Keene arrived at Protonix the next morning with a mood that hung over the office like a temperature inversion. The girls got on with their tasks and stayed out of the way.
He was in the kind of situation that irked him the most: of not being in control of the things that affected him the most profoundly. His professional future was tied to the fortunes of Amspace, which hinged on decisions that would eventually come out of Washington, and he had done all he could do to influence the process that would determine those decisions. And the premonitions he was getting weren't good. To make matters worse, the focus of priorities at Amspace had shifted for the time being from engineering matters that involved him to internal administrative details of getting Montemorelos ready to relaunch the shuttle that had landed there, giving him no ready outlet for his energies.
His approach to life had always been to suspect himself as the first candidate for blame when things went wrongwhich put the capacity for learning something and doing whatever needed to be done squarely in his own hands. That was the first prerequisite to being in control of one's life as opposed to a helpless victim of it. The Kronian affair was as far as he was prepared to go in knocking himself out, he decided. If this didn't work out, then to hell with it. He would chuck it all in and go back with them when the Osiris departed.
He was still mulling over the thought when Vicki came into his office holding a blue folder and set it down open in front of him. One of the pages showed a contour map of rugged terrain with various locations marked by crosses, squares, and other shapes. The facing sheet had reproductions of what looked like a piece of pottery, a slab that could have been from the base of a statue, and a section of mural relief carving, all with lines of peculiar symbols inscribed, fragmented and obliterated in some parts, others tolerably clear.
"There," she announced, indicating the symbols. Keene stared at them. He knew what she was getting at but acted dumb and looked at her questioningly. "That's where I saw them," she said. "Robin's science project on the Joktanians. I'm sure they're like that script that Sariena showed us on the Osiris. I can still picture some of them. The similarities can't be coincidental. They have to be related."
Keene could only point out the obvious. "I'm sure you mean it, Vicki, but I don't have to tell you it's preposterous. How are artifacts from Arabia supposed to have gotten to Saturn? Ancient sea-going cultures making accurate maps of Antarctica before the Ice Age, I can buy. But are they supposed to have built"
Vicki raised a hand for him to stop. "I know, Lan. I know it's crazy. All I'm telling you is what I saw. I do ad graphics. I've got an eye for things like that."
He made a conciliatory gesture, indicating that he wasn't going to argue about it. "So, what do you want me to do?" he asked, leaning back from the desk.
"I'm not really asking you to do anything. But I saw the way you looked at me when I mentioned it in the chopper yesterday, and I just wanted you to know that I hadn't been having hallucinations or something."
Keene nodded obligingly. "Okay. . . . So you weren't being daffy-headed after twenty-four hours in orbit. But I never thought that anyway." He waited for her to nod, having made her point, pick up the folder, and leave. She didn't.
"Although . . ." She looked at him as if something had just occurred to her, which Keene didn't believe for a moment.
"What?"
"Well, it's got me curious. You said you met this woman from the Smithsonian when you were in Washington, who's involved in the excavations and so on. . . ."
"Catherine Zetl?"
"Right. Couldn't we get those images sent through for her to have a look at? Surely that would settle it. If I'm wrong, then that's the end of it. But if not . . ." Vicki didn't have to complete it. It would add a whole new dimension of impossibility to something already complex enough.
Keene was not enthusiastic. "I'm not sure it's our place to go showing that material around," he said. "Even Sariena checked with Gallian first, remember. And I don't really know Zetl well enough to go involving her in something like that. We exchanged a few words at a cocktail party. I can see your point, all right, but . . ." He finished with another wave.
Vicki straightened up, looked at him reluctantly for a few seconds, then sighed. "You're right. We're not even involved officially, I guess. It's just . . . Well, it's so darned bewildering!"
"Yes, I know, I know." Keene drummed his fingers on the desk. "Tell you what I'll do. Sariena said those images had been sent ahead, so people here will already be going over them. If there really are similarities to the Joktanian script, surely you can't have been the only one to spot it. Let's wait and see what's said next week when the Kronians bring the artifacts up at the talks. Once their existence has been made public knowledge anyway, I'd feel better about bringing it to Zetl's attention if nothing else is mentionedbecause then it would seem very strange. Asking questions would be legitimate. How would that sound?"
"You mean I have to wait a whole week?"
"Think you can stand it? Come onI fix you a visit to a spaceship from Saturn and all I get is a hard time? What is this?"
"Well, if you put it like that, I suppose" The call tone from Keene's desk screen interrupted.
"Excuse me," he said, sitting forward to accept. "Hello?"
"Catch you later, Lan." Vicki picked up the folder and left, closing the door.
The caller was Jerry Allender from Kingsville. He was red-faced and shaking his head, and had to wave a hand in the air several times before he could speak. "Lan, do you know what's happened? They're throwing them out . . . just tossing them out as inadmissable! It'll be like they never happened. They won't even be a factor to take into considerationnot even worth a can of beans."
"Jerry, calm down. What are you talking about? Who are throwing what out?"
Allender paused to collect his breath. "I just got word from an astronomer called Tyndam, who's on the scientific committee that'll be meeting with the Kronians next weekchaired by somebody called Voler."
Keene nodded tersely. "And?"
"The orbital calculations that we ran. They aren't accepting them."
"What?"
"Voler has ruled that until corroboration can be provided by properly organized studies and review, they're not material to the case. And you know how long that could take for anyone with a mind to stretch things out. But in any case it means that as far as next week is concerned, forget it."
Keene felt himself trembling in outrage. "The Kronians ran them. We already corroborated them! There's no reason not to accept them tentatively. Every precedent demands it. Is he trying to say that we and the Kronians are both incompetent? . . . Or worse: that we faked it?"
Allender mouthed awkwardly for a second or two, as if choking on something, and then nodded. "I think so, Lan. That was how it came across to meand what they're maybe putting around. I think they are insinuating just that."
Minutes later, Keene exploded into the reception area, startling Karen, who was sifting through the morning's mail at her terminal. "Yale University, Connecticut," he barked. "I want to talk to Professor Herbert Voler, who runs their astronomy faculty. Either get me through to him or a number that's close to wherever he is. I don't care if he's at his grandmother's funeral. Find him."
Vicki appeared, framed in the doorway of her own office behind him. "Lan, don't you think it might be an idea to let it cool for half an hour before"
"It's gone far enough. First we get shoddy science. Then the kind of dirty tricks you'd expect in some tin-pot dictatorship somewhere. Now this. We are being accused of incompetence or dishonesty . . ." He shook his head, left the sentence unfinished, and stalked back into his own office, slamming the door. A moment later, he opened it again long enough to throw out, "By them!"
He still hadn't begun cooling when Karen announced, "His department says he won't be there for probably two weeks. The woman I talked to isn't at liberty to give out his personal code. She did give me a Washington number, but he won't be accessible through it until tomorrow or the day after. I have got a home number for him in New Haven, though."
Of course, Keene thought to himself. Voler would be getting ready for the circus in Washington. "That'll do," he growled. "Maybe someone there might know where he is. . . . And thanks, Karen." Moments later, he found himself staring at the features of his one-time wife, Fey.
She looked cool, sophisticated, her hair shorter than he had known it, more composed and organizedaltered in the same direction as her life, no doubt. She was wearing a powder blue blouse with a sparkling brooch that looked both stylish and expensive, and what looked like a loose, black cardigan. Glimpses of subdued wallpaper and wooden paneling in the background completed the image of polish and refinementa fitting setting for a senior academician who was going places.
Surprise flickered barely long enough to be visible before being brought under control. The eyes scanned and recorded, extracting in a matter of moments all the information to be had from the screen confronting her. In the way that happens with people who have spent years together, his mood had communicated itself already.
"Well," she said. "The face from a former life. I had a premonition it might only be a matter of time. You've been in the news a lot lately. But I see it hasn't done anything to sweeten your temper. What do you want, Lan?"
Keene drew a long breath in an effort to steady himself. "Hello, Fey. You're right. . . ." As she always was; it infuriated him. "I wish I had some pleasantries to swap, but I'm not in the mood. I need to talk to him. Is he there?"
"By `him,' I presume you mean my husband. His name's Herbert."
Keene nodded curtly. She was right again. Whatever the grievance, incivility wasn't called for. In any case, it would only be giving away free ammunition. "Yes. Your husband, Professor Voler. If he's there, I need to speak to him . . . please."
"I'm afraid he's not. He's in Washington, preparing for the talks next week with your . . . friends. I'll be joining him tomorrow morning. Didn't they tell you that at his office? You must have tried there first."
"Do you have a number that will get me through to him?" Keene said. "I presume I don't need to spell out that it is extremely important."
Fey eyed him critically for a few seconds. Finally she shook her head. "I don't think so. You're clearly spoiling for a fight over something. I'm not going to be the one to expose him to such disruptive influences with this business next week coming up."
"Dammit, isn't it obvious that the business next week is what I want to talk to him about?" Keene said shortly.
A hint of mockery played on Fey's lips, just for an instant. "I really don't think Herbert would be concerned with engineering details." She made it sound like the chauffeur's job.
Keene felt his blood rush, knew his buttons were being pressed, but was powerless to stop it. "Look, some work that's crucial to those talks has been recently completed here in Texas," he fumed. "I've just heard that the committee has been instructed to disregard it, and that the instruction came from him. This isn't a trivial matter, Fey. It's a travesty of science and deliberate sabotage of affairs vital to the interests of every person in this country. He won't be allowed to get away with it. If he tries, the effects could be very damaging to that precious career of his. Do you understand that?"
"Oh, how pompous. And now I do believe you're making threats. Please tell me you are, because dealing with them is very simple and straightforward. Make my day, as they say."
"Take it any way you want," Keene retorted. "But if you won't let me tell him myself, then convey this to him: That deliberately misrepresenting scientific evidence by someone in his position is bad enough; but we have a truckload of evidence that goes beyond that to organized disinformation and manipulation of the media on a scale that for my money qualifies as criminal conspiracy. I'm talking about things like denial and suppression of dissenting views; intimidation of hostile witnesses; organized censorship. Those things would be criminal if the subject of a court case. Well, how is the public going to judge it when they find out? Because that's what's going to happen if he's not willing to reconsider. I'm talking about full exposure of the whole shit heap. And I'm serious. So you just tell Herbert that."
Fey's expression had frosted over while Keene was speaking. The eyes had turned to steel encased in ice. "I think you've made yourself clear," was her response. "If you have any more to say, I suggest you direct it through your attorney." And with that she cut the connection.
Keene was still simmering late that afternoon when Karen put a call through from Sariena. She was still aboard the Osiris, due to come back down in two days' time. Gallian, in Washington, had told her the news about the Terran scientific committee's ruling, and she was distressed. The whole Kronian delegation was in disarray. They had been trying to get some guidance from their scientists back at Saturn, who had worked feverishly to have the probe data available in time, but the two-hour communications delay was making things impossible. So Gallian was trying to organize some defense locally. Neuzender at Princeton had declined to speak at the conference on the grounds that his part had been purely to advise on the mathematics, but Gallian was pushing to have Charlie Hu and a couple of his people from JPL attend. Keene had arranged the corroboration run at Amspace, and Allender had performed it. Would he and Jerry be willing to come to Washington next week and testify on the nature and validity of the work they had done?
"Of course I'll be there," was Keene's immediate response.
He called Allender while Sariena was still connected from the Osiris, and Allender's answer was equally unhesitating and affirmative. So at least it seemed they were back in with a chance. But it was going to be a nasty fight.
Leo Cavan confirmed as much when he called Keene at home late that night. He'd heard that Keene had been recruited to help the Kronian cause. "I don't know what else you've been saying, Landen, but you've certainly stirred up a hornet's nest," was the further piece of information he had to proffer. "I've been hearing your name all over the place today, and not with the friendliest of connotations. I have a bit of advice: Tread very carefully, Landen. Check that none of your library books are overdue, make sure not to roll through any stop signs, and don't even look in the direction of a female who's under age. There are departments in the bureaucratic netherworld of this fair capital of ours that specialize in dredging up sleaze, and some of the things they come up with would astound you. You are targeted for anything they can get on you. It doesn't have to have anything to do with the scientific case. If I can find anything specific that they're onto, I'll let you know, but it's hardly the kind of information they leave lying around. In any case, don't underestimate these people, Landen. They can be frighteningly effective."
Title: | Cradle of Saturn |
Author: | James P. Hogan |
ISBN: | 0-671-57813-8 0-671-57866-9 |
Copyright: | © 1999 by James P. Hogan |
Publisher: | Baen Books |