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a lean, swarthy face and wispy black hair, wearing a yellow bandana. He looked sheepish, apprehensive,
yet at the same time visibly amazed. "How did you know?"
"I think I'm the one with the prerogative to be doing the asking," Kieran said pleasantly. "But first, how
about a name, since you already know mine? Then let's have it from the beginning. Some people showed
up at Alazahad's, asking about a man with a dog. . . ."
And so the story came out. Kieran had no doubt that Heaven was sending him an opportunity in his
own way, he sometimes believed in guiding higher powers too. His mind went back to the glimmerings of
an idea that had begun to form about how Gilder, despite all his convictions or maybe because of
them might prove the weak spot. "Okay, Solomon," he said when Leppo had finished, "I always
admire a straight confession. But absolution will cost you more than three Hail Marys."
"What?" Leppo asked guardedly.
"You know those Aerobot 6-Cs? Mahom has a couple of them in that arsenal of his out back."
"Sure." Aerobots were a type of small flying drone, used for miscellaneous errands and deliveries all
over Mars.
"I've got a small list of items from the store that I could use out here. Square things with Mahom, and
then I'd like you to send them out right away. I'll get back to you shortly with an approach path and
landing code. Would you do that?" Kieran's expression and tone conveyed that if Leppo did the sensible
thing, he could find he had a strong and valuable friend for life just as Mahom had. But he really didn't
want this person as a foe.
Leppo swallowed visibly and nodded. "Sure," he said. "What do you need?"
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After he had finished talking to Leppo, Kieran went back to the inflatable-frame cabin, where he set
Harry Quong the task of downloading available plans for construction and standard communications
equipment of the Mule general purpose, low altitude, medium-haul transporter. By then it was late in the
afternoon. While the others took a break from their debating to move around, some going outside to
stretch cramped limbs, he sprawled out with a pen and note pad in an easy chair in the corner of the
messroom and lost himself in thought, intermittently adding to a growing web of jottings and doodles
copiously sprinkled with arrows, query marks, and exclamation points. Almost an hour later, he chewed
on his pen and stared at a summary account of his labors in the form of the lines:
Replete with empire, fame, and wealth,
Hamilton frets for mind and health.
Seeking after higher things,
That guide the fates of priests and kings.
Would such a soul fear ancient powers,
Locked in pyramids and towers?
Then he got up, poured himself a mug of coffee, and went over to where Dennis Curry was sitting with
Jean at the end of the long table.
"Hi, guys."
"Well, it's nice to see you're among us again," Dennis said. "You looked as if you were composing your
life's memoirs or something."
"Just collecting thoughts." Kieran pulled up a chair and sat down opposite them. "About that nano work
of Pierre's that we mentioned this morning."
"What about it?"
"I assume that these remote-programmable protein synthesizers can self-assemble in any cell of the
body. If they're taken in through ingestion or respiration, there's no way they can discriminate."
"That's my understanding," Dennis agreed.
"Yet you couldn't have them switching on in every cell in the body when they get a signal. It would be
too crude. You'd swamp the system. There would have to be a way of selecting which cells you want
activated."
"Correct. There's some way they react to enzyme activity and know which kind of cell they're in. So part
of the signal instructs which cells to activate." Dennis looked at Jean. "Wasn't that how it worked?"
"Something like that. I'm not sure I remember the details. We'd have to ask Pierre."
"Why are you interested?" Dennis asked Kieran.
But Kieran was still too absorbed in his line of thought to reply directly. "So you could instruct them to
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start making some specific kind of protein only in a certain, specified kind of target cell? Harmless
colored protein a pigment?"
"Well . . . yes. That's the idea," Dennis said.
"How close are you two to Pierre?" Kieran asked them. "Harry said Jean knows him from years back."
"That's right," Jean said. "Back on Earth. We were in the same bunch of students who hung around
together, went on hikes, camping trips, tours abroad, things like that the things kids do." She sent
Dennis a mystified look.
"Do you think he'd let you have access to this technology?" Kieran asked. "Maybe to help test it out in
an impromptu field trial?"
Jean frowned. Dennis looked askance. "Well, wait a minute," he cautioned. "I don't know about that. As
far as I know, it's still a nonpublicized piece of private research. . . ."
"It's not even his to decide about," Jean said. "What are you asking him to do, steal it?" She shook her
head. "Why should he do a thing like that?"
"What was his interest in your work here?" Kieran asked, trying another angle. "Was he on board just as
the medic? I get the feeling his involvement went deeper than that."
"That's true," Jean agreed. "Earth's early history and the mysteries of the Technolithics had always been
one of his passions. When we told him about the expedition, he was wild to get a place on it. We talked
to Hamil. Hamil said that if we recommended Pierre it was good enough for him, and arranged for Pierre
to travel out from Lowell with Walter. Pierre was devastated when he had to call it off even more so
now he's heard what we're finding here."
"He knows about it all, then?" Kieran said.
"Yes, we kept him informed," Dennis confirmed. "As we've said, we're good friends. There was no
reason not to."
"So he'd be pretty upset to learn that the whole thing might be over."
"Devastated," Jean said again.
Kieran gave them a moment to reconsider what he had said earlier. "Then why don't we give him a
chance to help save it?" he suggested.
Dennis and Jean exchanged looks that were puzzled but at the same time interested. "I'm not sure I
follow," Dennis said.
"Pierre is in Lowell now, yes?" Kieran said. "I want us to call him, and for you to introduce me so I can
ask him a few more questions about this work of his. Then, if it's what it sounds like it could be, I'd like
to offer that we try a sample out for him . . . but leave that part to me." Kieran rose to his feet, as if what
he was proposing were as natural and everyday as calling a friend to set up lunch. "Let's go through to
the Jug and call him from there. It'll be more private."
* * *
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The face staring back from the screen in the Juggernaut's center compartment was in its thirties, boyish
but stubble-chinned, with intense dark eyes and a mop of black hair that hung in a curlicue over the
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