Charles Sheffield - Between the Strokes of Night

“Damn it, if you know that much, you probably know who wrote that review. It was Dickson, whose application for identical research — under worse control conditions — was turned down in favor of mine.”

“Indeed I know it.” Salter Wherry smiled again. “My point is not to goad you. It is to ask you how long it will be, for whatever reason, before you are allowed to resume experiments with human subjects — even, as you say, with eager volunteers.”

Judith clenched her hands together hard. Her face was impassive. Just how much did he know? He was at the very brink of the new research.

“It could be years before such experiments are permitted,” she said at last. “Or it could be forever. Recall that delay is the deadliest form of denial.” He was pressing hard, dominating the meeting, and they both knew it. “And recall Ecclesiastes, that to every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under Heaven. Your time is now, your purpose here on this station. You should seize the opportunity. On PSS-One you will not be bound by the rules that crippled your institute on Earth. Here, you will create the rules.” Judith looked up at him. She had regained her self-control.

“You make all the rules here.”

Salter Wherry smiled, and for a second the sensuous mouth of the younger man reappeared. “You are misinformed. Let us admit there are certain rules that I insist on. All the rest are negotiable. Tell me what experiments you wish to conduct. I will be amazed if I do not agree to all of them. In writing. If this is the case, will you come here?”

He finally came to sit in a chair opposite.

“Perhaps,” she said. “Your offer is more than generous.”

“And if we are realistic, we will agree that things are not going well down on Earth? Very well. I will not press you. But I have one more question. You told Hans Gibbs that this meeting was an absolute essential: if there were no face-to-face encounter, there would be no agreement. Most unusual. He told me your reason, that your own credibility with the people who work for you would be diminished if you did not see me. But you and I know that is nonsensical. Your prestige and reputation carry enough weight with your staff to make a meeting with me neither necessary nor relevant. So. Why did you want to meet me?” Judith paused for a long time before she replied. Her next remark might anger Salter Wherry to the point where all his interest in relocating the Institute might vanish. But she needed to gain some psychological advantage. “I was told that you have certain personal tastes and preferences. That you would never, under any circumstances, deal directly with a woman. And that you had also become hopelessly reclusive. Your sexual habits are not my business, but I could not work for anyone with whom personal contact was denied. I could work with you only if we can meet to discuss problems.”

“Because you need my inputs?” he said at last. “Let us be realistic. In your work, my contribution would be no more than noise and distraction.” “That is not the point. My relationships demand a certain logic, independent of gender and personality. Otherwise they become unworkable.”

He was smiling again. “And you pretend there is logic in your present dealings with the impenetrable U.N. bureaucracy? It is better for your case if I do not pursue that.”

He stood up. “You have my word. If you come here, you will have access to me. But as you grow older you will learn that logic is a luxury we must sometimes forego. Most of the human race struggles along without it. You are undeniably a woman — let me destroy another rumor by saying that I find you to be an attractive woman. I am certainly meeting with you, face to face. So much for idle speculation. When you return to Earth, perhaps you will spread the word that many of the ‘known facts’ about me are simple invention. Though I know it will make no difference to the public’s perceptions.”

He had paused in front of her, his manner clearly indicating that the meeting was over. Judith remained seated.

“You asked me one last question,” she said. “Why did I insist on this meeting? I have given you an answer. Now I think I have the right to one more question, too.”

He nodded. “That is fair.”

“Why did you agree to see me? According to Hans Gibbs, you would certainly refuse. I believe that the narcolepsy problem is important to you — but is it that important? I think not.”

Salter Wherry stooped a little, so that the lined face was directly in front of Judith’s. He looked very old, and very tired. She could sense the sadness in his eyes, far down beneath the fire and iron. When he at last smiled, those eyes looked dreamy.

“You are an extraordinary person. Few people see a second level of purpose, except for themselves and their own objectives. I refuse to lie to you, and I feel sure that your own motives sit deeper than we have reached in this meeting. So you should believe me when I say this: Today, you and your staff would find my other motives difficult to accept. Therefore, I will not offer them. But someday you will know my reasons.”

He paused for a long moment, then added softly: “And now that I have met you, I think that you will approve of them.”

He turned and was heading for the doorway before Judith could frame a reply. The interview with Salter Wherry was over.

Earth has been regarded for centuries as a giant self-regulating machine, absorbing all changes, great and small, and diluting their effects until they become invisible on a global scale. Mankind has taken that stability for granted. Careless of consequences, we have watched as forests were cleared, lakes poisoned, rivers damned and diverted, mountains leveled, whole plains dug out for their mineral and fuel content. And nothing disastrous happened. Earth tolerated the insults, and always she restored the status quo.

Always — until now. Until finally some hidden critical point has been passed. The move away from a steady state is signalled in many ways: by increasing ocean temperatures, by drought and flood, by widespread loss of topsoil, by massive crop failure, and by the collapse of worldwide fishing industries. Many solutions have been proposed. But none of them can even be attempted now. All of them call for some practice of conservation, for the reversing of certain changes. That is impossible. With a world population approaching eight billion, all margin for experiment has long disappeared. As resources grow scarcer, pressure to produce grows and grows. The richest nations practice an increased level of isolationism and caution, the poor ones are at the point of absolute desperation. The materials produced in space are no more than a trickle, where a flood is called for.

I offer naught for your comfort. The world is ready to explode, and I see no way to avoid that explosion. What I offer you is only a chance for some of your children…

“Still at it?” said Jan de Vries. He had activated the videophone connection between the offices. At the sound of his voice Judith Niles put down the slim transcript.

“I’m ready to quit. I don’t think I want to read any more. Did you take a look at this?”

De Vries nodded. “It is not difficult to see why Salter Wherry lacks popularity in the esteemed halls of the United Nations. His recruiting campaign for the space colonies is certainly effective, but he doesn’t paint an encouraging picture of the world’s future. Let us hope that he is wrong.” He moved his index finger along the line of his neat moustache. “The suit is all set. They are ready when you are.”

“Who’ll do it? I left the final screening with Charlene.”

“Wolfgang Gibbs. He’s young, and he’s fit, and we’re agreed that it is not dangerous.”