Mission to Minerva

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

In his office atop the Advanced Sciences building at UNSA, Goddard, Gregg Caldwell chewed on the butt of a cigar while he scanned over the latest interim report from Hunt on one of his deskside display screens. It had been sent from Thurien on the day after Calazar's visit to the project. Hunt believed he had the germ of an explanation, but he was giving it time to consolidate more in his head before sounding out the reactions of the rest of the team. He didn't say what the explanation was.

"That's Vic: Keep us guessing," Caldwell muttered to himself as the anticipation that had been rising while he read down the page evaporated with the realization that it was the last. In the meantime, he didn't have the beginnings of a clue what to make of it. Senior scientists falling out over petty obstinacies that would shame adolescents; even Thuriens bickering among themselves; and now allegations of things that were flatly impossible. Caldwell seriously wondered if there might be something about the transition through h-space that could disorient Terran nervous systems to the extent of inducing hallucinations; or maybe some side effect of Thurien neuro-coupling technolgy. Terrans had only started using it recently, after all. He went as far as calling several names he knew in medical and psychological fields to see if they had heard of any such phenomena, but none of them had. Caldwell leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers absently while he frowned at the desk. He was still searching for an angle that seemed remotely plausible when the intercom tone sounded from Mitzi in the outer office. "Yes?" Caldwell acknowledged, straightening up.

"Nothing on the web, internal resource list, or the library net," she advised. "I also checked the Thurien link. Nothing there either."

"Okay." It was what Caldwell had been expecting by now. One of the thoughts that had crossed his mind was that something might be infecting VISAR in the way the Ents had infected JEVEX.

"And a Lieutenant Polk of the FBI called while you were talking to Doctor Norris."

"FBI? What have I done now?"

"He didn't say. Want me to get him back?"

"It's the only way we'll find out."

"And Weng's presentation that you said you wanted to hear is due to start in ten minutes."

"I'll be out as soon as I'm done."

"Fine. I'll let them know."

Mitzi cleared down. Caldwell retrieved the memo that had been circulated a few days previously from his Pending tray and glanced over it to refresh his memory. The presentation was titled, "What We Can Learn from The Prince." Its premise was that the books, seminars, studies, and policy guides attempting to devise effective management strategies for the miniature feudal states known as business corporations and administrative bureaucracies were largely a waste of time. Machiavelli had figured it all out five hundred years ago. An interesting concept.

The tone sounded again. "Lieutenant Polk," Mitzi's voice announced. The call appeared on one of Caldwell's free screens.

The face was of what appeared to be a heavy-set man in a white shirt and dark tie, smooth-shaven and fleshy, with beady eyes, hair combed back from a broad brow and receding at the temples, giving a moonish impression. Caldwell could almost imagine the flat feet, size 13.

"Mr. G. Caldwell?"

"This is he."

"Lieutenant Polk, Investigations Branch, Finance and Fraud Division." The voice was as neutral as his expression, which hadn't altered by as much as a flicker when the connection was completed.

"How can I help you, Lieutenant?"

"I understand that you are director of the Advanced Sciences Division there at Goddard?"

"That's correct."

"So that would make you the immediate superior of a person that we would like to contact-a Doctor Victor Hunt?"

"That's right. He's deputy director of Physics."

"He appears to be unavailable at present, and so is his assistant, Duncan Watt. I was routed to a Professor Danchekker's secretary, Ms. Mulling, but her attitude was not cooperative. She referred me to you."

Caldwell smiled inwardly at the vision of a relentless, plodding force meeting the unthawable, immovable object. "Hunt and Watt are both away on an assignment right now, I'm afraid," he replied.

"When will they be back?"

"It's impossible to say, Lieutenant. The duration is indefinite."

"Can you tell me where this assignment is?"

"About twenty light-years from here. They're in another star system."

"I see…"

Caldwell could almost sense the methodical stepping through of recalled procedure manuals for a continuation. "Can you give me some idea of what this is about?" he asked, both to fill the silence and get them out of a possibly endless loop. There was a slight pause while Polk executed a context switch.

"Does the name Gerald Santello mean anything to you, Mr. Caldwell?"

In fact, it did. Caldwell had been over Hunt's exchange with the alter-ego Hunt countless times. But Caldwell had no intention of going into any of that. He frowned, knitted his brows, and shook his head at the screen. "Not that I recollect. Who is he?"

"Hunt's next-door neighbor in Redfern Canyons."

"If you say so. Okay."

"Mr. Santello recently approached a broker in Washington, expressing intense interest in acquiring stock in a certain commercial enterprise of a highly sensitive and confidential nature that has not made any public offering yet. We've established that Santello acted on the strength of privileged inside information, disclosure of which could constitute a felony. It appears that this information came from Doctor Hunt."

Caldwell made a show of digesting the information. "I'm amazed," he said. Which was true enough-amazed not at the fact, but that it should have such repercussions. "I've known Hunt for years. He's an exceptional scientist. I don't think I've met anyone with less interest in matters like that. You're sure there isn't some mistake?"

"We can only go by the facts we have," Polk replied.

"Well…" Caldwell showed an open hand and made a face. "That's about as much as I can tell you, Lieutenant."

"If anything further comes to mind, would you let us know? You have my contact details."

"Yes, of course."

"Thank you for your time."

"You're welcome."

Caldwell remained staring disbelievingly at the screen for a while after it blanked out. This had to be the strangest case of leaked investment information ever. Finally, he grunted to himself, folded the memo about Weng's presentation, slipped it into his jacket pocket, and left his office.

"Are they coming to get you?" Mitzi asked as he emerged into the outer office.

"Oh, it seems I'll be okay for a while longer. He was trying to get ahold of Vic."

"Vic? Why? What's he been doing?"

"Not our Vic. The other universe's Vic. Apparently, that stuff he passed on about investing in Formaflex is still classified information. The feds think there's some financial scam going on."

"You're kidding."

"I don't think the unflagging Lieutenant Polks of this world are the kind who kid about anything."

Mitzi shook her head despairingly. "As if this whole business wasn't getting crazy enough already. I want to know what Vic thinks has been happening on Thurien. Can we call them when you get back, and ask him?"

"He's not ready yet."

Mitzi sighed with obvious impatience.

Caldwell stopped. There was a glass vase on a ledge above Mitzi's desk, containing a cluster of rose buds just starting to open. Caldwell gestured at it. "Things happen in their own time," he said. "The job descriptions call us managers, but you can't manage creative people. What we really are is gardeners. We put them in a place where the soil is right, make sure they get enough water and sun, and then wait for them to do their own thing. Vic and Chris may not have Thurien depth know-how, but put 'em together and they can think sideways. That's what they've got going for them in this. But only if you give them their own space, far away from where people like me might be tempted to meddle." He nodded toward the vase again. "It would be like pulling the petals of those open to try and help things along."

Mitzi's eyes narrowed as a pattern became clearer. "That was why you sent them to Jupiter when the Charlie business needed a new angle, wasn't it?… Then Jevlen. And now Thurien. It's all the same style."

"You know what the two worst inventions were?" Caldwell asked.

"What?"

"The telephone and the airplane. Because they made it too easy for Head Office or the General Staff to go messing around in details that the people on the spot should know how to handle. So they ended up with mediocrities out there. But the Romans managed to do pretty well for six hundred years without any of that. You gave the general his objectives and the wherewithal to carry them out, and after his baggage train or his boats disappeared over the horizon that was the last you knew until a messenger came back. So you had to make sure the guys you picked were good. We have to be careful that we don't make the same mistakes just because we've got Thurien h-space communicators, eh?" Caldwell glanced at the clock display on Mitzi's terminal. "Anyhow, here the lesson endeth. I gotta go."

"Hey, Gregg," Mitzi called after him as he reached the door. He stopped and looked back as he opened it.

"What?"

"How come you're just attending this thing about Machiavelli? Why aren't you giving it?