those numbers into miles, they would have the diameter of the planet. But nobody had told them about the tables the Mathematics section thought might be mass-unit conversion factors. Maybe one of the other tables did the same thing for units of length and distance? If so, and if they could find a reference to Charlie’s height among his papers, the simple process of measuring him would allow them to work out how many Earth meters there were in a Lunarian mile. Since they already had a figure for the planet’s surface gravity, its mass and mean density should follow immediately.
This was all very exciting, but all it proved was that a world had existed. It did not prove that Charlie and the Lunarians originated there. After all, the fact that a man carries a London street map in his pocket doesn’t prove him to be a Londoner. So the work of relating numbers derived from physical measurements of Charlie’s body to the numbers on the maps and in the tables could turn out to be based on a huge fallacy. If the diary came from the world shown on the maps but Charlie came from somewhere else, then the system of measurement deduced from the maps and tables in the diary might be a totally different system from the one used to record his personal characteristics in his papers, since the latter system would be the system used in the somewhere else, not in the world depicted on the maps. It all got very confusing.
Finally, nobody claimed to have proved conclusively that the world on the maps wasn’t Earth. Admittedly it didn’t look like Earth, and attempts to derive the modern distribution of terrestrial continents from the land areas on the maps had met with no success at all. But the planet’s gravity hadn’t been all that much different. Maybe the surface of Earth had undergone far greater changes over the last fifty thousand years than had been previously thought? Furthermore, Danchekker’s arguments still carried a lot of weight, and any theory that discounted them would have an awful lot of explaining to do. But by that time, most of the scientists working on the project had reached a stage where nothing would have surprised them any more, anyway.
'Got your message. Came straight over,' Hunt announced as Lyn Garland ushered him into Caldwell’s office. Caldwell nodded toward one of the chairs opposite his desk, and Hunt sat down. Caldwell glanced at Lyn, who was still standing by the door.
'It’s okay,' he said. She left, closing the door behind her.
Caldwell fixed Hunt with an expressionless stare for a few seconds, at the same time drumming his fingers on the desk. 'You’ve seen a lot of the setup here during the past few months. What do you think of it?'
Hunt shrugged. The answer was obvious.
'I like it. Exciting things happen around here.'
'You like exciting things happening, huh?' The executive director nodded, half to himself. He remained thoughtful for what seemed a long time. 'Well, you’ve only seen part of what goes on. Most people have no idea how big UNSA is these days. All the things you see around here-the labs, the installations, the launch areas-that’s just the backup. Our main business is up front.' He gestured toward the photographs adorning one of the walls. 'We have people right now exploring the Martian deserts, flying probes down through the clouds of Venus, and walking on the moons of Jupiter. In the deep-space units in California, they’re designing ships that will make Vegas and even the Jupiter Mission ships look like paddleboats. Photon-drive robot probes that will make the first jump to the stars-some seven miles long! Think of it-seven miles long!'
Hunt did his best to react in the appropriate manner. The problem was, he wasn’t sure what manner was appropriate. Caldwell never said or did anything without a reason. The reason for this turn of conversation was far from obvious.
'And that’s only the beginning,' Caldwell went on. 'After that, men will follow the robots. Then-who knows? This is the biggest thing the human race has ever embarked on: USA, US Europe, Canada, the Soviets, the Australians- they’re all in on it together. Where does a thing like that go once it starts moving, huh? Where does it stop?'
For the first time since his arrival at Houston, Hunt detected a hint of emotion in the American’s voice. He nodded slowly, though still not comprehending.
'You didn’t drag me here to give me a UNSA commercial,' he said.
'No, I didn’t,' Caldwell agreed. 'I dragged you over because it’s time we had a serious talk. I know enough about you to know how the wheels go round inside your head. You are made out of the same stuff as the guys who are making all the things happen out there.' He sat back in his chair and held Hunt’s gaze with a direct stare. 'I want you to quit messing around at IDCC and come over to us.'
The statement caught Hunt like a right hook.
'What…! To Navcomms!'
'Correct. Let’s not play games. You’re the kind of person we need, and we can give you the things you need. I know I don’t have to make a big speech to explain myself.'
Hunt’s initial surprise lasted perhaps half a second. Already the computer in his head was churning out answers. Caldwell had been building toward this and testing him out for weeks. So, that was why he had moved in Navcomms engineers to take over running the scope. Had the thought been in his mind as long ago as that? Already Hunt had no doubt what the outcome of the interview would be. However, the rules of the game demanded that the set questions be posed and answered before anything final could be pronounced. Instinctively he reached for his cigarette case, but Caldwell preempted him and slid his cigar box across the desk.
'You seem pretty confident you’ve got what I need,' Hunt said as he selected a Havana. 'I’m not sure even I know what that is.'
'Don’t you…? Or is it that you just don’t like talking about it?' Caldwell stopped to light his own cigar. He puffed until satisfied, then continued: 'New Cross to the Journal of the Royal Society, solo. Some achievement.' He made a gesture of approval. 'We like self-starters over here-sorta… traditional. What made you do it?' He didn’t wait for a reply. 'First electronics, then mathematics… after that nuclear physics, later on nucleonics. What’s next, Dr. Hunt? Where do you go from there?' He settled back and exhaled a cloud of smoke while Hunt considered the question.
Hunt raised his eyebrows in mild admiration. 'You seem to have been doing your homework,' he said.
Caldwell didn’t answer directly but asked, simply, 'How was your uncle in Lagos when you visited him on vacation last year? Did he prefer the weather to Worcester, England? Seen much of Mike from Cambridge lately? I doubt it-he joined UNSA; he’s been at Hellas Two on Mars for the last eight months. Want me to go on?'
Hunt was too mature to feel indignant; besides, he liked to see a professional in action. He smiled faintly.
'Ten out of ten.'
At once Caldwell’s mood became deadly serious. He leaned forward and spread his elbows on the desk.
'I’ll tell you where you go from here, Dr. Hunt,' he said. 'Out-out to the stars! We’re on our way to the stars over here! It started when Danchekker’s fish first crawled up out of the mud. The urge that made them do it is the same as the one that’s driven you all your life. You’ve gone inside the atom as far as you can go; there’s only one way left now-out. That’s what UNSA has to offer that you can’t refuse.'
There was nothing Hunt could add. Two futures lay spread out before him: One led back to Metadyne, the other beckoned onwards toward infinity. He was as incapable of choosing the first as his species was of returning to the depths of the sea.
'What’s your side of the deal, then?' he asked after some reflection.
'You mean, what do you have that we need?'
'Yes.'
'We need the way your brain works. You can think sideways. You see problems from different angles that nobody else uses. That’s what I need to bust open this Charlie business. Everybody argues so much because they’re making assumptions that seem obvious but that they shouldn’t be making. It takes a special kind of mind to figure out what’s wrong when things that anybody with common sense can see are true turn out to be not true. I think you’re the guy.'
The compliments made Hunt feel slightly uncomfortable. He decided to move things along. 'What do you have in mind?'
'Well, the guys we have at present are top grade inside their own specialties,' Caldwell replied. 'Don’t get me wrong, these people are good-but I’d like them to concentrate on doing the things they’re best at. However, aside from all that, I need someone with an unspecialized, and therefore impartial, outlook to coordinate the findings of the specialists and integrate them into an overall picture. If you like, I need people like Danchekker to paint the pieces of the puzzle, but I need someone like you to fit the pieces together. You’ve been doing a bit of that, unofficially, for quite a while anyway; I’m saying, ‘Let’s make it official’.'
'How about the organization?' Hunt asked.
