Fire Pattern

CHAPTER 9

“I’ve been getting quite a few reports about you, Rayner.” Pirt Sull Conforden’s face was thoughtful, the pale flawless skin glowing like eggshell in the light of the overhead globe. “I hear you don’t get on very well with your supervisors.”

Jerome sighed. “If it’s Glevdane you’re talking about—I apologize. I wasn’t trying to needle him. He’s a bit too chauvinistic.”

“It isn’t possible for a Dorrinian to be chauvinistic. By criticizing the work of the Guardians you appear to criticize the Guardians themselves—and, by inference, the Four Thousand.”

Where’s my dictionary of diplomatic answers? Jerome thought. “I’m sorry. My sole concern was with getting the Thabbren safely to Earth.” He glanced across at Zednik and Thwaite, who had assembled in the small room to replicate his original placement interview. Their faces were solemn and carefully neutral, but he could sense the animosity in Zednik.

“I’ll accept that as the truth, without going too far into your motivation,” Conforden said.

“There’s no secret about my motivation—it’s the same as yours,” Jerome replied. “I want to get away from this rattery some day.”

“You should show some respect for the Director.” Zednik scowled at Jerome as he spoke, the lines of his forehead deepening into razor slashes.

Jerome nodded to him in mock-politeness. There had been antagonism between them since their first meeting, largely because of Jerome’s refusal to recognize the older man’s mayoral authority. Zednik had been deputy sheriff of a small town in Florida at the time of his translation in the 1950s, and had spent four decades industriously playing civics in the Precinct. Jerome, refusing to treat the place as anything but a prison, had not joined the game.

“It’s all right, Mel—I’m becoming accustomed to Rayner’s mode of speech.” Conforden turned his eyes to Jerome. “It has also been reported to me that you work extra shifts in the tunnel.”

Jerome nodded. Same motivation.”

“And that quick action on your part saved a man’s life.”

“I don’t wany any medals puncturing my vacuum suit,” Jerome said. “What’s this all about?”

“The Thrabbren is being placed on the surface tomorrow. Only Guardians are permitted to go near it, of course, but I have decided to give you a place in the accompanying work party.” Conforden produced a wry smile. “The rest of us see this as a great honour, but you may look on it as a major step on the road back to Earth. Do you want the appointment?”

“Always willing to oblige,” Jerome said, concealing the lust that had suddenly been born inside him, the craving to raise his head and see beyond a horizon and into the beckoning depths of space. It might even be possible to pick out a glimmer of light from Earth itself—oceans, mountains, pastures, cities with parks and libraries and all-night grocery stores—all compressed into a single spark and fine-drawn into a bright thread of photons linking him with home. At that moment he could think of no greater reward for his labours.

“Pardon me, Director, but this isn’t according to the decisions we minuted at the last Precinct Council meeting,” Zednik said. “My understanding was that I would select the Terran representative for the Thabbren escort. In my opinion the honour should go to the worker with the longest service in the tunnel.”

Conforden nodded, but in disagreement. “We’re not talking about a ceremonial parade. Rayner may be useful in some small way, and that is the overriding consideration—although it is quite inconceivable that anything could go wrong with the Guardians’ plans at this stage.”

You should never say things like that, Jerome thought, watching the interplay of excitement and pride on Conforden’s young-old face. It was hubris that got me where I am today.