He had all of their closest attention now, even that of the benumbed Sol Ryan. He took a deep breath, ran his plump hand back through his thinning red hair, and said, “For instance, this morning I revived an interesting idea. Suppose that we brought up from Earth a few hundred tons of the best Earth soil, complete with its microorganisms, bugs and earthworms, and complete with its decayed vegetation. And suppose that we spread this out over several acres of our Luna soil and put in a crop of, let us say, alfalfa. When it has grown, suppose we plowed back the alfalfa. And the next crop, and the next, perhaps each year spreading this new soil, part Earth, part Luna, over a wider area.” He stroked his chin and laughed in deprecation. “Perhaps, to use the Americanism, we would find we had it made. At least, I would like to try it—and various other things that have come to mind. If the LFC people had really cared, this would have been done long ago. Island One has been milked, not nurtured.”
“I’ll be damned,” Pete Kapitz said.
“Ummm,” Adam Bloch agreed.
Annette Casey, uncharacteristically quiet for so long, looked at the Russian and said, “It has been brought to our attention that your defection from the Soviet Complex was a sham. That you were sent here by the Cheka.”
The Academician chuckled with heavy humor. “But my orders were unique, Doctor Casey. The politicians in the Kremlin were of similar opinion to that of the Arab Union; they did not think that the L5 Project could succeed and wished to prolong its agony while their own Asteroid Belt Project was developed. They sent me to assist in keeping it barely alive. My sole contact with them was broken by Mr. Moore’s security people and now there is no possible way for the Cheka to reach me to retract my orders.”
Adam Bloch said, “You mean you really want to help?”
“Of course. I shall continue my work here—if other developments permit. It may take many years. But I suspect that my Soviet Complex colleagues will need similar years to begin exploitation of the asteroid belt. Perhaps when we have both succeeded, it will become obvious to all concerned that the only thing that makes sense is for the two projects to be amalgamated and for space colonization to become a world endeavor.”
Sol Ryan said, his voice a low whisper, “I suppose that there could not possibly be a place for me in…”
Bruce looked over at him in compassion. “I’m afraid not, Doctor. Nor anyone else connected with New Kingston and the families. The best you can do to serve is continue what you began with your broadcast. Throw your full weight and what remains of your prestige into exposing the Syndicate’s position in the Lagrange Five Corporation. The stink is going to be high, and we can only guess at the final working out of the whole mess, but you should be able to help.”
Annette looked at him, eyebrows up quizzically. “And me?” she said.
Bruce frowned. “Possibly a place for you could be found…in the background. After all these years on the scene, your know-how about the Project must be as great as anybody’s.”
Her mouth was slightly lopsided. “And where do you work in, comrade? You seem to have taken quite an interest.”
Bruce Carter eyed the drink in his hand with dry amusement. “Now that Ron Rich has lost all credibility, I suspect that Island One could use an honest flack—if those two words aren’t mutually exclusive. I’d like to give it a try. Besides,” he added, with a sidelong glance, “I have a breakfast date to keep. Maybe a series of them.”
“Here’s to honest reporting,” said Pete Kapitz, with hidden meaning for Bruce, and sipped his guzzle. “Too bad I haven’t got a job here that’s made to order.”
“Of course you have,” said Suvorov.
“Nope; Island One has had enough security crap here to last for the life of the project.”
“Security crap? Quite right,” said the Russian. “But I am not entirely, ah, unversed in these matters. Among the workers and even among ourselves, there will always be temptations to bring to Island One things that it should not have.”
Annette gave a vigorous nod. “Amen! Hard drugs, for example. Or saboteurs.”
Pete tossed her a glance that was almost hopeful. “Saboteurs?”
Adam Bloch clinched the argument with, “You think the Arab Union would let us get on with a real SPS and not fight it?”
“My God,” said the agent, his fertile mind leaping ahead. “I think I’ve just, um, succumbed to my injuries. “And you need more than a few guys doing the overt security checks. You—that is, we, will need at least one Mister Inside.”
“A new Americanism?” This from Suvorov.
“An old truth,” said Pete. “Someone in supply, for example, who knows every possible way for a scam to be run on any operation. Someone on the covert side. Who can get on the inside of almost any illegal operation—because he has a first-rate criminal mind. But he’s our criminal, luckily.” Now Pete was grinning openly.
From Annette, Bloch, and Bruce came the chorus: “Venner!”
“Mister Inside,” said Suvorov musingly, rolling the phrase on his tongue. “A useful phrase. I also think it should work. What say you, Koplin?”
The Polish scientist nodded vigorously. “I say we must raise a toast to Misters Outside and Inside,” he said, moving toward the ranks of expensive hooch, “and to the sad departure of Kapitz and Venner.”
Most of the others chuckled, but Freddy Davis held up one restraining hand. He belched, having had three drinks already. “Can’t do that,” he warned, slurring it slightly.
Annette paused with her drink aloft. “Why not?”
“’Cause I can get at least four toasts outta that,” he explained, beaming. “And I intend to use ’em all, if somebody’ll just pass me that bottle of Centenario tequila!”
Trojan Orbit Page 34