Part 11 (1/2)
”No. Out of the question. It would be utterly useless for my purposes.”
Not only was Harry by nature disinclined to salesmans.h.i.+p, but he realized it would be difficult to do any recruiting without letting the subject know what kind of operation he would be consulting for. Harry decided that if a reasonable chance came up during the drive to 207GST, he would put in a good word for Cheng as an employer. If not, he would leave the salesmans.h.i.+p to those back on the base who were psychologically better equipped to handle that kind of thing.
Gianopolous was showing signs of optimism for a change. He seemed glad, perhaps even a touch eager, to give Harry a tour of his special s.h.i.+p. Emil Darchan was a skilled pilot in his own right. And Harry was interested in finding out why the abbot, after making a series of inspections and flight tests, all presumably aided by a crew of Templar experts, had decided not to grab the secret weapon for his own organization.
Maybe, Harry thought, despite Emil's protests of secrecy, he should have tried to pump his old friend for more information.
But at the moment he had to deal with the inventor. Harry never cared for trying to find things out by dropping subtle hints. ”Why didn't the Templars want this s.h.i.+p?” he asked bluntly.
Professor Gianopolous was unperturbed. ”Oh, I wouldn't say they didn't want it.”
”Well, they didn't take it.”
Gianopolous was silent.
Harry found it irritating to be ignored. ”Did they ever make you an offer? Or maybe they thought you were asking too much?”
Now the inventor turned on him with a haughty look. ”Harry, look-are you empowered by your employer to conclude a deal, including the financial terms?”
”No, not at all. I'm just a test pilot.”
Gianopolous smiled his superior smile. ”Then, with all due respect, I prefer to reserve my discussion of money matters until I can talk to the people who make decisions.
”As for the Templars, let's just say there were were certain difficulties, or the Templar bureaucrats believed there were. In the end, we could not agree on terms. Who can fathom the ways of a bureaucracy?”
Harry let it go at that. He was thankful that negotiation was not his job. The man seemed disinclined to talk about anything except how great his s.h.i.+p was, and how great he was to have invented it. How much of all the spouting had any relation to the truth would not be easy to determine.
Gianopolous was proud of his creation-as well he might be, Harry thought. ”What you see is actually the easy part of the transformation-it's in the communication codes, the identification of friend or foe, where I have surpa.s.sed all previous human efforts.”
Harry grunted. If someone could really fake a Type-B berserker as effectively as this-then he didn't see why it should be impossible for someone to imitate a Type A as well. Maybe, with a somewhat greater effort and investment, to convincingly fake an entire berserker attack.
”Anything wrong, Silver?”
”I'm not sure . . .” Then Harry asked suddenly: ”This s.h.i.+p won't imitate a Type A, will it?”
Gianopolous drew himself up, as if Harry had asked whether all this n.o.ble hardware could make popcorn. The inventor sounded vaguely injured. ”As a matter of fact it can-I was planning to demonstrate that later.”
”Sorry if I forced your hand,” Harry muttered, staring at the bulkhead in front of him.
”What is it, Silver?”
”Nothing. Never mind. Just let me think for a minute.” Now looming foremost in his thoughts was a small pile of sc.r.a.p parts, fragments retrieved near the place where Becky and Ethan had been grabbed. Even if this s.h.i.+p could somehow have been fitted with real weapons, used to imitate a real berserker for the purpose of his family's kidnapping, whoever worked the scheme must also have been able, somehow, to commandeer a squad of genuine berserker boarding machines, or impeccable imitations, to do the actual kidnapping.
It was maddening. Here and there, now and then, a couple of pieces of the puzzle looked like they might fit together. But still none of it really made sense.
Harry swept his gaze around the modest interior s.p.a.ce of the control room. If a squad of such near-anthropomorphic killers had ever been aboard this vessel they were certainly gone now. Well, he was going to be conducting a thorough inspection of the s.h.i.+p, as a purchaser's test pilot had every right to do. He wasn't going to find a berserker, but there might be . . . something.
He had the sensation of edging close to some kind of revelation. It stirred unsettling hopes, even while the nature of what that epiphany might be remained obscure.
He pressed Gianopolous: ”And this is your only model? I mean, you don't have another working prototype anywhere? Like a berserker boarding machine, for instance?”
The inventor seemed remotely hurt by the suggestion. ”No, sir, I do not. If you had any conception of the amount of time, effort, and expense that have gone into the creation of this s.h.i.+p, you would not ask.”
”And no one else is building anything like this-doing this kind of thing.”
”That no one else is imitating berserkers successfully seems a safe bet, my friend. No one else in this sector of the Galaxy, certainly, or in either of those adjoining.” Gianopolous paused. ”Your patron will not be able to buy this more cheaply from anyone else. Indeed, I think he will not get even a poor imitation elsewhere at any price.”
Harry grunted. Saving his patron money had been about the furthest idea from his thoughts.
Gianopolous seemed to enjoy the idea of getting acquainted with Harry, who in his own offbeat way was also something of a minor celebrity, and he seemed to want to adopt Harry as an ally. The inventor was also glad to have a more or less sympathetic ear into which he could pour his disappointment and outrage over the cool reception that all the major organizations had so far given him and his ideas. Harry had finally revealed the ident.i.ty of their sponsor, though not the specific nature of the planned project, and the revelation had boosted his pa.s.senger's self-esteem to a new level. A deal with Winston Cheng, when it could be publicly announced, would serve as powerful vindication for the scorned inventor.
”Hah. I have been a.s.sured so often that what I have already done is quite impossible, that anyone else would have been discouraged.”
Everyone who knew Harry knew that he, too, tended to fit the model of the eccentric outsider. And such was his reputation.
Perhaps they had been traveling for an hour or so when Harry, nagged by a sense of duty unperformed, finally came out with his sales pitch-if his half-hearted effort could be called that. He had already revealed his sponsor's name-the coordinator had a.s.sumed he would have to do that, once matters had progressed this far.
”I can tell you this much. It's likely that Winston Cheng is going to try to talk you into taking a job with him. As some kind of a consultant.”
”Ah.” Though Gianopolous tried to conceal it, he gave the impression of being pleased at being invited to play in such a big league. Or maybe it was just the vision of vast amounts of money about to come his way. He asked: ”You've heard this from the great man himself?”
”That's right. Matter of fact I've talked to him several times in the last few days.” That certainly made an impression, though Gianopolous was struggling not to show it. Harry didn't bother to explain that talking to the great man was no marvelous sign of favor. Cheng might have some reputation as a recluse, but in this emergency he talked freely to everyone who might be of help. Nodding, he a.s.sured the professor: ”Your name came up more than once.”
The inventor announced, as if he were gracefully granting some concession, that he was glad to have Harry traveling with him aboard his s.h.i.+p, that he felt confident they could reach an agreement on the final details regarding sale of his s.h.i.+p, and that he might be willing to accept the rather mysterious job offer from Harry's employer.
Harry was a superb pilot, and perhaps even Gianopolous was content to have Harry drive his special s.h.i.+p rather than preferring to settle the pilot's helmet on his own head.
”You know, Silver, I think the maneuverability is actually improved with you at the controls.”
Gianopolous sounded faintly surprised. But for someone in whose importance he was gradually beginning to believe, like Harry, he was willing to condescend to be gracious.
Harry made a sound indicating insincere surprise. ”People tell me I sometimes have that effect. Well, it's not hard to drive. It's a good s.h.i.+p.”
The inventor offered what he probably intended to be a winning smile, but his face wasn't quite designed for that. ”The truth is, though I do well enough at the controls when I put my mind to it, I don't really enjoy the job. Often I prefer to just turn on the autopilot, tell my s.h.i.+p where I want to go, and sit back to take a nap or think about something else.”
Harry mumbled something. He often preferred to use that method himself. It would almost always get you where you wanted to go, and usually without too much delay. But for the sake of speed and efficiency at all times, and to improve the chance of survival in a variety of unusual conditions, s.p.a.ce combat being the cla.s.sic example, it was better to have a skilled human brain in the control loop as well.
Gianopolous didn't want to let it drop. ”The truth is, Silver, I'm subject at times to a touch of s.p.a.ce sickness. Especially when the ports are cleared in flights.p.a.ce-you won't mind if we keep them closed?”
Harry looked up. ”There are one or two tests that will require a brief clearing. I'll let you know, and you can clear out of the control room.”