James Hogan - Entoverse

Caldwell paused a shade longer than would have been natural before speaking-just enough to impart more currency into his question than its face value. “What do you think we should do?”

Properly speaking, there should have been no question. By all the formal rules and demarcation lines, it was none of Advanced Sciences’ business. Hunt knew that, Caldwell knew that, and both of them knew that Garuth did, too. The department had close working relationships with plenty of influential figures in both political hemispheres, and all that the situation called for was a friendly word to refer the matter to them.

But as Hunt wasn’t saying and Caldwell understood, there was more to it in reality. This was old friends appealing for help, and it couldn’t be let go at that. The first encounter with Garuth and the Ganymeans at Jupiter had been, strictly speaking, a “political” problem, too; yet the UNSA scientists on the spot had achieved a common understanding without complications while the professional diplomats on Earth were still conferring about protocols and arguing over rivalries of precedence. That was why Hunt had raised the matter in the way he had. Caldwell was very good at interpreting his terms of authority creatively. Properly speaking, even before the Ganymeans appeared, getting involved with the Lunarian mystery when it had first surfaced should not have been any of Navcomms’s business, either.

Hunt rubbed his chin and adopted an expression appropriate to weighing up a matter of considerable gravity. “You know, there could be a lot at stake here, Gregg… when you think about it. Our whole future relationship with what’s shown itself to be an erratic and temperamental alien culture. Even with the best of intentions, the wrong people could get things into a big mess.”

“I think so, too,” Caldwell agreed, nodding solemnly.

Hunt shifted in the chair and recrossed his legs the other way. “It’s not a time for taking risks with untried procedures. Tested methods would be safer, even if a little… irregular?”

“It ought to be played safe,” Caldwell affirmed.

“It wouldn’t be violating any precedent. In fact, it would be fully in accordance with the only precedent we’ve got.”

“Exactly.”

Hunt had wondered on and off whether Caldwell’s promotion to Washington might spell the beginnings of a slow ossification into the role of dedicated administrator, and a waning of the dynamism that had helped fling humanity across the Solar System. But as he stared back across the desk, he saw the old light that came with anticipation of a challenge, still there as bright as ever beneath the bushy brows. Hunt dropped the pretense. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

Caldwell’s manner became businesslike. “Garuth says he needs help. So see what you can do to help. Your job is to look into Ganymean science. Well, he’s right in the middle of a whole civilization based on it. You’ll find more there than you will from the scraps we’ve been sent here.”

“There?” Hunt blinked. “You want me to go there-to Jevlen?” Caldwell shrugged.

“That’s where the problem is. You don’t expect Garuth to bring the planet here. The Vishnu will be going back to Thurien before very much longer, with a stop on the way at Jevlen. I’ll get you a slot on board.”

Hunt found himself with his usual feeling of already being left behind in seconds once Caldwell had made a decision. “Washington hasn’t changed you, Gregg,” he said resignedly.

“I know when you’re curious, and I trust your instincts. You’ve never failed to come back with something better than we hoped for, yet. I sent you off to Ganymede to look into some relics of defunct aliens, and you came back with a shipload of live ones. You went up to Alaska to meet a starship, and discovered an interstellar civilization.” Caldwell tossed out a hand. “Okay, I’ll buy in again. I’m curious, too.”

Caldwell wasn’t missing any tricks of his own, either, Hunt realized. Already he had spotted territory for sending out feelers to explore growth potential for his new, embryonic empire. It was the old Gregg, as opportunistic as ever. And Hunt had one of his fuzzily defined, free-ranging assignments again.

“You’d better start giving some thought to who else you might need along,” Caldwell said. He almost managed to sound as if Hunt had been dragging his heels over it.

“Well, Chris Danchekker for a start, I suppose-especially if it’s going to involve alien psychology.”

“I’d already assumed that.”

“And Duncan’s been agitating for a chance to do a spell off-planet. I think he should get it, too. He’s been doing a great job.” Hunt was referring to his assistant, Duncan Watt, who had moved with him from Houston. Duncan always ended up holding the fort whenever Hunt went away.

“Okay.”

“Chris might want to bring one of his people, too.”

“I’ll let you take that up with him,” Caldwell said.

Hunt sat back, rubbing his lower lip with a knuckle and eyeing Caldwell hesitantly. “There, er… there was one other small thing,” he said finally.

“Oh, yes?” Caldwell sounded unsurprised, but in his preoccupation of the moment, Hunt missed it.

“It just occurred to me… There’s a journalist that I happened to run into, who wants to write a book on some of the possible Jevlenese agents in history that people aren’t talking about.”

“Just occurred to you,” Caldwell repeated.

“Well, sort of.” Hunt made a vague circling motion in the air. “Anyhow, this business on Jevlen could provide a lot of valuable background to what happened here. So, if it looks as if we might end up getting involved in the Jevlenese situation, anyway..

“Why not help the journalist out a little at the same time?” Caldwell completed.

“Well, yes. It occurred to me that…“ Hunt’s voice trailed away as he registered finally that Caldwell had not shown any sign that anything Hunt was saying was especially new. His manner became suspicious as an old, familiar feeling asserted itself. “Gregg, you’re up to something. I can smell it. What’s going on? Come on, give.”

“Unusual kind of journalist, was it?” Caldwell asked nonchalantly. “From Seattle, maybe? Stimulating outlook: not programmed with the canned opinions that you seem to find in most people you meet these days. Quite attractive, too, if I remember.” He grinned at the look on Hunt’s face. Then his manner became more brisk, and he nodded. “She contacted me a little while back, and came here a few days ago.”

Hunt got over his surprise and studied Caldwell with a frown. Gina, going straight to the top in what Hunt had already seen to be her direct, forthright fashion, had gotten in touch with Caldwell to ask if UNSA could help her with the book. And as Hunt thought it through, he could see why that might have posed problems. He knew from his own experience how many major publishers, TV companies, top-line writers, and others were wining and dining, wheeling and wheedling with UNSA’s top executives to try and get a corner on the Jevlen story from the “inside.” In that kind of climate it would have caused endless complications and ructions for UNSA to be seen as giving official backing to a relatively unheard-of free-lancer, and Caldwell was enough of a politician to stay out of it. But he could safely, if he chose to, turn a blind eye to something that Hunt chose to involve himself with privately.

But Gina had made no mention of having been referred to Hunt. That meant that she had let him make his own choice in the matter freely, without mentioning Caldwell’s name, which would have carried the implication that Hunt was being prodded from above. She would have let the project go rather than resort to high-pressure tactics. Not many people would have done that. He felt relieved now that he had brought the matter back to Caldwell instead of burying it.