CHAPTER EIGHT

Before joining UNSA, Hunt had been a theoretical physicist employed by the Metadyne Nucleonic Instrument Company, a British subsidiary of the Intercontinental Data amp; Control Corporation based in Portland, Oregon. IDCC’s senior physicist at that time was a man called Erwin Reutheneger, of Hungarian extraction, well into his eighties, but with a mind still sharper and more agile than most a quarter of his age.

Hunt remembered him talking once about the regrets that he felt, looking back over life. The biggest, it turned out, wasn’t that he had not won a Nobel Prize for his contributions to nucleonic science, or had a lecture series named after him at a major institution of learning, or otherwise made his mark in halls of fame or rolls of honor in a way that would be recorded by posterity. It was a missed opportunity with a petite, French philosophy graduate from the Sorbonne whom he had met in the course of a stay in Paris in 1968, which he was sure would have turned out differently if he’d had a better idea at the time of what was going on. “Don’t become a sad old man who missed his chances” had been his advice. “Have plenty of memories to chuckle about-even the ones that didn’t work out the way you hoped.”

Partly because of Hunt’s nature, and partly because of the hardly orthodox life that he always seemed to find himself leading-as he had told his neighbor, Jerry, a settled domestic existence didn’t go with things like year-long jaunts to Jupiter-it accorded well with his own philosophic disposition toward life. And since his work left little time for any creative precipitation of opportunity, the serendipitous incursions of good fortune that chose occasionally to infuse themselves into life’s pattern were all the less to be sneered at.

Intelligence, he had always found, was the most potent aphrodisiac, and since inhibition did not seem to be one of Gina’s problems, he had not bothered overly to disguise the fact. He had found himself intrigued by her questioning ways and curious to learn what else her peripatetic interests had led her to explore. She, for her part, had done nothing to hide her fascination for somebody who had crossed the Solar System and who took calls at home from aliens at other stars. What happened next would develop in its own time, if it wanted to. Rushing the situation would be the worst thing to do, as well as not being in the best of taste. But a small helping hand while it was making its mind up wasn’t the same thing at all, Hunt told himself.

Caldwell had stressed that Gina’s involvement with the Jevlen mission had to be, as far as outward appearances went, a private matter, unconnected with UNSA. Therefore, Hunt reasoned, he could hardly ‘invite’ her to Goddard to brief her on it. Accordingly, he called her at the Maddox later in the evening after his talk with Caldwell and told her that he had some news. Could they get together later somewhere and talk about it?

“How about meeting me here for a drink?” she suggested. “It’s a bit small, but the bar’s okay.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, why don’t we make an evening of it and talk over dinner? There’s a nice, quiet little place I happen to know over on that side of town.”

“Uh… huh.”

“I could pick you up there. This isn’t really for bars, anyway.”

Her pause was a study in amused suspicion.

“Sure. Why not?”

An hour and a half later, they were talking across a candlelit table by a penthouse window facing out across the illuminated towers of nighttime Washington. They had talked about Gina’s approach to Caldwell and her handling of Caldwell’s response, and Hunt had told her how he would be going to Jevlen.

“As a matter of fact, you couldn’t have picked a better time to show up,” he said, sipping from his wineglass over a plate of prime-rib special. Gina waited, watching his face curiously. He lowered his voice a fraction. “I’m going to let you in on something confidential. This business about going there to appraise the possibilities of Ganymean science is mostly a blind to fit in with my regular job. The real purpose is to find out more, firsthand, about Garuth’s problem with the Jevlenese and see what we can do to help. The place to do that is on Jevlen, not here.”

Gina’s brow creased in puzzlement. “What is this guy Caldwell running, a scientific division of UNSA or a security agency?”

“The Ganymeans of the Shapieron are personal friends, who are in trouble. That’s his first concern.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize that he sees it that way. I take it back.”

“No, you’re right. Essentially it is a political issue, and he should just hand it over. But he’s always been a bit of an empire-builder. Besides the immediate aspect, the temptation to get a finger into what’s going on at Jevlen is too much for him to resist.”

“It sounds as if moving from Houston to Washington might have gotten to him a little.”

“Gregg’s okay. He gets things done, and he doesn’t mess around.”

“Okay. So when do you leave?”

“In three days-with the Vishnu.”

Gina raised her eyebrows and picked up her glass. “Well, what do I say? It sounds like a wonderful assignment. But it also means that you won’t be around to give me any background on the book for some time. So why did you say I’d picked a good time? It sounds to me as if I couldn’t have picked a worse one.”

Hunt finished chewing before he replied. “There are a number of Earthpeople on Jevlen already for one reason or another. The situation there could be politically sensitive. We don’t exactly know what to expect.”

“All right Gina said slowly, nodding but not following.

“In particular, the job might call for some snooping around and talking to people that would look out of place for a scientist on a purely scientific assignment-the kind of thing that would invite unwelcome questions to be asked.” Hunt held her eye steadily. “But a journalist-especially one known for being something of a maverick-wouldn’t cause any eyebrows to be raised. It would be expected.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

“So officially you’d be there as a free-lancer collecting research for your book-but unofficially to help with the things that I couldn’t go poking my own nose into too obviously.”

It took Gina a few seconds to register what he was saying. She set her fork down on her plate and stared at him in disbelief. Hunt smirked back shamelessly at her befuddlement.

“Wait a minute,” she muttered. “Am I hearing you correctly? Are you talking about me going to Jevlen, as well? Three days from now? Is that what you’re saying?”

Hunt gestured to indicate the restaurant and the scene around them in general. “I said when I called you that I had news. All this isn’t just to tell you, sorry, I’m going away, I can’t help with the book.”

Gina picked up her glass again and gulped from it unsteadily. She passed a hand over her brow and shook her head dazedly. Her voice choked when she finally managed to speak. “You… really are a guy for surprises. Or have I been living a sheltered life? You may not believe it, but this doesn’t happen every time I get asked out on a dinner date.”

“It’s all Gregg’s fault. I told you he doesn’t mess around.”

“I got that message.” She paused. “You are serious, I suppose?”

“Of course. It’d make a pretty sick joke if it weren’t.” He watched her face for a few seconds. “So, do I take it that it’s okay? You don’t have a problem?”

“No… I don’t think so.” She thought it over, then sat back in her chair and laughed, momentarily intoxicated by the acceptance that the offer was real. “It’s just that I still can’t really believe it.”

Hunt raised his glass. “Great.”

Gina joined him in the unspoken toast, then set her glass down and looked serious again. “So, what am I supposed to do? I mean, if we don’t want it to look as if I’m on an UNSA paycheck, I take it that I can’t very well travel with you.”