Part 4 (1/2)
points are all. Trade is a good thing, and they know things we'd like to learn. Commonwealth
members.h.i.+p would help us trade. The longer we study them, the less I, for one, understand them.”
Britt Arledge spoke for the first time that session. ”Then I should antic.i.p.ate the full commission recommending an application for members.h.i.+p?”
Across the room, heads of commissioners and staffers alike bobbed yes. All heads but two: his and
Darlene's.What was so bothering him that he'd pa.s.s up the secret of practical fusion power? That he'd risk never knowing what marvels Earth and the aliens could next agree to share? Even if he could convince the commission to say no, what was his justification?
”Kyle?”
Feeling that he'd failed, but not knowing how or why, Kyle was reluctant to meet his boss's gaze.
Instead, he found himself peering into the galactic orb that sat on the table in front of Arledge. Not sure to which of them he was speaking, Kyle finally and unhappily answered. He willed his voice to be firm.
”So it would appear.”
CHAPTER 5.
President Lauds Galactic Commission Recommendation -USA Today Protect Earth's Information Birthright -yesterday's most popular dialogue on the
Modern Revelations News Group, AmericaNet Chernykov Denounces Western Cultural Imperialism -Moskva Daily News Gustafson Quits Galactics Commission
-Was.h.i.+ngton Post Cleaning out an office, Kyle mused, wasn't the ch.o.r.e that it used to be. Those of his files that could be retained, he'd copied over the Internet to rented ma.s.s storage. He'd download them onto longer-term storage once he started at the new job.
His physical possessions fit in one box: favorite desk accessories, pieces of executive fidgetware, and framed photos of himself with dignitaries he'd met as science advisor. In the last category was a picture with Harold s.h.i.+vely Robeson, shot at Kyle's swearing in; it memorialized the first and last time he'd met the President.
On top of everything else, he set an orb. ”What secrets do you keep?” he asked, gazing into its
s.h.i.+mmering depths. Like everything else Galactic, it kept its opinions to itself.
The PalmPilot in his coat pocket chose that moment to chime, announcing an incoming call. The screen revealed the familiar face of his Russian counterpart. Ex-counterpart. ”h.e.l.lo, Sergei Denisovich.”
”Good morning, my friend. I'm glad I caught you.”
Kyle set the palmtop on the now-bare desk where its camera plug-in could capture him. ”At least you're not a reporter.””Still, I wish to know why you did such a stupid thing.””Take a number, Sergei.” The Russian waited silently for more of an answer. ”Oh, h.e.l.l, Sergei, why not tell you? There are too many things about the F'thk I don't understand. Most of the commission wanted
to move now, locking up the secret of fusion; I wasn't ready yet.”
”We simple Russian peasants are new to this democracy business, but don't people get to vote their consciences?”
”I did, by leaving the commission. It was pretty clear what the administration wanted.” Kyle grimaced.
”There are also rules about how much, and just plain how, a political appointee embarra.s.ses the
President who named him.”
”Deciphering politics in Moscow is difficult enough; I'll leave you to sort out the rules in Was.h.i.+ngton.”
As the Russian spoke, the picture briefly broke up. When the image returned, Sergei was smiling
sardonically. ”Well, my friend, at least we will always have Canaveral. As to your future endeavors, I wish you luck.”
They chatted a bit more, mostly about Kyle's imminent return to his pre-Was.h.i.+ngton position-he'd
resigned as the presidential science advisor as well as from the commission-but the conversation never
quite homed in on a real topic. Kyle wondered just why the Russian had called.
That mystery was replaced with a new one when, by then in his soon-to-be-vacated apartment, Kyle checked his e-mail. Judging from a timestamp, the bad transmission during Sergei's call had somehow registered as an incoming message-and it was all garbage, of course.
His mind would not let go the conversation. What an odd phrase: deciphering politics. Could this be an encoded message?