Charles Sheffield - Between the Strokes of Night

Hans Gibbs pushed his half-full plate away from him.

“I know there’s a desperate food shortage around most of the world, and it’s a sin not to clear your dish. But neither one of us seems to be eating much. Can we continue this conversation back in your office?”

It was early evening before Judith Niles picked up the phone and asked Jan de Vries to join her in her office. While she waited for him she stood by the window, staring out across the garden that flanked the south side of the Institute. The lawns were increasingly unkempt, with the flower beds near the old brick wall showing patches of weeds.

“Midnight oil again? Where’s your dinner date, Judith?” said a voice behind her. She started. De Vries had entered the open office door without knocking, quiet as a cat.

She turned. “Close the door, Jan. You won’t believe this, but I did have an offer of dinner. A wild offer, with all the old-fashioned trimmings — he suggested oysters Rockefeller, veal cordon bleu, wine, and the moonlit Avon River. Oysters and wine! My God, you can tell that he’s from way out in space. He honestly believed we’d be able to buy that sort of food, without a contract or a special dispensation. He doesn’t know much about the real situation. One of the scary things about all the government propaganda is that it works so well. He had no idea how bad things are, even here in New Zealand — and we’re the lucky ones. Oysters! Damn it, I’d give my virginity for a dozen oysters. Might as well hope to be served roast beef.”

Her voice was longing, and it carried no trace of the usual authority. She sat down at her desk, eased off her shoes, and lolled back in her chair, lifting her bare feet to rest them on an open desk drawer.

“Far too late for any of that, my dear,” said Jan de Vries. “Roast beef, good wine, oysters — or virginity, for that matter. For most of us they’ve fled with the snows of yesteryear. But I’m just as impressed by the other implications of his offer. Only somebody out of touch with the climate changes and literally out of this world would want to look at that ghastly river — not when it’s eighty-seven degrees and ninety percent humidity.”

He sat down gracefully, reclining on a big armchair. “But you turned down the invitation? Judith, you disappoint me. It sounds like an offer you couldn’t refuse — just to see his expression when he could compare reality with his illusions.”

“I might have taken it if Hans Gibbs hadn’t made me the other offer.” “Indeed?” Jan de Vries touched his lips with a carefully manicured forefinger. “Judith, from one of your strongly heterosexual tastes, those words ring false. I thought you longed for offers like that, attractive beyond all other lures — “ “Stow it, Jan. I’ve no time for games just now. I want the benefit of your brain. You’ve met Salter Wherry, right? How much do you know about him?” “Well, as it happens I know a fair amount. I almost went to work on Salter Station. If you hadn’t lured me here, I’d probably be there now. There’s a certain je ne sais quoi to the notion of working for a aged multibillionaire, especially one whose romantic tastes before he went into seclusion were said to coincide with mine.”

“Does he really own Salter Station? Completely?”

“So it is rumored, my dear. That, and half of everything else you care to mention. I could never discover any evidence to the contrary. Since the charming Mr. Gibbs works for Wherry, and you met with him for many hours this afternoon — don’t think your long cloistering passed unnoticed, Judith — I wonder why you ask me these things. Why didn’t you ask Hans Gibbs your questions about Salter Wherry directly?”

Judith Niles padded back to the window and stared moodily out at the twilight. “I need to do an independent check. It’s important, Jan. I need to know how rich Salter Wherry really is. Is he rich enough to let us do what we need to do?” “According to my own investigations and impressions, he is so rich that the word lacks real meaning. Our budget for next year is a little over eight million, correct? I will check the latest data on him, but even if Salter Wherry is no richer now than he was twenty years ago, this whole institute could be comfortably supported on the interest on Wherry’s petty cash account.” “Maybe that’s his plan.” Judith swung back to face into the room. “Damn it, he certainly timed it well.”

“Money troubles again? Remember, I’ve been away.”

“Bad ones. I’ve had it with our brainless Budget Committee. They want to squeeze us another five percent, and already the place is falling apart around our ears. And we can’t keep some of our experiments and results secret indefinitely, much as I’d like to. Charlene Bloom and Wolfgang Gibbs are stumbling over the same lead that we found. Wherry couldn’t be approaching us at a better time. It could work out perfectly.”

“As I have told you many times, Judith, you are a genius. You can maneuver simple innocents like me around like puppets. But you are not — yet — a manipulator to match Salter Wherry. He is the best in the System, and he can call on seventy years of experience. When you think of your own objectives, and your hidden agenda — which I do not even pretend to be privy to — remember that he undoubtedly has a hidden agenda also, with quite different goals. And if you are a genius, he is an undoubted genius also in finance and organization. And he has a reputation of getting his way.”

De Vries crossed his legs carefully and adjusted the sharp crease on his trousers. “But from the look on your face I suspect I’m digressing. What’s this great offer you want to discuss? Why aren’t you off by the great gray-green greasy Avon River, dining on strawberries and cream to the sound of trumpets — or whatever other delights of dalliance the sadly out-of-touch Mr. Gibbs had in mind?”

Judith Niles rubbed delicately at her left eye, as though it was troubling her. “Hans Gibbs brought me an offer. They’re having problems on Salter Station. Did you know that?”

“I have heard rumors. The insurance rates for Station personnel have been raised an order of magnitude above those for conventional space operations. But I fail to see any connection with the Institute.”

“That’s because you don’t know what the problems are. Jan, the offer I had today was a simple one. Hans Gibbs came here with authority from Salter Wherry. The budget of the Institute will be quadrupled, with guaranteed funding levels for eight years. In addition, the schedule of experiments that we conduct here will be free from all outside control or interference. So will our hardware and software procurement.”

“It sounds like paradise.” De Vries stood up and went to stand next to Judith. “Where’s the worm in the apple? There must be one.”

She smiled at him, and patted his shoulder. “Jan, how did I get along before you joined the Institute? Here’s your worm: to get all the good things that Salter Wherry promises, we must satisfy one condition. The key staff of the Institute must relocate — to Salter Station. And we must do our best to crack a problem that has been ruining the arcology construction projects there.”

“What! Up into orbit. I hope you didn’t agree to it.”

“No, not yet. But I might. I have to go up there and see for myself — Hans Gibbs will make the arrangements this weekend.” As Jan de Vries became more and more doubtful, Judith looked more relaxed.

“And since I’ll be gone, Jan,” she went on, “somebody else has to look at the initial list of key staff members, just in case we decide to do it. I know my own choices for the top people, but I’m not close enough to all the support staff — and we’d need some of them, too. Who are the best ones, and who is willing to go to Salter Station?”