by Kit Pedler
Buchan drew on his pipe. ‘You’re assuming you’ve taken over the whole works already. Ye’ve no right to be in that chair while your nomination is being decided.’
Wright hesitated and looked at Anne. Anne nodded at him: ‘Perhaps I’d better take the chair now Dr Wright.’
They changed seats. Anne glanced round at Macdonald, the lawyer, at the end of the table: ‘Can we be advised Mr Macdonald? Is Dr Gerrard’s short length of time as a member a factor here?’
Macdonald shook his head decisively: ‘Not that I can see.’
‘Then can we proceed with the nominations?’
Wright started to speak, Scanlon restrained him.
‘Is there a seconder to Dr Gerrard’s nomination?’ Anne looked around the table. Finally Macdonald spoke:
‘Yes, I should like to second Dr Gerrard.’
Wright looked inquiringly at him but the lawyer was looking down at his papers.
‘Anyone else?’ said Anne. There was a long silence. ‘Right then, we’ll proceed with the voting. I don’t think we need any more than a show of hands here. Those for Dr Wright’s nomination please raise your hand.’
Scanlon and Sir Harvey raised their hands. ‘Two,’ said Anne.
‘Those for Dr Gerrard.’
Buchan and Macdonald raised their hands. Gerrard’s mind was in a turmoil, hardly knowing the reason behind this sudden shift of fortune – still uncertain and suspicious of the motives of the other two.
Anne looked down at the accountant, ‘Mr Marks?’
‘I attend this board purely in an advisory capacity, I have no voting rights.’ Marks’s relief at being left out of the situation was apparent. The tension was affecting everyone.
‘Two for each candidate,’ said Anne. ‘Then it seems I must exercise the casting vote.’
Wright looked gratefully at her. A man of limited empathy, this sudden opposition to what he considered a rubber stamp procedure had thrown him off his stride.
‘Yes,’ said Anne. She carefully took her dark glasses off and folded them. Damn you, thought Gerrard, you’re really enjoying your little moment. Get on with it.
‘After all we’ve heard here this afternoon, I feel that I must support the application of Dr Gerrard.’
In the silence which followed, Wright shook his head slightly as if he couldn’t trust his ears. Gerrard sat stunned. Then Wright found his voice and rose to his feet:
‘I can’t believe it … I can’t accept this … for God’s sake why?’
Anne turned her head away from his gaze. All Wright’s reserve had gone; he was almost in tears.
‘Because I have an entirely different concept of the management of this Consultancy from yours.’
‘But in what way? I just don’t understand …’ Wright was shouting.
‘My husband ran this Consultancy as an autocracy. That was all right for him. He was … Arnold Kramer, He founded it. But it had crippling disadvantages and I feel that Dr Gerrard outlined the problem very well. We’re just not doing what we set out to do. Our ideals have …’
‘Ideals!’
‘Yes, that’s right. We had them at one time.’
‘I cannot accept this … nor can I work with’ – Wright pointed a shaking finger at Gerrard – ‘that man. I warn you Mrs Kramer you force me to resign and as you well know the patents for Aminostyrene and Degron go with me.’
Anne turned to face him. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly.
Wright faltered: ‘You’re prepared to see them go?’
‘I want them to go. They caused the death of my husband and nearly killed Dr Gerrard and myself and they have brought us nothing but discredit. I’d like to wipe the slate clean and start again.’
‘Well said.’ Buchan stared straight at Wright.
‘But the financial support for the company comes almost entirely from these products.’ Scanlon leaned forward anxiously.
‘Not so,’ Buchan continued, ‘The Degron licences are in fact in the name of the Group, not yours Wright.’
Wright pushed back his chair: ‘I’d be interested to know what Sir Harvey has to say about this.’
Sir Harvey shrugged his shoulders: ‘Mrs Kramer is the majority shareholder, ultimately the decision is hers. My main brief here is to ensure the continuance of the yield from our investment.’
‘Then it is quite clear that I must go.’ Wright rose to his feet and looked across at Scanlon. But Scanlon was avoiding his gaze, looking intently at Sir Harvey. ‘If you desire any further communication with me it must be through my solicitors.’
Wright turned slowly with all the dignity he could muster, his back straight, his head held stiffly and left the conference room. In that moment Gerrard felt almost sorry for the man. Despite his proud stance, or, perhaps, because of it, Wright suddenly looked old. A broken man.
Anne spoke: ‘You have been nominated Chairman of this company Dr Gerrard. Do you accept?’
There was a pause while he felt the attention of everyone in the room upon him. ‘Well … Yes, I guess I do.’ His acceptance sounded lame, even to him, and he saw a shade of disappointment cross Anne’s face.
Then it really hit him. He was the new boss of Kramers. Everyone was looking to him for a lead. Wright’s departure had shaken them all. He must reassure them, give them a positive line of action to follow.
Anne rose from her chair: ‘Now that we’ve got a new Chairman, I feel out of place sitting here. Would you take over the meeting Dr Gerrard?’
Gerrard nodded, rose and, trying to display a confidence he did not feel, took the chair.
He looked around the table: ‘Gentlemen, this has been a traumatic meeting. I see little purpose in continuing at the present time. I propose therefore to adjourn until next month.’ He looked down at the date indicator on his wrist watch. ‘The 20th to be precise.
‘At that time I shall hope to present to you a suggested plan for the future running of this company. Now, if there is no further business, I propose to close this meeting at’ – he glanced at his watch again – ‘3.30 PM.’
The meeting broke up; Scanlon and Sir Harvey leaving the room in close, urgent consultation. There would be trouble from that source, thought Gerrard. Buchan came up to congratulate him.
‘Ye’ll have your work cut out, ye know that?’
‘I’m sorry about Wright.’
Buchan looked at him a little sardonically: ‘Really, I’m not. A little radical surgery is very healthy.’ He looked after Scanlon who was following Sir Harvey out the door: ‘And I’m not sure the knife went far enough. Still,’ he smiled, ‘sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. I’m away for a wee celebratory meal at Princes. Care to join me?’
Gerrard looked over to where Anne was standing on the other side of the board table talking to Marks and Macdonald.
‘No thanks.’ Buchan followed his gaze. ‘Aye, I see. Well, good luck laddie. I’ve a feeling you’re going to need it.’
Buchan left. Shortly after Marks and then Macdonald came up to congratulate him and assure their support. Betty gathered up the papers and came up to him:
‘Can I go now, sir.’ He noted the change in tone with a certain dry relish.
‘Of course. I’ll see you on Monday.’ Betty left and he was finally alone with Anne. He came to a decision. He had won so much in a few short hours. A good gambler would take advantage of the situation when the luck was running his way.
‘Anne.’ Anne turned. She had been sorting out the pile of papers and probate documents given her by Macdonald.
‘Yes?’ She was still on the other side of the long table. He leant across it.
‘Thank you. I mean that.’
She looked at him coolly: ‘Not at all. I’m protecting my own interests. I merely selected the best man for the job, that’s all.’
‘I’m not sure I can do it by myself.’
‘I’m sure everyone will help you once they’ve learnt to accept the new situation.’
‘That’s not
what I mean’ – he moved around the table towards her – ‘I want your help.’
‘Of course, I’ll do what I can.’ She turned away from him, back to the table.
‘You know what I mean.’
She froze. He was now standing right behind her. She didn’t answer.
‘This is a hell of a job. Perhaps far too big for me. I can’t do it without you. I need you there as a full partner.’
‘A partner! … I rather thought I was already …’
He grabbed her by the arm and swung her round. ‘Don’t fool with me. Maybe it’s a bit early yet. But I want you. I can’t do this job without you.’
There was a pause. She still looked away from him.
‘Please listen. I want this job, OK! But you’re a hell of a lot more important to me. If there is no chance, then forget it, I can’t stay here.’
She did not reply. He slowly released his hold on her arms and walked across the room. He had opened the door when she finally spoke:
‘Luke.’ He turned. ‘You’ll have to give me time.’
He looked back at her. ‘All the time in the world. In fact’ – he glanced at his watch – ‘five minutes. I’m taking you out to dinner.’
She came up to him and raised her lips to his. Their kiss was long and gentle but gave a suggestion of infinite possibilities. With difficulty Gerrard kept his voice from shaking:
‘Let’s go now, shall we?’
She looked up at him, her eyes softened with a trace of tears and said: ‘Be patient with me, Luke.’
As they walked through the overheated foyer of the hotel into the icy winter air it was already dark. The sky overhead was cold and clear, the stars burned brilliantly. They both looked up at the icy panorama.
Mars showed clearly as a pale red spicule of light. Neither of them had ever heard of Conrad’s plain.
It lay two hundred miles to the north of the Martian equator. First discovered in photographs taken on fly-past by an unmanned Mariner probe, its completely featureless surface had made it an ideal landing site for the first of the robot probes to make a soft-landing.
On the plain, a twenty-four hour Martian day was coming to an end. The sun was a small blood-red disc sinking behind the craggy hills around a crater to the east, and violet shadows raced over the rocky sand dunes like giant fingers.
The only sound was the faint whistle of a light chill breeze lifting small flurries of sand briefly into the air. Capping the hills, there was a greyish-white layer of hoar frost and in some of the deeper crevices around the base of the crater there were small patches of strangely shaped lichen.
Overhead, a few wispy clouds drifted slowly across the deep violet bowl of the sky, but no other movement disturbed the still scene. A panorama which had repeated itself year after year and century after century without change.
There were no eyes to register the colours, no ears to listen to the wind. No hands to fashion the rocks. Just the lichen scraping out an existence in the damp rocks.
Although it was unheard, a faint rumble began in the sky overhead. Then the rays of the setting sun picked out a tiny spot of light, moving across the unfamiliar pattern of stars.
Gradually, the distant sound increased in volume and changed to the crackling blast of a rocket motor as Argonaut One descended towards the surface, suspended on a tail of flashing flame.
As it approached, first, light sand kicked up in a boiling cloud, then heavier rocks spun into the air away from the flare of the rocket motor. Finally, the ungainly spider shape settled down on three hydraulic legs which bent and then straightened slowly under the impact. The motor snapped off and the dust cloud slowly drifted away in the wind.
There were crackling sounds as the red-hot nozzle of the rocket motor cooled in the thin air.
Then from the top of the insect-like craft, a servo motor whirred, a small hatch opened and a complex radio antenna unfolded and clicked into an open web-like pattern.
Automatic switching circuits began to activate the maze of intricate electronics in the body of the machine. Slowly the artificially made creature began its work. A small door opened at its base and an extending arm holding a small shovel dug its way into the soft Martian sand and then withdrew its load. Sensors began to measure temperature, wind velocity, radiation levels and oxygen concentration.
Powerful transmitters gathered up the data, coded it into radio-pulses and flung it on its way back to earth; back to the jubilant mission control team at Cape Kennedy.
During the cold of the Martian night, Argonaut steadily built up a radio picture of the ancient planet. As it did so the tightly packed circuits gave out heat.
Heat which gradually stole its way into logic gate M13.
Inside the metal casing of the gate, the frozen spores of Ainslie’s fifty-ninth variant responded to the warmth and began to germinate.
Two hours after sunrise the following morning, Argonaut died abruptly.
Inside its shining body, plastic began to soften …
Copyright
First published in Great Britain in 1971
by Souvenir Press, 43 Great Russell Street, London WC1B 3PD
This ebook edition first published in 2012
All rights reserved © Kit Pedler and Gerry Davis 1971
The right of Kit Pedler and Gerry Davis to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
ISBN 9780285641082