Part 6 (2/2)
”Nothing right away, I hope. But that depends on stopping any further disturbance of the s.h.i.+tdogs, the casting piles or the jewels. The s.h.i.+tdogs are the advance wave for the race of aliens who sent them. Call these aliens the 'Big Dogs.' The casting piles are the power sources and the jewels the beacons. What we have here is an attractive nuisance set up by these superminds. A fire alarm. If we mess with it, thereby showing our intelligence, we set off the alarm. And Ramsdel Wetherall, with his construction activity, his wrong-headed advice from the academic establishment, and his obsession with the jewels, is intent on giving us away. Does he realize this? Of course he does! How could he not? It's common knowledge that pile C here in Stateline has been growing at an alarming rate, while there has been no change at any of the other sites. He's tripped the alarm, and wants to bring the Big Dogs down. That's the reason we've got convergence, and that's why we've got to stop him.”
I couldn't stand it any more. I stood up and waved my hand frantically. Wetherall blanched and tried to pull me back, but it was like facing Matthewson at a Curriculum Committee meeting. ”What a load of unfounded bulls.h.i.+t!” I shouted.
In the corner of my eye I saw Nguyen slip out of the tent. Thorp squinted until he made me out against the lights. ”Dr. Cobble? I'm glad you deigned to show up. You have a better explanation?”
”What is this theory based on, other than your Ouija board? It sounds like the plot of some pre-millennial sci-fi movie. I've known about the growth in pile C for weeks, and you just figured it out!”
The reporters turned, Wetherall clutched at my arm, and I realized that once again my pa.s.sion had carried me a little past the bounds of discretion. ”Oops,” I whispered.
”Let's get out of here,” Wetherall muttered.
We made a dash for the outside. When the reporters realized the man next to me was Wetherall, they rushed after us, and nearly cut us off before we could leap into Nguyen's jeep.
As we sped across the flats toward Laputa, Nguyen spoke to Wetherall. ”I believe we are faced with a moment of truth.”
On the ride back, I sat beside Wetherall and tried to melt into a puddle so I could soak though the floorboards into the salt flat. I should have told him about pile C days ago. He knew I knew. I knew he knew. Now Thorp was villifying us both, and I'd handed him the means to do it.
Wetherall spoke first. ”We've got to hurry up the launch.”
”Listen,” I said. ”I screwed up. I let Thorp scoop me on the big story. But that doesn't justify all that garbage he's dumping on us. Don't let him force our hand.”
”The s.h.i.+tdogs have forced our hand, Liz,” said Wetherall, his voice flat. I tried to read him, but couldn't. It was probably because he was planning to send Murk Janglish over to lop off my head for what I had-or rather, hadn't-done. But why was I worried that he might fire me? I had just quit.
By the time we reached Laputa, Wetherall was already planning his counter-strike. He would hold a press conference of his own, float a raft of different but eminently plausible explanations of the s.h.i.+tdogs' behavior to defuse any panic Thorp might have aroused.
”Thorp's not a credible scientist,” I protested. ”We don't need to respond.”
”We?” said Wetherall. ”So we're 'we' again?”
”I'm sorry, Wetherall,” I said. ”For everything. How about a deal? If you don't fire me, I won't quit.”
Nguyen's eyebrows arched but he said nothing. Neither did Wetherall. He simply offered me his hand and we shook. His hands were warmer than I remembered. He didn't seem angry or disappointed with me, only focused on our next step.
”Then we can proceed immediately. You'll speak for us, Liz. You carry more weight than Thorp. You can make him look like the eccentric he is.”
A lot Wetherall knew about eccentrics. ”But I can't face down an army of reporters. They'll nibble me to death.”
”You don't have to,” said Wetherall. ”Your avatar is ready. She can do it.”
I sat with Nguyen in Laputa's media room to watch the press conference. Wetherall was holed up in his room.
On the pix, it looked just like a live press conference. Behind the microphones were Wetherall and I-or rather our avatars. Wetherall's was the accustomed grinning, overenthusiastic barrel-of-quirks. I'd thought his avatars exaggerated until I met the man and learned they were actually realistic.
Mine was good. I couldn't complain about that. The avatar-modeling program had caught my edges, my impatience and sarcasm. Although I had never smiled that much in my life, at least it hadn't softened me to oatmeal.
There was only one problem.
”Cobble” and ”Wetherall” were standing too close together. It looked like their hips were touching behind the podium. And they were flirting, bantering like teenagers, much to the detriment of the spin they were trying to sell.
They positively glowed.
I could see tomorrow's gossip columns as clearly as if they were etched in the air before me.
I opened the interface Wetherall had given me to move ”Cobble” to a polite distance, only then she lost the train of her thought. If I was going to take control of my avatar, it seemed that I would have to do all the talking. I couldn't.
I ran up one level and pounded on Wetherall's door. I was doing a lot of that lately.
The door opened. ”h.e.l.lo, Liz-”
”I thought 'Let's-not-and-say-we-did' was supposed to be a mutual decision,” I said.
”Eh?”
There was a pix open on the bed. Murk Janglish glowered on it. ”Who is it, Ramsdel? Not that Cobble woman again?”
”You're not watching our press conference?” I said.
Wetherall shrugged, ”I've been too busy. Murk tells me that my money missed me while I was gone. Besides, we're not really saying anything important, are we? That's the whole point of a press conference.”
”Ramsdel,” said Janglish, ”aim me at her. There's something she needs to hear.”
”We may not be saying anything, but our avatars are practically in each other's pants,” I said.
”Really?”
”Come down and take a look.”
”Ramsdel!” shouted Janglish. ”Wait, Ramsdel. Don't . . .”
”Hold that thought,” said Wetherall, and turned him off.
Down in the media room, Nguyen had broken out the champagne. ”This is really quite interesting,” he said.
Wetherall watched for a moment. His response was blithe. ”I'm sorry Liz, but I'm not at all sure this is bad strategy. If our supposed 'romance' becomes a story, then it will distract the reporters from Thorp. But if you want, I'll call the team leader and get your avatar tweaked right away.”
”Mine? What about yours?” From where I sat, it looked like 'Wetherall' was trying to peek down 'Cobble's' blouse.
”If you insist, I can have my avatars adjusted as well.”
”What good is that going to do? The damage is done. The reporters are going to think I'm your mystery woman. We'll be the talk of the net tomorrow.”
”They've got me in bed with any woman who gets within ten kilometers. I'm sorry-I'm used to it. Maybe I shouldn't be. But I'll do what I can to spare you the indignity of being thought of as romantically linked to me. Now if you don't mind, Murk is having apoplexy.”
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