Charles Sheffield - Starfire

“If you want the Earth that you know, Nick, you have to listen to the scientists I’m bringing in. You have to understand what they say, and see if you agree with me that it is correct and important.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re smart — everyone agrees on that, even your enemies.”

“You want me to listen and give you a second opinion?”

“No. I’ve had a second opinion, and a third. My senior Cabinet members were all briefed, and they didn’t buy what they heard. I want some assurance that I’m not off my head.”

“Celine, I’m no scientist.”

“You are more than you pretend to be. You cultivate a simple public image, but it’s bogus. You speak several languages, and you quote romantic poetry in all of them — but only when you think no one is there to record your words.”

“Now you’ve been listening to Auden Travis. Never have an affair with the Vice President. Of course, he wasn’t VP at the time. He was just an aide.” Lopez sighed and shook his head. “What a beauty he was, back when I first met him. That curling brown hair, the sensitive mouth, that lovely straight Greek nose. And eyes to die for.”

“Auden says nice things about you, too.” Celine knew that a second conversation was going on below the surface. She and Nick Lopez were feeling each other out, testing the chemistry. His presence was oddly relaxing. You had to remind yourself constantly that Lopez had a dark side to him. She went on, “The Vice President also confirmed my other impression of you. Publicly you claim suspicion of technology, but actually you respect science and scientists.”

“Let’s say I believe, generally speaking, that scientists know what they don’t know better than most people. But they’re often wrong in what they do know. Or think they do.”

The rain had stopped. The storm was speeding away to the east, and the soaked walkway leading from the car to the white pyramid reflected prismatic colors. Celine glanced back toward the airport. No planes seemed to be taking off or landing.

“Wilmer Oldfield is a scientist, and a good one,” she said.

“I believe you.” Nick was opening the door of the limousine. He had drunk not a single drop of the Calvados, and placed the glass on a shelf in front of the seats. “But I don’t know him.”

“You do, from a long time ago. Wilmer was with me on the Mars expedition.”

“Hm.” Lopez frowned. “Mars expedition.”

“Nick, we’re alone. You don’t have to act dumb for me; I know you remember.”

“Ah.” The head shaking changed to a nod. “Big, balding, sort of sloppy-looking? Sure.”

“What did you think of him?”

The analytical flash in the brown eyes came and went like the departed lightning. “He struck me as lucky in his choice of work. That much uncompromising concentration and focus is dangerous. If he’d picked religion as his business, by now he’d be a saint or a martyr. What became of him?”

“He’s here. At least I hope he’s here. I want you to listen to what he has to say. I need help on this more than I want to admit.” Celine glanced again toward the airport. “Assuming his flight made it on time. It was supposed to land right behind us. But we sneaked in just under the storm.”

“You should have said so. I can easily check.” Lopez left the car door open and queried the telcom set on the arm of his seat. After a few seconds he nodded. “They had a twenty-five-minute hold at the airport because of the storm, but now planes are landing again. I’ll make sure your friend is brought to us at once. We can go inside and wait.” He climbed out of the car, then turned back to Celine as she followed. “What makes you so sure that I’ll be willing to listen?”

“You do. You say you love this world, and you don’t want anything to kill it.”

They set off side by side along the paved rainbow walkway. After a few seconds Lopez gave Celine a wry sideways glance. “I also said I’d hate to leave the world. And you were the one accusing me of multiple agendas.”

The ground floor of the building that they entered seemed even bigger from the inside. It was one huge, open plaza, with a floor of intricate marble mosaics and an inner atrium that became suddenly sunlit as they walked in. Curved escalators, of a design unknown to Celine, wound their sinuous way to higher floors. Nick Lopez nodded at the uniformed men and women who stood around without apparent function on the plaza floor and bowed as he passed. He ushered Celine onto one of the gleaming metal escalators, stood close behind her, and said softly, “I’m not keen on pomp and ritual, but it’s expected for someone in my position. I blame it on the South American tradition. Come down here sometime for Carnaval.”

Celine wondered: If you were the boss, couldn’t you control the amount of bowing and scraping? Then she reflected. She had not been able to stop people fawning and groveling, or installing extra features in her office that she neither needed nor wanted. Why should Nick Lopez be able to do any better?

The office that they came to on the third floor at first suggested that Nick was no different. His name and title were embossed in gold on the outer door. The room beyond was vast and sumptuously furnished. Its floor was covered with a deep-piled Persian rug, and every wall held paintings that looked both genuine and old.

Farther on, however, deep in the interior of the suite, they entered Nick’s private office. There was no name on the door. The furniture was simple, almost spartan, with one terminal, one desk, and two chairs. The four walls held one picture each, three of them watercolors and one a black-and-white photograph. On the desk sat one telcom, with a red, single-purpose handset with no video unit next to it. The set was beeping as Nick ushered Celine into the room.

“Damnation.” Nick walked across and picked up the handset. “I told my people to hold all calls, but this one bypasses the general circuits and comes straight to my office. Excuse me for a moment.”

He spoke into the unit. “Yes? . . . Yes, it’s just the way I told you it would be. It rings only here, in my private office. If I’m not here, no one else will answer. And it makes no recording.”

He paused for a few seconds, then said, “Well, that’s true, if you call and I’m not here, you’ll have no way to get a message to me. But that’s the way we agreed to do it. I hope it’s the same at your end. I don’t want to be making broadcasts when I talk to you. Are you underground or at your other place?”

Lopez shot Celine a quick glance as he spoke the final sentence. She walked across to the wall and made a big show of studying one of the watercolors. She was no artist, but she had seen the picture somewhere before. It was famous — and this looked very like the original.

She moved to the wall on her left and examined the black-and-white picture. The man in it was familiar, though this shot seemed different from any photograph that she had ever seen. Was this maybe Lopez’s brother? The man was young, very tall, big-nosed, grinning, and wearing a Stetson hat.

Behind her, Nick Lopez was saying, “I’ll call you back, and we’ll make sure this is two-way. But I can’t do it now — I have visitors.” He winked at Celine as she turned around, and spoke again into the set. “Well, as a matter of fact, it’s one visitor, if you know what I mean. So this isn’t a good time for you and me to talk . . . Sure. We can do that. Later.”

He dropped the handset back into its cradle. “There. That’s how a man’s reputation gets ruined. Take my advice, Celine, and never put in a scrambled private line.”

“I never will. I don’t believe there is any such thing as an unbreakable ciphered message.”