CV

44

Carl Nohrenberg went through the metal detector and the explosives sniffer, showed his ID to the Marine guard, and entered the Oval Office at precisely eight-fifteen. The President, as usual, was sitting behind the Mickey Mouse figures at his desk, impeccably dressed, ruddy, cheerful, and smiling.

“Well, what have you got for me this morning, Carl?”

Nohrenberg opened his folder. “Mr. President, we have a very strong statement in support of your Zaire policy from President Lamartain.”

“That’s good. What else?”

Nohrenberg turned over a page. The President always liked a couple of pieces of good news to start off with. “We have an advance copy of the Walter Commission report. They’re going to exonerate Rickard.”

“Fine, fine. Send him a fax of congratulations—no, never mind. I’ll call him myself. And nowww," he drawled, with a grin, “what’s the bad news?”

Nohrenberg smiled in return. “Not exactly bad news, Mr. President, but we’re getting some more pressure on behalf of the people on Sea Venture.”

“Firestein, Greaves, and about fifteen others?”

“Yes, sir, and our thinking is that it would be a good idea to accommodate them. I have Admiral Penrose penciled in to talk to you about it at ten-thirty. If you agree, he could have a helicopter carrier there in five to six hours.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to him. Say, that reminds me of the one about the captain whose ship went down in a storm, and the next morning he found himself floating on a raft with this parrot. . .

“What happened to you, lad?” said Hartman.

Winter tried to smile. His head was wrapped in bandages, and there was a deep discoloration under one eye. “I don’t remember. I must have forgotten your advice. What about Ned Mulhauser—my partner? They won’t tell me anything.”

Winter hesitated. “He’s a bit worse than you, but he’ll be all right,” he lied. In fact, Mulhauser had serious internal injuries and was not expected to live.

“That’s good,” said Winter. “Will you call Professor Newland and let him know where I am?”

“Yes, I’ll do that. And I’ll be back to see you soon.”

Hartman tried to call Newland’s suite; there was no answer. That seemed odd. He went up to the Signal Deck and knocked on the door, waited, then tried the knob. The door was unlocked. The room was empty.

Oh-seven-hundred was when the home office generally liked to call, for its own inscrutable reasons. Colford, the General Manager, was very polite and helpful, but Bliss had a feeling that he did not understand the situation. “Mr. Bliss,” he said this morning, “I think I'd better tell you that we’ve had representations from the White House on behalf of eighteen of your passengers. They would like to be assured that you’ll find some way to contain this epidemic before you reach Guam.”

“I can’t promise that, Mr. Colford.”

“Or,” said Colford, “that in any event you’ll allow certain passengers to debark, including those eighteen whose names I’ve already mentioned. Now I don’t think that’s an unreasonable request. Do you think it’s unreasonable, Mr. Bliss?”

The trouble was that he couldn’t tell Colford the whole truth, because he would not be believed. If he started to babble about intelligent parasites and so on, he was perfectly sure that Colford would give him the sack. Then Bliss would have to refuse to surrender command, and there would be the devil to pay. “No, that’s not unreasonable,” he said.

“Now, I’m told that the Navy is going to dispatch a helicopter carrier to rendezvous with you and take on your eighteen passengers, or thirty or forty, whatever it may be—I leave that up to you, Mr. Bliss. And they’ll keep those people in quarantine until they’re sure there’s no problem, and then land them ashore. Your ETA at Guam is what?”

“Thirteen February,” said Bliss.

“All right, then, will you make the arrangements, please? And, by the way, the helicopter will also bring you some medical people; that ought to relieve your mind.”

“Yes,” said Bliss.

Stevens’ attitude toward Julie was undergoing a change which puzzled and disturbed him. He was discovering an absurd beauty in certain aspects of her face and body which had seemed quite ordinary before. Apart from that, he found himself thinking with fondness of her as a person; he wished her well, and wanted to preserve her from harm.

That afternoon, in his bed, she murmured, “What do you want?”

“This.”

“Nothing more?”

“No. What do you want, Julie?”

She was silent a moment. “I think I’d like you to tell me the truth.”

“About myself?”

“Yes.”

“Suppose I were to tell you that I’m a criminal?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. What kind of criminal?”

Stevens looked at her. “You really do want to know? Well, then, I am an assassin. That is my profession. I was paid to come on this voyage and kill someone. Does that satisfy you?”

“I don’t believe it,” she said. Then, looking at his eyes, "Yes, I do. Who were you supposed to kill?”

“That I don’t have to tell you.”

She nodded. “When are you going to do it?”

“It is already done.”

She said, “Now I don’t know what to believe. Nobody has been killed on Sea Venture.” But he saw that she knew it was true.

“How do you feel about it?”

“About being an assassin? I feel that it is a foolish way to spend one’s life.”

“Only that?”

“What do you want me to say, that I repent my misdeeds? I don’t. I think the world is much better without certain people, but that’s not the point. The only thing I am sorry for is that my life has been senseless.”

“Mine too,” she said after a moment.

At sunset they were standing on the Signal Deck near the bow, looking out at the darkening sea and the rim of orange fire.

“Is that a ship?” she said.

He shaded his eyes with his hand. “Where? Oh. I think I see it. That little speck.” His heart had jumped, just for a moment, when he thought it might be the lifeboat. “They are looking at us too, I suppose, and congratulating themselves not to be here. When they get home, they’ll tell their friends, ‘We passed within ten miles of Sea Venture.’ ” It couldn’t be the lifeboat, of course; they wouldn’t even be able to see it from this distance. He wondered if the old man was dead by now; he must be. Why hadn’t he made sure? Probably, he thought, because he didn’t want to be sure. He had wanted Newland to have a chance, even if only one in a hundred. If Newland had won, if he had been found alive, that would have been another signal, the one he was waiting for now.

They turned and began to walk around the pool. “Do you think we’re going to make it?” Julie asked conversationally.

“The human race? I would say that depends on whether we deserve to survive.”

“That’s pretty cynical.”

“No, it is very idealistic. There is a way in which someone here on Sea Venture can save humanity very simply, if he chooses; the only question is, will he do it?”

“And what might that be?”

“There are occasions when someone knows he is the carrier of the parasite, because no one else is near enough to the last victim. At that moment, that one person has the option of saying, ‘Please clear a path for me to the passenger entrance and open the door.’ ”

“I see. And step out? Very simple.”

“Yes, very simple.”

“Would you do it yourself?”

He shrugged. “If I answered yes, it would be braggadocio. Since I have already had the disease, I am not likely to be called upon. Nor are you. So we can theorize in perfect safety, and turn our backs on the problem like everybody else. Shall we go now and have some dinner?”