With Felicia beside him, Brad stood in the afternoon sunlight, watching the construction robots putting together the prefabricated camp structures that would be their home while the team was on Gamma.
The robots were humanoid in form, although most of them had four arms that could be fitted with humanlike hands, pincerlike claws, or any number of specialized tools. Their faces had two electro-optical eyes, a set of environmental sensors where a human nose would be, and a speaker grille for a mouth. But they reminded Brad of oversized ants, not mechanical humans; tirelessly busy, assembling the single-story buildings with single-minded automated efficiency: living quarters, offices, laboratories, dining hall, communications center. Off to one side stood the beginnings of a garage. No more trudging out to the village on foot, Brad said to himself. I wonder what the Gammans will think of our self-propelled ground cars?
Turning to Felicia, he said, “We can ride out to the village before the sun goes down.”
“But the mission plan doesn’t include visiting the village until our base is finished,” she replied.
Nodding, Brad said, “The robots will finish the base whether we’re here or not. I want to get back to the village, show them that we haven’t forsaken them.”
“You should get Dr. Littlejohn’s approval, then.”
Grasping her wrist, Brad replied, “Okay, let’s go find him.”
Littlejohn was in the room that would be his office; it looked bare, raw, new. But the anthropologist was already at his desk, reporting to Kosoff up in the orbiting starship.
“… construction is proceeding on schedule. We’ll sleep under the new roofs tonight and get down to work tomorrow.”
Standing in the office’s doorway, Felicia and Brad saw Kosoff’s three-dimensional image sitting behind his desk, as usual.
“That’s fine,” said Kosoff. “Everything is on schedule, then.”
“Yes, it is,” said Littlejohn, with a satisfied smile.
Brad held Felicia at the doorway. “Don’t interrupt them,” he whispered.
As if he’d heard Brad’s words, Littlejohn’s eyes flicked to the doorway, then returned their focus to Kosoff. “MacDaniels is here now, Professor. He’s just stepping into my office.”
With Felicia trailing behind him, Brad walked toward Littlejohn’s desk. Once he stepped into Kosoff’s view, the professor said, “I suppose you’re anxious to get back to your villagers.”
“Yes, sir, I am. I’ve been away more than two days now; I don’t want them to think that I’ve abandoned them.”
Unconsciously scratching at his beard, Kosoff said, “You’ve got to stop thinking of yourself as some kind of messiah, Brad.”
Astonished at the idea, Brad blurted, “Messiah? Me?”
“Power corrupts,” Kosoff warned. “Remember that.”
Shaking his head, Brad replied, “All I want to do is to help those people. They need our help—”
“Thanks to your interfering with them.”
Brad held on to his swooping temper. He doesn’t understand, he told himself. He just doesn’t understand.
“Sir, no one can unscramble an egg. We’re down here to help the Gammans survive. That’s what I intend to do.”
Kosoff muttered, “Just remember, you’re the one who scrambled this particular egg in the first place. The responsibility for the aliens’ survival rests on your shoulders.”
Brad pressed his lips together and remained silent. Yet he thought, The responsibility is mine. But will you let me have the authority I need to get the job done?
* * *
Once Littlejohn ended his discussion with Kosoff and cut the connection, Brad told him that he wanted to visit the village before the sun went down.
Glancing at his desktop digital clock display, the anthropologist said, “There’s less than three hours of daylight left.”
“We can make it to the village in fifteen minutes or so in one of the ground cars.”
“We?”
“Felicia and me.”
Littlejohn asked, “Why the rush?”
“As I said to Professor Kosoff, I don’t want them to think I’ve abandoned them.”
Littlejohn fiddled with the implements on his desktop: stylus, notebook, keypad. At last he looked up at Brad and said, “Kosoff won’t like it.”
Brad responded, “He put you in charge of the ground team. You don’t have to ask his permission for every move we make.”
Littlejohn let out an unhappy sigh. But he agreed, “No, I suppose I don’t.”
“Great! Thanks!”
Raising a cautionary finger, Littlejohn asked, “You intend to bring your wife with you?”
“I want to show the Gammans that there are more of us, come to help them.” Besides, he added silently, I want Felicia to see the village.