From his seat at the foot of the table, Brad said, “We have the remains of the eggs that the cats rode in from Beta. That should tell us something.”
“Indeed,” said Kosoff.
Desai suggested, “And maybe a ground team could find evidence of the city or cities that the Gammans spoke of.”
“That’s probably mythology,” said Littlejohn.
“I could ask the Gammans about it,” Brad said. “Maybe they can point us in the right direction.”
Kosoff objected, “The ground team is going to have its hands full, building a new village for the newborn Gammans.”
“Are they going to have to stay through the winter?” Steiner asked.
“No! That’s much too long. We’re scheduled to return back to Earth in slightly less than four years. Their winter lasts ten times that long.”
“So we’ll build their new village and then leave?”
Before anyone else could reply, Brad said, “I think we should introduce them to some of our technology. Help them get through the winter without hibernating, at least.”
Kosoff scowled down the table. “Haven’t we interfered with their way of life enough? We’re not here to—”
Brad interrupted, “We’re here to help these people. We can’t just leave them to face the winter on their own.”
“Not now that you’ve destroyed their way of life,” Kosoff growled.
Littlejohn spread his hands, as if to part the two of them. “You’re both right. It would have been criminal to let the Gammans be killed off. I can understand where Brad felt he had to help them. Now the question is, how much help should we give them?”
“Enough to get through the winter,” Brad said.
Kosoff’s bearded face looked grim. But he asked, “Is that the sense of the group? Do you believe we should help the aliens?”
No one replied. Brad saw that none of them wanted to be the first to answer.
So he said, “Yes. We should help them to survive. Otherwise we’d be killing them.”
Steiner said, “But a new generation will arise. The species will survive.”
“How would you like it if you were forced to kill yourself after you’ve reproduced?” Brad asked.
“That’s what happens naturally,” Steiner said. “We’re genetically programmed to die after we’ve reached sexual maturity.”
“Perhaps so,” said Chang, in her soft, self-effacing tone. “But human females live far beyond menopause.”
“And human males?” someone asked.
“They can father children as long as they live, almost,” Steiner said, sounding resentful.
Felicia spoke up. “Besides, we’ve worked for centuries to prolong our life spans, to avoid death as long as we can, regardless of our reproductive capabilities.”
“But we still die,” said Steiner.
“Not willingly,” Littlejohn retorted.
“Enough!” Kosoff barked. “I want a show of hands. Shall we give the Gammans enough technological help to assure that they will survive their winter?”
Brad shot his hand high in the air. Abbott raised his more slowly, followed by Steiner and Chang. One by one, each of the department heads raised his or her hand. Littlejohn watched them, then finally joined in the consensus.
Kosoff broke into a reluctant smile. “What the hell,” he said reluctantly as he raised his own hand. “Might as well make it unanimous.”
* * *
Noriyoshi Yamagata studied the screen that displayed the results of Brad MacDaniels’s detailed physical examination.
Miss nothing, he told himself as he sat at his desk, peering intently at the readouts. This young man has exposed himself to the environment of an alien planet. Yes, the planet is Earthlike. But it is not Earth.
Biological theory stated that the microscopic alien equivalents of bacteria and viruses would not—could not—attack Earthly cells. They are alien, not adapted to feeding on the cells of terrestrial visitors.
But that is theory, not actual experience, he knew. MacDaniels has lived on that planet’s surface for many days, breathed its air, exposed himself to its native pathogens.
After several hours of intense scrutiny, Yamagata leaned back in his little swivel chair, almost satisfied. Almost. MacDaniels appears to be in excellent health, he saw. A little underweight, but that is to be expected when his food intake was so restricted. There is no evidence of infection, not a trace of alien microbes invading his body, attacking his cells.
Good news, he thought. Yet he felt uneasy. Tomorrow a team of twenty men and women is going down to the surface of that alien world. Will the native biosphere be so benign with them?
Or have I missed something? Something that might kill them all?
All the available evidence pointed against that unhappy result. Still, Yamagata felt uneasy. All the available evidence might not be all the evidence that exists.