that?”
“How much wider is it?”
“Over one third.”
“Do they have a military routine comparable to yours?”
“We have made no assumptions about the nature of their military routine.”
Revutev Mavarka stared at the display. Would the attackers be easier to defeat if they were spread out? Would they be more vulnerable if they were compacted into a tight mass? There must be some optimum combination of width and density. Could he be certain Betzino-Resdell’s military routine had made the right calculation?
How much secret help had Trans Cultural received?
“One member of our community still wants to know why you think we should place a higher priority on the antenna,” Betzino-Resdell said. “She insists that we ask you again.”
The first white markers had leaped into the ditch. Paws were churning under the water. Betzino-Resdell’s defenders were spreading out behind the hedge, to cover the extra width of the assault.
Transmit this message to your home planet at once. The Message you will receive from our civilization is a dangerous trap. It contains the combined knowledge of twenty-three civilizations, translated into the languages you have given us. It will give you untold wealth, life without death, an eternity of comfort and ease. But that is only the promise. It will throw your entire civilization into turmoil when you try to absorb its gifts. You may never recover. The elimination of death is particularly dangerous. The Message is not a friendly act. We are sending it to you for the same reason it was sent to us. To protect ourselves. To defend ourselves against the disruption you will cause if we remain in contact.
It was a deliberately short preliminary alarm. They would have the whole text in their storage banks half an eyeblink after he subvocalized the code that would activate transmission. A longer follow-up, with visual details of the Turbulence, would take two more blinks.
The initiation code consisted of two short numbers and three unrelated words from three different extinct languages—a combination he couldn’t possibly confuse with anything else he might utter.
Would they believe it? Would the people who received it on the human world dismiss it because it came from a vehicle that had been assembled by a group of individuals who were probably just as marginal and unrepresentative as the eccentric who sent the warning?
Some of them might dismiss it. Some of them might believe it. Did it matter? Something unpredictable would be added to the situation—something the Integrators and Varosa Uman would have to face knowing they were taking risks and struggling with unknowns no matter what they did.
The animals in the front line of the assault force had reached the hedge. White markers covered a section of the ditch from side to side. Teeth were biting into poisoned stems.
The hedge wavered. The section in front of the assault force shook as if it had been pummeled by a sudden wind. A wall of dust rose into the air.
Varosa Uman would have given Mansita Jano an immediate burst of praise if she could have admitted she knew he was responsible. She had understood what he’d done as soon as she realized the hedge was sinking into the ground.
There would be no evidence they had helped Trans Cultural. Some individuals might suspect it but the official story would be believable enough. Trans Cultural had somehow managed to undermine the ground under the hedge. An explosion had collapsed the mine at the best possible time and the defenders were being taken by surprise.
The assault force still had to cross the ruins of the hedge but they had apparently prepared a tactic. The front rank died and the next rank clambered over them. Line by line, body by body, the animals extended a carpet over the gap. Most of them would make it across. Betzino-Resdell’s defenders would be outnumbered.
Trans Cultural couldn’t have dug the mine. They didn’t have the resources to dig the mine while they were preparing the attack. Revutev Mavarka could prove it. But would anyone believe him?
The first white markers had crossed the ditch. The front ranks were ripping at each other with teeth and claws. Flyers struggled in the dust above the collapse.
White markers began to penetrate the copper masses. The mobile reserve retreated toward the installations that housed Betzino-Resdell’s primary processing units.
A white column emerged from the hedge on the right end of the line—the end closest to the antenna. It turned toward the antenna and started gathering speed.
“Defend the antenna. You must defend the antenna.”
“What are you hiding from us? You must give us more information. What is happening? Trans Cultural couldn’t have dug that mine. They didn’t have the resources.”
Revutev Mavarka stared at the white markers scurrying toward the antenna. Could Betzino-Resdell’s mobile reserve get there in time if they responded to his pleas? Would it make any difference?
The antenna was doomed. The best defense they could put up would buy him, at best, a finite, slightly longer interval of indecision.
Two numbers.
Three words.
Blip.
“You must destroy the antenna,” Mansita Jano said. “He’s given you all the excuse you need.”
Varosa Uman had already given the order. She had placed a missile on standby when Trans Cultural had launched its attack. Revutev Mavarka had committed the unforgivable act. She could take any action she deemed necessary.
The missile rose out of an installation she had planted on an island in the lake. Police advanced on Revutev Mavarka’s apartment. The image on his display stage disappeared. Jammers and switches cut every link that connected him to the outside world.
Three of the Betzino-Resdell programs voted to transmit Donald’s message at once. Ivan argued for transmission on impeccable military grounds. Donald had told them they should defend the antenna. He had obviously given them the message because he believed the antenna was about to be destroyed. They must assume, therefore, that the antenna was about to be destroyed. They could evaluate the message later.
Betzino raised objections. Could they trust Donald? Did they have enough information?
They argued for 11.7 seconds. At 11.8 seconds they transmitted the message to their backup transmission route. At 11.9 seconds, Varosa Uman’s missile shattered the surface of the antenna and melted most of the metal veneer.
Varosa Uman had been searching for the alternate transmission route ever since Revutev Mavarka had told Betzino-Resdell it should create it. It couldn’t be hidden forever. It had to include a second antenna and the antenna had to be located along the track the orbiter traced across the surface of the planet.
But it wouldn’t expose itself until it was activated. It could lie dormant until the moment it transmitted. It could store a small amount of energy and expend it in a single pulse.
“Neutralize their orbiter,” Mansita Jano said. “Isolate it.”
Varosa Uman checked the track of the Betzino-Resdell orbiter. It had completed over half its orbit.
“And what happens when we give Trans Cultural the Message?” Varosa Uman asked. “After we’ve committed an overtly hostile act?”
“You’ve already committed an overtly hostile act. Trans Cultural knows my emissary had some kind of covert official support. Why are you hesitating, Overseer? What is your problem?”
Machines might be unimaginative but they were thorough. Ivan had designed the backup transmission route and he had built in all the redundancy he could squeeze out of the resources his colleagues had given him. Three high speed, low visibility airborne devices set off in three different directions as soon as they received the final message from the base. One stopped twelve kilometers from its starting point and relayed the message to a
