinneret?”

Allerton shrugged. “Nothing I've heard the Ctencri say has even hinted at this type of technology. Particularly the gravity control the Spinneret exhibited—if the Ctencri or anyone else in the area had something like that they ought to at least be using it to launch spaceships.”

“You can surely assume the Rooshrike had no inkling it was on Astra, also,” Saleh ruminated. “Unless they had tried already to locate it and hoped we could do so for them … no. That makes no sense.”

“I agree. Almost certainly this is completely unknown, at least in this part of space. And it's going to drastically change mankind's position in the interstellar trading community.”

Saleh smiled sardonically. “As well as that of the U.S. in
this
community, of course.” The smile faded. “I imagine your mandate will have to be reconsidered.”

“I don't see why,” Allerton said, keeping his voice steady. He'd known the Astran Mandate would quickly be altered—if not scrapped altogether—but had hoped disbelief in the report would slow the process. “We haven't broken any of the conditions of the agreement.”

“Don't act naive. We both understand the politics involved … and how those politics have now changed.”

“Certainly. But if those nations—and groups of nations—who thought Astra was an amusing albatross to hang around our neck think they can vote themselves a large piece of the pie we've discovered, they'd better check the fine print. The mandate can't be changed without Security Council approval, and last I checked we still had a veto there.”

“Legally, of course, you're correct,” Saleh conceded. “But I'll warn you that you'll face a great deal of worldwide public condemnation if you attempt to keep Astra's discoveries for yourself.”

Allerton leaned back in his chair and favored Saleh with a faint smile. “Actually, Mr. Saleh, I think in a case like this I'd be perfectly willing to tell world opinion to go take a walk in hard vacuum. For once the United States is not going to back down from a perfectly legal
and
reasonable position just because someone else doesn't like it.”

Saleh's face was still calm, but there was a glint in his eye. “I understand your feelings, perhaps better than you think. But I warn you against biting off more than you can chew. Remember that all contact with the Ctencri is still by way of the UN, including trade both ways. We have more teeth now than at any time in our history … and I know of quite a few nations that would welcome the opportunity to test those teeth.”

“Well, you tell them to go ahead and try it,” Allerton said. “I think that as of right now we have a few new teeth ourselves. Good-bye, Mr. Saleh; I'll have a copy of this report sent over to you by secure messenger.”

He broke the connection.
I probably shouldn't have told him off like that,
he thought, a bit guiltily. Saleh wasn't so bad, even if he
was
spokesman for the biggest unlanced boil in history. But every time a UN vote went down, he got a thousand irate letters demanding he do something, and up to now he'd always had to choke down the national pride and pretend he was above such petty politics.

And he was damned if it hadn't felt good to let it out at last.

Still. … Activating the phone again, he keyed for the Secretary of State. “Josh, have you gotten anywhere yet with the Ctencri on direct trade?”

“Nowhere at all. They still insist all goods in either direction go through the UN Secretariat. I don't know whether they're pushing for a one-world government or just generally like sticking with their first contact in a new market.”

“Whichever it is, we can't let it continue,” Allerton told him. “Step up the pressure. I want a trade pipeline that's free of UN control as soon as possible.”

“I understand, sir. We'll do our best.”

Saleh's office was also classified a silent room; but unlike that at the White House, his had played host on numerous occasions to Ctencri representatives … and Ctencri surveillance equipment was on a par with the rest of their technology.

The pulse reader went black, and First Trader Sen sat quietly for the moment it took his mind to process the information from visual short-term memory. Unbelievable. Utterly. An unsuspected alien technology—and on Rooshrike Parkh-3, of all unlikely places. An irony of first magnitude … but an equally great opportunity. For once the Ctencri policy of patiently taking new races by the ears and pointing them toward interstellar trade had brought in something more useful than a few paltry
troid-
weights of metals.

Turning to his recorder, the First Trader grunted it on and began outlining his campaign. Other races—the M'zarchs, for obvious example—would, in such a position, probably attempt to gain control of this Spinneret through threats or open violence. The Ctencri weren't incapable of such actions themselves, but experience had showed there were better ways. In this case, it would be a simple matter to inveigle for themselves the position of agent for the Humans, handling the sale and leasing of their new technology for them. Not only would the commissions bring immediate profits, but the simple act of handling all out-system contacts would continue to keep the Humans isolated from the other races and thus increase their dependence on the Ctencri. It was an old, old technique, but surprisingly effective for all that.

So first: all Ctencri contacts and surveillance on Earth would be immediately tightened. The Humans' tangled political system was still murky enough to defy predictive analysis, and pressure might be needed at any of a hundred points on a moment's notice. Second: the home world would be notified. There was a small bit of personal hazard in that, of course—they might decide to replace him with someone else and he would thus lose the chance to see the campaign through to completion. But even if that happened, his name and financial position were still secure. The discovery and project initiation were his, and his percentage of the final profits was fixed. If he were replaced and his successor muffed it, he would be paid out of the bungler's personal holdings.

And third: potential buyers had to know the product existed. A notice, sent free to each of the other races, describing the cable and perhaps a bit about the Spinneret—curious name!—itself. Not too much of the latter, though. If the metal-leeching and gravity-control aspects of the device weren't exaggerated they represented a truly awesome potential, and it would be best not to tempt any of the more violent races overmuch. The delicate political structure of the trading community was bound to shift somewhat with this discovery; the First Trader had no interest whatsoever in bringing the whole thing crashing down. Wartime trading wasn't nearly as profitable as it was often portrayed.

Dialing up a vial of
semarin
—not really the brain stimulator it was reputed to be, but a pleasant scent nonetheless—he took several sniffs and began composing the data release.

It was something of a truism among those who knew them that the M'zarchs never talked when they could be taking direct action instead; but even with such a base line the meeting of the High Command was abnormally short.

“No question,” the Senior Commander declared. “We attack,”

There were grunts of agreement around the tableless room—tableless so that none of the assembled Clan Commanders could secretly draw a weapon. “We will need to penetrate both Rooshrike and Pom territory,” one of the others pointed out.

Another hissed depreciatingly. “It will not take a fleet to annex this world. A quarter-wing could bypass Rooshrike detectors with ease.”