Giant's Star g-3

by James P. Hogan

  Chapter Eighteen

  Norman Pacey held up his hand in a warning gesture and closed the door to cut off the room from the secretary giving directions to two UNSA privates who were loading boxes onto a cart in the outer office. Janet watched from a chair that she had cleared of a stack of papers and document holders waiting to be packed in preparation for the delegation’s departure from Bruno. "Now start again," he told her, turning away from the door.

  "It was last night, maybe early this morning . . . I’m not sure what time." Janet fiddled awkwardly with a button on her lab coat. "Niels got a call from somebody-I think it was the U.S. European, Daldanier-about something they needed to discuss right away. He started saying something about somebody called Verikoff, it sounded like, but Niels stopped him and said he’d go and talk to him at his place. I pretended I was still asleep. He got dressed and slipped out. . . . kind of creepily, as if he were being careful not to wake me up."

  "Okay," Pacey said with a nod. "Then what?"

  "Well . . . I remembered he’d been looking at some papers earlier when I came in. He put them away in a holder, but I was sure he hadn’t locked it. So I decided to take a chance and see what they were about."

  Pacey clenched his teeth in the effort not to let his feelings show. That was exactly the kind of thing he had told her not to do. But the outcome sounded interesting. "And," he prompted.

  Janet’s face took on a mystified look. "There was a folder among the things inside. It was bright red around the edges and pink inside. What made me notice it was that it had your name on the front."

  Pacey’s brow creased as he listened. What Janet had described sounded like a standard UN-format document wallet that was used for highly confidential memoranda. "Did you look inside it?"

  Janet nodded. "It was weird. . . . the report criticized the way you’d been obstructing the meeting here and stated in a Conclusions section that the delegation would have made more progress if the U.S. had shown a more cooperative attitude. It didn’t sound like you at all, which was why I thought it was weird." Pacey was staring at her speechlessly. Before he could find words to reply, she shook her head as if feeling a need to disclaim responsibility for what she was going to say next. "And there was this part about you and-Karen Heller. It said that you two were . . ."

  Janet hesitated, then raised a hand with her index and second fingers intertwined, ". . . like that, and that such-how was it put?-such ‘blatant and indiscreet conduct was not becoming to a mission of this nature, and possibly had some connection with the counterproductive contribution of the United States to the proceedings’." Janet sat back and shook her head again. "I knew the report simply wasn’t true. . . . And coming from him, well. . ."

  She let the sentence trail away and left it at that.

  Pacey sat down on the edge of a half-filled packing case and stared at her incredulously. A few seconds went by before he found his voice. "You actually saw all this?" he asked at last.

  "Yes. . . . I can’t give you all of it word for word, but that was what it said." She hesitated. "I know it’s crazy, if that helps. . . ."

  "Does Sverenssen know you saw this report?"

  "I don’t see how he could. I put everything back exactly the way it was. I guess I could have got you more of it, but I didn’t know how long he’d be away. As it turned out, he was gone quite a while."

  "That’s okay. You did the right thing not risking it." Pacey stared down at the floor for a while, feeling totally bewildered. Then he looked up again and asked, "How about you? Has he been acting strange now that we’re leaving? Anything . . . ominous, maybe?"

  "You mean sinister warnings to keep my mouth shut about the computer?"

  "Mmm . . . yes, maybe." Pacey looked at her curiously.

  She shook her head and smiled faintly. "Quite the opposite as a matter of fact. He’s been very gentlemanly and said what a shame it is. He even hinted that we could get together again sometime back on Earth-he could fix me up with a job that pays real money, all kinds of interesting people to meet. . . stuff like that."

  A smarter move, Pacey thought to himself. High hopes and treachery had never gone together. "Do you believe him?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  "No."

  Pacey nodded in approval. "You are growing up fast." He looked around the office and massaged his forehead wearily. "I’m going to have to do some thinking now. I’m glad you told me about it. But you’ve got your coat on, which says you probably have to get back to work. Let’s not start upsetting Malliusk again."

  "He’s off today," Janet said. "But you’re right-I do have to get back." She stood up and moved toward the door, then turned back as she was about to open it. "I hope it was okay. I know you said to keep this away from the delegation offices, but it seemed important. And with everybody leaving. . ."

  "Don’t worry about it. It’s okay. I’ll see you again later."

  Janet departed, leaving the door open in response to Pacey’s wave request. Pacey sat for a while and began turning what she had told him over again in his mind, but was interrupted by the UNSA privates coming in to sort out the boxes ready for moving. He decided to go and think about it over a coffee in the common room.

  The only people in the common room when Pacey entered a few minutes later were Sverenssen, Daldanier, and two of the other delegates, who were all together at the bar. They acknowledged his arrival with a few not overfriendly nods of their heads and continued talking among themselves. Pacey collected a coffee from the dispenser on one side of the room and sat down at a table in the far corner, wishing inwardly that he had picked somewhere else. As he studied them surreptitiously over his cup, he listed in his mind the unanswered questions that he had collected concerning the tall, immaculately groomed Swede who was standing in the center of the vassals gathered around him at the bar.

  Perhaps Pacey’s fears about the Shapieron had been misplaced. Could what Janet had overheard have been connected with the communications from Gistar ceasing so abruptly? It had happened suspiciously soon afterward. If so, how could Sverenssen and at least one other member of the delegation have known about it? And how were Sverenssen and Daldanier connected with Verikoff, whom Pacey knew from CIA reports to be a Soviet expert in space communications? If there were some conspiracy between Moscow and an inner clique of the UN, why had Sobroskin cooperated with Pacey? Perhaps that had been part of some even more elaborate ruse. He had been wrong to trust the Russian, he admitted to himself bitterly. He should have used Janet and kept Sobroskin and Malliusk out of it.

  And last of all, what was the motive behind the attempt to character-assassinate him personally, compromise Karen Heller, and misrepresent the role they had played at Bruno? It seemed strange that Sverenssen had expected the plan to work, because the document Janet had described would not be substantiated by the official minutes of all the delegation’s meetings, a copy of which would also be forwarded to UN Headquarters in New York. Furthermore, Sverenssen knew that as well as anybody; and whatever his other faults, he was not naive. Then a sick feeling formed slowly in his stomach as the truth dawned on him-he had no way of being certain that the minutes which he had read and approved, which had recorded the debates verbatim, would be the versions that would go to New York at all. From what Pacey had glimpsed of whatever strange machinations were in progress behind the scenes, anything was possible.

  "In my opinion it would be a good thing if the South Atlantic deal did go to the Americans," Sverenssen was saying at the bar. "After the way the United States almost allowed its nuclear industry to be wrecked just before the turn of the century, it’s hardly surprising that the Soviets gained a virtual monopoly across most of Central Africa. An equalizing of influence in the general area and the stiffening of competition it would produce could only be in the better long-term interests of all concerned." The three heads around him nodded obediently. Sverenssen made a casual throwing-away motion. "After all, in my position I can hardly allow myself to be swayed by mere
national politics. The longer-term advancement of the race as a whole is what is important. That is what I have always stood for and shall continue to stand for."

  After everything else this was too much. Pacey choked down his mouthful of coffee and slammed his cup down hard on the table. The heads at the bar turned toward him in surprise. "Hogwash," he grated across the room at them. "I’ve never heard such garbage."

  Sverenssen frowned his distaste for the outburst. "What do you mean?" he asked coldly. "Kindly explain yourself."

  "You had the biggest opportunity ever for the advancement of the race right in your hand, and you threw it away. That’s what I mean. I’ve never listened to such hypocrisy."

  "I’m afraid I don’t follow you."

  Pacey couldn’t believe it. "Goddammit, I mean this whole farce we’ve been having here!" He heard his voice rising to a shout, knew it was bad, but couldn’t stop himself in his exasperation. "We were talking to Gistar for weeks. We said nothing, and we achieved nothing. What kind of ‘standing for advancement’ is that?"

  "I agree," Sverenssen said, maintaining his calm. "But I find it strangely inappropriate that you should protest in this extraordinary fashion. I would advise you instead to take the matter up with your own government."

  That didn’t make any sense. Pacey shook his head, momentarily confused. "What are you talking about? The U.S. policy was always to get this moving. We wanted a landing from the beginning."

  "Then I can only suggest that your efforts to project that policy have been singularly inept," Sverenssen replied.

  Pacey blinked as if unable to believe that he had really heard it. He looked at the others, but found no sympathy for his predicament on any of their faces. The first cold fingers of realization as to what was going on touched at his spine. He shifted his eyes rapidly across their faces in a silent demand for a response, and caught Daldanier’s gaze in a way that the Frenchman couldn’t evade.

  "Let us say it has been apparent to me that the probability of a more productive dialogue would have been improved considerably were it not for the negative views persistently advanced by the representative of the United States," Daldanier said, avoiding the reference to Pacey by name. He spoke in the reluctant voice of somebody who had been forced to offer a reply he would have preferred left unsaid.

  "Most disappointing," Saraquez, the Brazilian, commented. "I had hoped for better things from the nation that placed the first man on the Moon. Hopefully the dialogue might be resumed one day, and the lost time made good."

  The whole situation was insane. Pacey stared at them dumbfounded. They were all part of the plot. If that were the version that was going to be talked about back on Earth, backed by documentary records, nobody would believe his account of what had happened. Already he wasn’t sure if he believed it himself, and he hadn’t left Bruno yet. His body began shaking uncontrollably as a rising anger took hold. He got up and moved forward around the table to confront Sverenssen directly. "What is this?" he demanded menacingly. "Look, I don’t know who you think you are with the high-and-mighty act and the airs and graces, but you’ve been making me pretty sick ever since I arrived here. Now let’s just forget all that. I want to know what’s going on."

  "I would strongly advise you to refrain from bringing personal issues into this," Sverenssen said, then added pointedly, "especially somebody of your inclination toward the . . . indiscreet. "

  Pacey felt his color rising. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.

  "Oh, come. . ." Sverenssen frowned and looked away for an instant like somebody seeking to avoid a delicate subject. "Surely you can’t expect your affair with your American colleague to have escaped notice completely. Really . . . this kind of thing is embarrassing and uncalled for. I would rather we dropped the matter."

  Pacey stared at him for a moment in frank disbelief, then turned his gaze toward Daldanier. The Frenchman turned to pick up his drink. He looked at Saraquez, who avoided his eyes and said nothing. Finally he turned to Van Geelink, the South African, who had only been listening so far. "It was very unwise," Van Geelink said, almost managing to sound apologetic.

  "Him! " Pacey gestured in Sverenssen’s direction and swept his eyes over the others again, this time offering a challenge. "You let him stand there and spew something like that? Him of all people? You can’t be serious."

  "I’m not sure that I like your tone, Pacey," Sverenssen said. "What are you trying to insinuate?"

  The situation was real. Sverenssen was actually brazening it out. Pacey felt his fist bunch itself against his side but resisted the urge to lash out. "Are you going to try and tell me I dreamed that too?" he whispered. "Malliusk’s assistant-it never happened? Are these puppets of yours going to back you up on that too?"

  Sverenssen made a good job of appearing shocked. "If you are suggesting what I think you are suggesting, I would advise you to retract the remark at once and apologize. I find it not only insulting, but also demeaning to somebody in your position. Pathetic fabrications will not impress anybody here, and are hardly likely to do anything to restore the doubtlessly somewhat tarnished image that you will have made for yourself on Earth. I would have credited you with more intelligence."

  "Bad, very bad." Daldanier shook his head and sipped his drink.

  "Unheard of," Saraquez muttered.

  Van Geelink stared uncomfortably at the floor, but said nothing.

  At that moment a call from the speaker concealed in the ceiling interrupted. "Calling Mr. Sverenssen of the UN Delegation. Urgent call holding. Would Mr. Sverenssen come to a phone, please."

  "You must excuse me, gentlemen," Sverenssen sighed. He looked sternly at Pacey. "I am prepared to attribute this sad exhibition to an aberration occasioned by your having to acclimatize to an extraterrestrial environment, and will say no more about it." His voice took on a more ominous note. "But I must warn you that should you persist in repeating such slanderous accusations when we leave the confines of this establishment, I will be obliged to take a far more serious view. If so, you would not find the consequences beneficial either to your personal situation or to your future prospects professionally. I trust I make myself clear." With that he turned and conveyed himself regally from the room. The other three drank up quickly and left in rapid succession.

  That night, his last at Bruno, Pacey was too bewildered, frustrated, and angry to sleep. He stayed up in his room and paced about the floor going over every detail of all that had happened and examining the whole situation first from one angle and then from another, but he could find no pattern that fitted everything. Once again he was tempted to call Alaska, but resisted.

  It was approaching 2 A.M. local time when a light tap sounded on the door. Puzzled, Pacey rose from the chair in which he had been brooding and went over to answer it. It was Sobroskin. The Russian slipped in quickly, waited until Pacey closed the door, then reached inside his jacket and produced a large envelope that he passed over without speaking. Pacey opened it. Inside was a pink wallet with a bright red border, The title label on the front read: CONFIDENTIAL. REPORT 238/2G/Nrs/FM. NORMAN H. PACE-PERSONAL PROFILE AND NOTES.

  Pacey looked at it incredulously, opened it to ruffle quickly through the contents, then looked up. "How did you get this?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

  "There are ways," Sobroskin said vaguely. "Did you know of it?"

  "I . . . had reason to believe that something like it might exist," Pacey told him guardedly.

  Sobroskin nodded. "I thought you might wish to put it somewhere safe, or perhaps burn it. There was only one other copy, which I have already destroyed, so you may rest with knowledge that it will not get to where it was supposed to go." Pacey looked down at the wallet again, too stunned to reply. "Also, I came across a very strange volume of minutes of the delegation’s sessions-nothing at all like what I remembered. I substituted a set of the copies that you and I both saw and approved. Take my word for it that those are the ones that will reach New York. I resealed them mysel
f in the courier’s bag just before it was taken to Tycho."

  "But. . . . how?" was all Pacey could say.

  "I have not the slightest intention of telling you." The Russian’s voice was curt, but his eyes were twinkling.

  Suddenly Pacey grinned as the message at last got through that not everybody in the world was his enemy. "Perhaps it’s about time we sat down and compared notes," he said. "I guess I don’t have any vodka in the place. How about gin?"

  "Precisely the conclusion that I have come to also," Sobroskin said, extracting a sheaf of notes from an inside pocket. "Gin would be fine-I’m very partial to it." He hung his jacket by the door and sat down to make himself comfortable in one of the armchairs while Pacey went into the next room for some glasses. While he was there he checked to make sure the ice maker was well stocked. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Garuth had spent twenty-eight years of his life with the Shapieron. A group of scientists on ancient Minerva had advocated a program of extensive climatic and geological engineering to control the predicted buildup of carbon dioxide. The project would have been extremely complicated, however, and simulation models revealed a high risk of rendering the planet uninhabitable sooner rather than later by disrupting the greenhouse effect that enabled Minerva to support life at its considerable distance from the Sun. As an insurance against this risk, another group proposed a method for increasing the Sun’s radiation output by modifying its self-gravitation, the idea being that the climatic-engineering program could go ahead, and if instabilities did set in to the point of destroying the greenhouse effect, the Sun could be warmed up to compensate. Thus, overall, Minerva would be no worse off.