“Do you think he’s mixed up in any of this other business that’s been going on?” Hunt asked bluntly. “It all seems too much of a coincidence with his appearing on the scene. I don’t like coincidences.”
“We don’t know,” Garuth replied. “But I can see your point. If he were, it would say as much as anything needs to about these altruistic trimmings.”
“Exactly,” Hunt said, nodding. He leaned back and contemplated the ceiling. “It seems that for some reason our mystical friend is attaching a lot of importance to Uttan, doesn’t it? What would he want with an airless, waterless, inhospitable ball of rock like that, light-years from anywhere? It makes you think there must be something about that planet that we’re not aware of-and from the blithe way they’re reacting, something that the Thuriens aren’t aware of, either.”
Garuth stared across at Hunt and thought about it. “I don’t know” was all he could reply. “I’ll get ZORAC to assemble all the information that we’ve got on it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Jevlenese sitting in Baumer’s city office, his feet propped impudently on the edge of Baumer’s desk, was called Lesho. He was squat and swarthy, with thick black hair and a short, untidy beard. His glittery blue coat and red shirt were expensive but flashy, and he was heavily adorned with jewelry and rings. His equally unsavory-looking companion, orange-haired and heavily built, wearing a baggy brown suit, was leaning against the wall by the door, chewing absently and wearing a scowl of bored indifference. Baumer sat tight-lipped, forcing himself to control his sense of outrage and impotence.
“How do I know why they’re interested?” Lesho said. “I just deliver the messages. It isn’t your business to worry about reasons, either. I’m just telling you that the word is, the people upstairs want to know what kind of drift is coming in from Thurien to the Ganymeans in PAC. They’re especially interested in anything that comes in from JPC.”
Baumer spread his hands in exasperation. “Look, you don’t seem to understand. That kind of information isn’t left lying around for anyone who walks by to pick up. It’s stored in the data system, and with the controls that Cullen is setting up, anyone can’t get at it.”
“You got the stuff from the egg-hat who fell off the bridge,” Lesho said, unimpressed.
“That was different. It was hand-delivered as a hardcopy. Things like that don’t happen every day.”
“Well, that’s your problem.”
“Look, would you mind not putting your feet there? You’re crumpling up those pages.”
Lesho raised a hand and leveled a warning finger. “That’s not a good attitude to have. Let me remind you of something. You’re not the only Terran inside PAC. It also happens that time in couplers is getting harder to get these days, and one day you might find you’ve run out of friends who can supply. So just let’s remember who’s doing who the favors, huh?”
Baumer drew a long breath and nodded curtly. “Very well. I’ll do whatever I can. But you must try and make them understand that I can’t promise.”
A tone sounded from a panel by Baumer’s desk. “What is it?” he inquired, turning his head.
The house-system’s synthetic voice replied. “The writer who wanted to talk to you is outside: Gina Marin.”
“Oh, she is? Just one moment.” Baumer looked back at the Jevlenese. “As you can see, I do have other things to attend to. Was there anything else?”
Lesho swung his legs down from the desk and stood up. “Just don’t forget that other Terrans in PAC might like their trips, too. And there’s more of them arriving.”
The Jevlenese in the brown suit straightened up and opened the door just as Gina appeared on the other side of it. Lesho stopped to peer down at Baumer’s desk. “Is that the one I messed up?” he inquired, pointing at a sheet of paper with a heelmark on it. It was on the top of a thin wad of printout.
“Yes. I’d just run it off,” Baumer said testily as he rose to his feet.
Lesho screwed it up and tossed it into the bin. “Well, looks like you needed to do another copy anyhow.” He turned away, nodded toward the door, and sauntered out behind his companion.
Baumer came around to usher Gina inside, and then closed the door. He indicated the seat that Lesho had used and returned to his own side of the desk.
“I apologize for that,” he said stiffly. “As a sociologist one must be prepared for all types of people.”
“I suppose so.” Gina sat down. “Thanks for fitting me in at short notice. You seem busy.” Her phrasing was the code to switch on the miniature voice recorder, supplied by Del Cullen, that was concealed inside the fold of her collar.
“It’s a busy time. There’s a lot to do here.” Baumer’s manner reverted to cool. He didn’t know what this was about, and he wasn’t prepared at this stage to commit to a lot of time.
“I’ve only seen a little, but I think I know what you mean.”
“You’ve just come to Jevlen, I think you said?”
“That’s right-with the Vishnu. It’s all a bit mind-blowing. I guess I haven’t gotten used to Ganymeans yet. How long have you been here yourself?”
“Almost five months, now.”
“Time enough to find your way around?”
“It depends what you want to find… You said you’re some kind of writer?”
Gina nodded. “Books on subjects of topical interest. Right now, I’m planning one on historical figures who were Jevlenese agents-known or possible. I don’t know if you’ve kept in touch with the popular stuff that’s been coming out on Earth, but the amount of nonsense is unbelievable. I wanted to get the record straight, and this seemed to be the place to start. So here I am.”
“Jevlenese intervention in history. Famous figures who might have been agents…” Baumer repeated. His English was clearly articulated, with the barest hint of an accent. He had pale, delicate features, which were accentuated by thin lips, a narrow, tapering chin, and heavy, horn-rimmed spectacles, giving him a youthful look for his years. An untidy mop of light brown hair and the mottled gray sweater that he was wearing enhanced the studentlike image. But the eyes regarding Gina through the lenses were cool and remote, and the hard set of his mouth infused his expression with a hint of disdain. It was the kind of look he might have used to dismiss a saleslady who had been given her chance.
He stared down at the desk; a loose wave of hair flopped down over his forehead, and he brushed it aside with a hand. “I’m not sure I can help,” he said. “The kind of history that I think you mean isn’t my line.”
“I hadn’t assumed it was,” Gina answered. “But I was hoping that you might have some suggestions on how I should go about it-some thoughts on possible contacts, maybe. You’ve had a lot longer to find your way around.”
Clearly Baumer was preoccupied with other things and did not want to get involved. But Gina had her objectives, too. She had been scanning the office with her eyes ever since she sat down. It was bare and dusty, with little in the way of immediate evidence as to the kind of thing he did there. She got the impression that this was not where he spent most of his time away from PAC.
Her gaze came back to the companel by the desk. Baumer wasn’t equipped with Ganymean communications accessories for interacting with ZORAC. The man she had heard talking when she arrived had been Jevlenese, and the translations of his and Baumer’s voices-into German, she had noted-had come from the panel.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
“What?”
She motioned toward the panel. “Those Jevlenese who were here when I came in-the one who was talking was being translated through there. But I was told that VISAR doesn’t extend out into the city. And JEVEX isn’t supposed to be running. So what was doing it? Do you have stand-alone systems here that can do that kind of thing?”