Part 8 (1/2)
”Somebody called Palomec Jindriss,” the building's message processor replied. ”He says you wanted to talk to him.”
”Don't let him go. I'll take it as soon as I get to the lab.”
Jindriss was older than Sarvik had imagined. Or maybe that was what being an internationally prestigious scientist did to people, Sarvik thought as he confronted the image waiting on the screen. It was of a man of around middle age, his crest thin and graying prematurely, with furrows that imparted a permanently worried look to both sides of his head. Even the screen seemed to capture a bleak light in his tired, pink-rimmed eyes.
”Naturally, my sister has told me of your conversation,” Jindriss said. ”What you wanted to talk to us about, I really don't know. ButI would very much like to talk to you, Dr. Sarvik. You can't imagine the significance of what you've stumbled on. I can't go into the details from here, but suppose I fly over from Vayso. My schedule is completely flexible. When would you be available?”
No preliminaries. None of the caution and probing that would have been only prudent or any play for notching up an opening advantage. Perhaps that was simply the way academics were, Sarvik thought. For a moment he was too perplexed by the directness to know how to respond. His confusion must have shown.
”Oh, I suppose you're surprised by my failure to follow the customary social maneuverings,”
Jindriss said. ”I don't have the time for that kind of thing, I'm afraid, or the disposition. It may strike you as naive, but I urge you not to pay it undue attention. I can a.s.sure you that none of it will matter for very long. In fact, before very much longer nothing will matter at all.”
17.
Jindriss caught a late afternoon flight from the island of Vayso, where ASH's headquarters was located, and arrived in Pygal that evening. An aircab brought him to Sarvik's house on the outskirts of the city. Formed as an attachment on the underside of a large ovoid balloon moored beside an inlet of water, it was a fitting abode for the abrupt swings of mood that Sarvik was p.r.o.ne to. When he felt sociable, he stayed down by the anchoring pylon near the water's edge. When not wanting to be bothered with anyone, he would reel out a thousand feet or so of line and sail up into the clouds until the rest of the Borijan race chose to become bearable again.
Since Palomec Jindriss was expected, the house was down, and he didn't have to be carried up in the elevator capsule that rode the mooring cable. Sarvik showed him into the living room, which was at the nose end. It had windows the length of three walls, at present commanding a view of the approach road flanked by scrubby trees and garage structures and the choppy gray waters of the inlet flecked white by a gusty breeze. The furnis.h.i.+ngs were a collection of oddments picked at various times for utility, with no thought for coordination or balance of style. It wouldn't have mattered all that much, anyway, since most of the designs and colors were obscured by scattered papers, boxes of folders, and untidy piles of journals and books. A desk with screens occupied one corner, and a pot of graff simmered on a worktop conveniently close by.
They exchanged greetings, and Sarvik hung up Jindriss's topcoat. ”Something to eat, maybe?”
Unused to academics, he was not sure if a show of unearned courtesy was in order so soon. The best thing was to play it safe.
”No, thank you all the same, Dr. Sarvik. I eat sparingly these days. My lunch was quite sufficient.”
Jindriss was as gaunt in full figure as his image had conveyed. His frame, though tall, showed a stoop, as if all the world's worries were piled on his shoulders. He had on a somber two-piece suit of dark gray with muted stripes that was dated and hung too loosely, suggesting that he had lost weight.
”A graff, then?” Sarvik said. Jindriss accepted, and they sat down, the visitor in one of the two central recliners, Sarvik clearing a s.p.a.ce for himself on a padded couch below the windows in one of the room's long walls.
”I had a friend who used to live in one of these,” Jindriss said, gesturing vaguely at the surroundings.
”His cable broke one night, and they all woke up halfway to Xerse.”
Sarvik started to smile, but Jindriss's expression remained deadpan. Sarvik changed his to a grimace on one side and a questioning look on the other.
Jindriss, however, was already off the subject. ”Leradil told me your account of Farworlds Manufacturing's plans to convert Searchers into generation craft.”
Well, one certainly couldn't fault academics for not getting straight to the point, Sarvik thought. Not this one, anyway. Jindriss could have made some initial conversation by saying a little about the kind of place he lived in, with some observation on the differences between academic and connivance life, or even a word to say that he knew the background of Sarvik's dealings with his sister. Or perhaps, from what he had said on the phone, Jindriss didn't attach much importance to discussing things like that.
Sarvik replied with equal terseness. ”They believe the time has come for Borijans to go out and begin exploring the galaxy.” His tone and expressions conveyed thathe hadn't said it. The people at Farworlds had.
”But you don't seem to think so.”
”I think there's more to it.”
”Why?”
”Well . . .” Sarvik hesitated in confusion once again. He was not used to direct demands for information, with no reciprocation offered or reasons being given.
Jindriss raised a hand, nodding. ”I understand that this is not the way in which you are accustomedto going about things. But believe me, the importance of what I think you've gotten yourself mixed up in makes all of that irrelevant.”
”You'd better tell me what, then,” Sarvik said.
”If I were not prepared to, I would hardly be here,” Jindriss answered. ”But can we take it a step at a time, please? Now, what madeyou suspect that there might be more to it?”
Sarvik ma.s.saged his brow with his fingers and sighed. There wasn't any one thing he could single out. A lot of it was simply an instinct developed from long experience dealing with people like the Farworlds directors he had met. A glance here, an intonation there, somebody's change of posture . . .
In the end he said, ”It's all too much-too big a change, too suddenly.”
Jindriss nodded that this was what he had expected. ”Go on.”
”All of Borijan thinking about offworld habitats has been focused within the Kovar System for over a century. n.o.body has ever been able to come up with even the beginnings of a policy for going outside that anyone thought workable.” Sarvik waved a hand in the air. ”If such att.i.tudes change at all, they change gradually, over generations. But this has all happened at once. There has been nothing in recent years to prepare anyone for it, yet the Farworlds directors are in such a hurry that they're haggling over days. Conclusion: They know something that they're not telling. My nose said it was something big. And now your being here, and on the same day I talked to your sister, tells me that I was right.”
”How did you connect any of it to ASH?” Jindriss inquired.
Sarvik sat back, interlacing his fingers in a leisurely movement. ”I don't see why the details of that should be pertinent. The importance of whatever Farworlds and ASH are involved in can't depend on how I came to know what I know, now, can it?”
”You discovered that ASH had infiltrated Leradil into Farworlds.” Jindriss contemplated Sarvik for a second or two, as if reflecting on what that meant. ”You must have access to some extraordinary code-breaking resources.”
”Ah, well, then, you've just said it, haven't you?” Sarvik told him. At the same time he permitted himself a satisfied smirk that said he hoped Jindriss didn't expect him to divulge details.
But Jindriss went on. ”And that's why Farworlds wants you in. They need top-level computing expertise. Is it for the generation s.h.i.+ps?”
”Partly. And to handle the kind of operations they'll need to support the settlements when they get out there,” Sarvik replied.
”How feasible is it?” Jindriss asked. ”Can they do it, do you think? Could these generation s.h.i.+ps work?” He gave the question a ring of finality, as if this had been his main object all along. It was a strange thing to ask. The problems with interstellar migration had always had to do with Borijan politics and mutual suspicions, not technology. Now, suddenly, Jindriss was speaking as if only the technology mattered.
”I'm sure that they could, in principle,” Sarvik answered. ”After all, consider for yourself: the Searchers have been going out there for long enough. It's obvious that such s.h.i.+ps can be built.”
Jindriss gave him a penetrating look, as if inviting him to reflect on what he had just said. ”Yes, they have, haven't they? And initiating self-sustaining, fully automated operations of astonis.h.i.+ng complexity.
So tell me, what exactly is this more advanced computing that they say they'd need for the generation s.h.i.+ps? What would it be for? Surely, what they've got already is advanced enough for anything they could reasonably want, wouldn't you say?”
That point had occurred to Sarvik, too, but he was hardly going to tell Farworlds that he really didn't think they needed him for anything. If they thought they did and were willing to make a present of sensitive inside information, then fine. He'd listen.
He replied evasively. ”It's difficult to say without knowing more of what their plans are. I'd have to reserve judgment on that for the time being.”
Jindriss put his fingers together in front of him and inclined his head to one side. ”Just suppose that building the generation s.h.i.+ps was not the end of it at all,” he said. He waited a moment for that to sink in.”Suppose that the real object was to re-create from minimum beginnings a complete Borijan culture, preserving as much of our knowledge and sciences as possible but with no falling back on Turle or any of the rest of the Kovar System for support. Complete isolation. No recourse to any help if things became difficult. Wouldthat make a difference, do you think? It would mean getting absolutely the best technology you could lay hands on, of every description. You'd need lots of advanced computing then, wouldn't you?”