Simon Hawke
Argonaut Affair
PROLOGUE
The creature slept standing up, its head lowered, the upper half of its complex, jointed spine bowed forward. Its breathing was deep and regular. Technicians had attached sensors to various portions of its body and a robot scanner was completing a slow holographing run of the creature's torso. A civilian veterinarian had been called in to consult with the team of army doctors. The atmosphere inside the lab was one of tense, barely restrained excitement. It was the first time anyone had ever seen a real live centaur.
From the waist up, it was an extremely well-muscled man, naked, with long, thick, manelike white hair-pure, albino white. The centaur's skin had an alabaster sheen and the pupils of its eyes were a deep red. From the waist down, it was a snowy Arabian stallion, only with tufted hoofs, like a Percheron's. Its muscles were taut and sleek, exuding a sense of explosive power. Its equine torso was over eighteen hands high, tall for a horse, but above its animal torso was the upper body of a man, a man who dwarfed the people in the laboratory. The arms were huge, the shoulders broad and powerful. The stomach muscles looked like cobblestones. It was an imposing looking creature, yet the most compelling thing about it was its most human feature-its face. It was the bearded face of an ancient, scored by time, yet free of sagging flesh. The features were lined, but firm and sharp, giving the same impression of great age that an old marble statue might convey.
Finn Delaney shook his head slowly in amazement. His black base fatigues looked as if they had been slept in. In fact, he had been asleep when the call came and his thick, dark red hair was still in a state of disarray, but his eyes, bleary with drink from the previous night, had cleared instantly when he beheld the centaur.
'It's grotesque, yet at the same time, beautiful,' said Andre Cross. Unlike Delaney, who had a cavalier disdain for such trifles as reveille, she needed little sleep and was an early riser. By the time first call had blown at six a.m., she had already risen from bed and worked out pumping iron for two hours. Her straw blonde hair was still damp from her shower. She stared with wonder at the centaur. 'I can hardly believe it's real.'
Moses Forrester grunted. 'My sentiments exactly. What's your impression, Dr. Anderson?'
The veterinarian could barely contain himself. 'General, I've never seen anything like it! This is an amazing organism! It has two hearts! One in the human portion of its body and one in the equine half. Both organs are incredibly strong. The performance of its equine heart is superior to a thoroughbred's and its human heart is in better condition than a marathon runner's. I estimate this creature is at least ninety years old, yet despite its age, there is no evidence of cardiovascular degeneration at all, no signs of atherosclerosis, no calcification whatsoever. Its circulation is tremendous.
'It has two sets of lungs, as well,' the vet continued, excitedly. 'The equine lungs are about average for an animal of this size, but its human lungs are at least twice the normal capacity. Both sets of lungs are interconnected by a complex system of sub-bronchials, with valves, no less! The human lungs seem to be the primary respiratory system; the equine lungs apparently act as a sort of turbocharger. The stamina of this creature must be almost boundless. Its digestive system is basically similar to ours, but larger and more complex, with a wider variety of enzymes. The creature is omnivorous, but judging by its stool, its recent diet has been primarily vegetarian. The spinal cord is the most interesting part, however, incredibly complex, with the tensile strength of-'
Forrester cut him off. 'I can well understand your fascination, Dr. Anderson, but what I'm primarily concerned with is the creature's ability to withstand a psychological conditioning procedure. It's imperative that it has no memory of this experience, but I don't want to injure it in any way if I can help it.'
'There's nothing in a psychological conditioning procedure that should cause it any physiological damage,' Anderson said. 'However, I'm not really qualified to venture an opinion on how well its cognitive processes would stand up to such an operation. I'm not a neurosurgeon or a cyberneticist. You'll have to consult with Dr. Hazen.'
'Capt. Hazen?' said Forrester. 'A moment with you, please?'
The officer in charge of the army medical team turned away from the monitor screens and approached Forrester. 'General,' she said, with a curt nod.
'What's your prognosis on the debriefing and conditioning procedure?' Forrester asked.
'I would say it's feasible,' said Dr. Hazen. 'The creature's brain seems normal by our standards, but I can't speak with absolute certainty, because we've obviously never encountered an organism like this before. We haven't had any experience with horses, much less a complex hybrid such as this one, which is why I asked to have Dr. Anderson here to assist. I don't anticipate any major problems, but we're going to proceed cautiously, taking the debriefing and conditioning procedures in very easy stages. We've had good success with the trial debriefing run. The centaur has remained essentially unconscious, yet has answered all questions we put to it.'
'We were able to communicate perfectly through an interpreter,' said Dr. Anderson. 'It speaks classical Greek! General, this creature is intelligent. In a sense, it's even human. We have an unprecedented opportunity here for research that would-'
Forrester cut him off. again. 'I'm sorry, Doctor. This is a top security procedure and I'm afraid you're not authorized to conduct any sort of extensive observation. Besides, it would be pointless. The moment my psych team is through with the centaur, they'll start on you.'
Anderson stared at him. 'You're joking.'
'I'm afraid not, Doctor.'
'You can't possibly be serious!' Anderson said with disbelief. 'This is outrageous! You… you have no right! What you're talking about is a flagrant violation of-'
'I'm less concerned with your civil rights, Doctor, than with security,' said Forrester. 'In the event of a national emergency, the rights of civilians on a military base are governed under the Wartime Emergency Powers Act. Admittedly, I am interpreting them rather loosely. My actions may not be justified in a court of law, but it will prove difficult for you to bring suit against me if you have no memory of the incident.'
Anderson was stunned. 'General, do you realize what you're saying? What you're talking about is a felony offense!'
'Only if I'm caught,' said Forrester. 'I'm sorry, Doctor. I have my responsibilities. You'd probably thank me if you understood the full implications of what's happening here. Fortunately for you, you'll be spared that knowledge. It will enable you to sleep nights. Frankly, I envy you that luxury.'
Creed Steiger had never liked politicians. Politician, he knew, was not the term of proper protocol at the Council of Nations. They preferred to call each other delegates. But they acted just like politicians, he thought, right hands constantly raised to make a point of order, left hands covering their asses, at least when 'proper protocol' didn't go completely by the boards and they started shouting at each other like traders at a commodities exchange. Perhaps delegates was a good term for them after all, thought Steiger. What they did best was delegate responsibility and the commodities they traded in were lives, his own among them. He hadn't cared much for their 'proper protocol' at all, something he had demonstrated in a dramatic manner, by firing three copper-jacketed hollowpoints into the ceiling of their meeting chamber.
The revolver was a 20th century antique, but it was in excellent condition. Steiger had brought it from its time of origin to the 27th century. It was a treasured part of his collection of antique firearms, but it was seldom fired. On this occasion, he had fired it three times into the ceiling of the Council chamber, bringing down a small rain of debris and achieving the desired effect of shocking the members of that august body into silence.
They had asked to see a 'delegation'-how they loved that word! — of historical adjustment specialists, temporal agents. They wanted to hear from the front-line troops, to solicit their views concerning the best way to handle the temporal crisis they were facing. The request had been submitted through the Director General of the Referee Corps to the Deputy Chief of the Temporal Army Command. General Moses Forrester had bumped the request down to his executive officer, Col. Creed Steiger. It was a chance to meet face to face with some of the
