The Infinitive of Go by John Brunner

Author:John Brunner [Brunner, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Del Rey
Published: 1980-02-01T00:00:00+00:00

TWELVE

no sweat a wolf can be tamed

you just imprint him as a cub

bet he’ll remember me—you watch

hi boy I fed you from a bottle

butchrist the hormonal revolution

now dirk the teeth now blade the claw

And abruptly this world was much more like the one Justin remembered.

He and Cinnamon had been whisked to an improvised facility conjured up specifically because what had been posted from orbit was a problem; hence the faulty computer links. Preparations had been made to receive and treat Landini, and they were being adapted on the spur of the moment. Those involved had taken it for granted that nothing could possibly be more important than keeping the alien alive and—given that if it wore a spacesuit it must be intelligent—communicating with it… unless, of course, it were a test animal.

But there were other people, who had taken rather longer to arrive on the scene, whose primary concern was with the Polly—the Permanent Orbital Laboratory —and its crew. The poster terminal was here; the shuttle landing-ground was where it had always been in Justin’s experience, to the north, in desert country; its communications set-up had been doubled to this site in case of a crash which would not only disable the shuttle facility but also wipe irreplaceable computer records. The place to which Cinnamon and Justin were now taken, therefore, was a concrete bunker smelling of stagnant air where a dozen tired-faced men and women were firing up standby equipment and discovering case after case of software rot as they tried to lock into the main circuits.

Also there were an admiral and a man with the indefinable aura of a career civil service officer. Justin wished fervently that Chester—in either of the versions known to him—could be here, but he had been denied permission to accompany them, and was still arguing.

As soon as they were marched in, Cinnamon boiled over.

“What the hell is the point of bringing us here?” she exploded, looking over the rows of consoles, chairs, screens, and keyboards which identified the bunker for what it was. “You could at least have taken us to the faulty poster!”

That was a mistake. Too late Justin tried to interrupt. Almost purring, the admiral advanced.

“You’re Dr. Wright? I’m Admiral Laura Clancy. I’m glad to hear you admit that your poster is at fault.”

Making a gallant recovery, Cinnamon said, “If something goes in one end and something else comes out the other, of course there must be a fault.”

“It seems logical,” murmured the man in plain clothes, advancing towards them. “I’m Geary S. Fowler, in case you’d forgotten. Good to see you both again.”

Justin, in a momentary fit of panic, glanced at Cinnamon, but she was looking as blank as he felt. Fowler came to the rescue.

“We met only once, in Washington, when you came to lobby us along with Mr. Chester in search of funds. I voted for you. You can imagine how embarrassing my situation is right now, I’m sure, or will be next time I attend a meeting of the Appropriations Committee.

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