The Infinity Link Page 8

  "You and a few other people," Teri said, chuckling. "How are you doing otherwise? Where are you living? Who are you with? What's new?"

  Payne laughed. "Still with Denine. Still in the Boston area. Not too much new, really."

  "In a year and a half? Life can't be that dull."

  "Well, you know—" Payne shrugged self-consciously. He always felt a little odd talking to Teri about Denine. The first couple of years they had known each other, Teri and he had flirted occasionally at the boundary between platonic friendship and romance, crossing over the line only briefly. That little spark had never totally disappeared, even after they both had settled into relationships with other people. Teri, the last he'd heard, was living with a man in New Washington in what she'd once described as a "semi-open relationship."

  "I'm still with Ed," Teri said, anticipating his question. "We keep changing things—and always wind up going back to our original arrangement. Never can make up our minds." She smiled. "Hey, it's good to see you."

  Bobbing his head in agreement, he was interrupted before he could speak again. A gangly-looking man with large spectacles and intense blue eyes suddenly turned to them, apparently rebounding from another conversation. "Interesting show, wasn't it?" he said loudly.

  Payne nodded, not wishing to appear rude. Who was this intrusive jerk? he wondered. "Are you a reviewer?" he said.

  "Me? No—no." The man shifted an empty glass to his left hand and stuck out his right. "Stanley Gerschak. I'm an astronomer."

  "Oh," said Payne, shaking hands. "I'm—"

  "Joseph Payne. I recognized you from your news shows."

  "Why—yes," Payne said, pleasantly startled. He gestured. "I'm sure you must recognize Teri Renshaw."

  Gerschak frowned, peering at her over his spectacles. "I confess I don't. I don't actually watch that much TV."

  In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Payne changed the subject. "What's an astronomer doing here for a press showing?" he asked.

  "I asked for a ticket," Gerschak said casually. "You might say I work in a related field."

  "And what's that?" Teri said innocently.

  The astronomer seemed pleased by the question. "SETI: Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence. Communications from space."

  "Oh?" Payne said. "Are you connected with Moonbase?"

  Gerschak shook his head. "Nope. And if I were you, I wouldn't believe any of their press releases, either, by the way. They've been searching for years, and they claim to have detected nothing." He shrugged disdainfully and glanced about as if he didn't want to talk about it. Clearly he was waiting to be prompted.

  Against his better judgment, Payne said, "Is there something you know about, that they're not telling us?"

  Gerschak shrugged again. "Depends on who you believe."

  Payne and Teri exchanged impatient glances.

  "We've found something, anyway," Gerschak said finally. "I work up at the Berkshires Observatory. You know it?"

  "In western Massachusetts? I've heard of it. It's a small university observatory, isn't it?"

  Gerschak nodded. "We've been getting some unusual stuff for a while now." He looked into his empty glass. "Our methods are a little different there. But anyway, that's why I wanted to come down to see this. We've observed something quite reminiscent of their sounds."

  Payne shook his head in confusion. "Whose sounds?"

  "The whales'. Something or someone is sending signals—which, when processed in a certain way, sound astonishingly like humpback whale songs." Gerschak shook his glass, spinning a last bit of melting ice around the bottom rim. He tipped the glass to his lips and tapped the bottom.

  "Really," Payne murmured tolerantly.

  Gerschak gazed at Teri with an expression verging on being a leer. "You wouldn't have heard about it," he said. "Nothing's been published yet." He paused, pushing his glasses back up on his face. "My colleagues are . . . skeptical. Many of them don't believe it. Some of them think it's a load of bull. But my procedures—" He broke off suddenly at the sight of someone moving through the crowd.

  A short woman with black braided hair made her way to his side. Gerschak turned to her nervously. "Ronnie, would you be a dear and get me another—?"

  "Stanley—"

  "Just one more?"

  "You've had two already," the woman said severely. "You promised you'd have just one and then we'd go."

  "I'm having an interesting talk with these people," Gerschak said defensively.

  Ronnie yanked him down to speak into his ear. His expression turned to annoyance. For several seconds, Payne and Teri looked at one another in bemusement, as the two carried on a muttered argument. Finally Ronnie began tugging at his arm, pulling him away from Payne and Teri. Gerschak glanced back once, as though to say something more—and finally stumbled away after Ronnie.

  Payne looked at Teri, and they both began laughing silently and convulsively. It was several moments before either of them could speak. Teri was still trying to hide her laughter as she said, "Joe, you could be missing a tremendous scoop. Are you sure you don't want to chase after him?"

  "I'm sure," Payne said. "The last time I did a story on an 'unconventional scientist,' the guy turned out to be a notorious flako. I'm not going to step into that again soon."

  "Oh, I think he was just insecure," Teri said.

  "That's what someone told me about the flako."

  She laughed. "Hey, how about going someplace quiet for a drink? Unless you're going to trek back up home tonight—"

  "Nope, I'm staying. I probably should go start writing this thing up, while it's still fresh in my mind."

  "Well, I don't want to interfere with your work—"

  He shrugged. "I can do that tomorrow, I guess. Where do you want to go?"

  "There's a nice lounge at the Conrad, where I'm staying," Teri said.

  "Uh-oh. That's where I'm staying, too. We'll have to be careful, or we'll give people the wrong idea."

  "What's the matter—afraid of me?" she teased.

  "Maybe."

  Laughing, Teri led the way to the coat room. They thanked their host at the door and walked out together into a gusty Connecticut night.

  Chapter 9

  Jonders scanned the review summary a final time, scrolling the text on his home console:

  " . . .In the first of the demonstration tests, Kadin was asked to negotiate a settlement in a hypothetical brush-war, presented in a game program derived from the war-game library of the Harmon Defense Institute . . . .

  " . . .Kadin was required to provide psychological counseling to three clients . . . personalities fabricated from actual case histories. The reviewing psychiatrist, Diana Thrudore . . . indicated that Kadin, with substantial accuracy, interpreted symptoms of emotional disorder . . . .

  " . . .Details . . . are presented in the body of this report . . . .

  " . . .Kadin has demonstrated a grasp of the physical, life, and social sciences; diplomatic and military strategy, and methods of conflict resolution . . . .

  " . . .His training and knowledge can only provide a foundation for the higher qualities of judgment and wisdom. It is the opinion of the Personality Project Manager that further training would be valuable . . . however, insofar as 'readiness' is defined by established standards of competence . . . it is the judgment of the Project Manager that Kadin is in a satisfactory state of readiness. . .."

  Jonders snapped off the display. He knew it by heart anyway. The report would go to his superiors in the morning. The Oversight Committee would be studying it also; but Leonard Hathorne, the chairman of the committee, would make the decisions without much regard for his recommendations, anyway.

  To hell with it, he thought wearily, looking at the clock. It was after midnight—well past his usual bedtime. And he had to be in early tomorrow. He rose, switching off the desk lamp with a sigh.

  * * *

  The breeze that billowed the bedroom curtain was too cool for comfort. Jonders shoved the
sticky window down, leaving only a crack of an opening. The streetlights outside cast a pale illumination through the translucent curtains. He returned to bed, his bare feet scuffing on the carpet. Marie half opened an eyelid and rolled over. He slid back under the covers and loosely encircled her waist. She sleepily clasped his hand with her own. The gel mattress slowly gave way, dimpling under his shoulder.

  Sleep eluded him. After a while, he gently disengaged himself and rolled onto his back, blinking up at the ceiling. There had been too many nights like this lately—home late, tired, preoccupied, and too anxious to sleep. When was he going to learn to relax?

  He focused on a gossamer pattern of light on the ceiling, which trembled and shivered each time the curtains stirred. Fine, luminous lines traced bridges across the ceiling, arching between tiny patches of ghostly light. Pathways joining cloud kingdoms with subterranean realms, he thought. Storybook stuff. Not enough wonder left . . . not enough gossamer pathways between worlds . . . not enough travelers through the kingdoms. . ..

  "Bill . . . wake up!" Marie was prodding him. It couldn't be morning already. He blinked his eyes open. No, it was dark. Some damn chirping noise. Marie poked him again, harder. "Answer the phone!" she grumbled.

  "Oh, Christ." Struggling to consciousness, he rolled toward the nightstand, where the phone was winking and warbling. He got up on one elbow and groped for the answer key. The screen lighted, glaring in his face. He thumbed the intensity down. "Yeah. Jonders," he croaked.

  A young man's face appeared in the screen. "It's Tim Forbes, at the lab, sir. I'm sorry to wake you."

  "What is it?" Jonders sighed. Weariness flushed through him like poison. He glanced at the clock and groaned; he'd been asleep less than an hour.

  Forbes spoke hesitantly. "We have a problem here. It's your daytime programmer, Hoshi Aronson. He's here now, and—"

  "What the hell's he doing there? It's the middle of the night."

  "Yes sir, that's just it. He was running unlogged programs, and one of your subjects is here, too, a Mozelle Moi."

  "What?" Jonders sat upright on the edge of the bed. "Say that again. What did he do?" By the time Forbes was through, he was fumbling for his slippers. Weariness was turning to nausea. "Let me talk to Hoshi," he said.

  Forbes shook his head. "He won't talk. To anyone."

  Jonders couldn't believe it. "All right," he said finally. "Call security. I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't let anybody do anything until I get there."

  "We'll handle it," said Forbes. "Sorry to have to—"

  "Forget it. You did the right thing." Jonders ran his fingers through his hair, cursing, as the screen darkened. He called security and arranged with the night-duty chief for a hopper to be sent for him. He decided against calling Fogelbee or Marshall until he knew more.

  Marie was watching him as he dressed. "You aren't going back there now, are you?" she said.

  He let out a deep breath. "Yah. How much of that did you hear?"

  She shrugged, shaking her head in the pillow.

  How could he expect her to understand, when he couldn't even discuss the work with her? He buckled his belt and sat back down on the bed, stroking her hair back from her forehead. She looked angry. "It's some trouble with the staff," he said. "Serious trouble. I have to go."

  "Why the hell can't someone else do it?" she muttered.

  "There is no one else. It's my responsibility." He kissed her on the forehead and stood up. "It's probably going to be late, so I might stay out there tonight. Don't worry."

  Marie looked up at him, sleepiness gone from her eyes. "Call, at least."

  "Right." Slipping into his shoes, he kissed her again and left quietly.

  * * *

  The residential streets were quiet, only the mutter of distant traffic disturbing the night as he walked from the pool of one street light to the next. The air was chilly and clear, with the faint mingled scent of aspen and pine. He passed a dozen dark houses, rounded the curve at the end of the street, and hurried the last block and a half to the entrance of Orville Park.

  The parking lot was partially lighted, and almost empty. Jonders checked his flashlight and walked to the center of the asphalt. A sign at the park's entrance warned that the grounds were closed after dark. He waited.

  Ten minutes later, he heard a whining, whicka-whicka-whicka. He squinted into the sky and finally spotted a revolving red-and-amber light coming in over the trees from the north. He waved his lantern and moved back. When the hopper touched down, he ducked beneath the ghostly green circle traced by the rotor and climbed into the tiny passenger compartment beside the pilot. "Jonders?" the pilot shouted.

  "Right!" He slammed the door and grabbed for a seat belt. The hopper lifted abruptly. The pilot banked left, then dropped the craft's nose as he accelerated over the woods.

  Jonders caught his breath and peered out over the ink and glitter of the night suburban landscape. Most of the lights disappeared astern as they left the city behind and ascended over the mountain slopes, massive and dark. He nearly fell into a trance, listening to the chattering drone of the engine; then the lights of Sandaran Link Center appeared over a ridge. The moment the hopper touched the landing pad, Jonders yelled a thank-you to the pilot and hurried into the building.

  The Personality Lab was in chaos. Security officers were everywhere, and most of the night crew were standing around, looking bewildered. "Dr. Jonders," said the officer in charge, "we're detaining Mr. Aronson down in the conference room. The young lady is in the subject room with the nurse. I've called Chief Kelly at home, and he's on his way in."

  Jonders stared at him dumbly for a moment, as though the man had addressed the wrong person. "Take me to Miss Moi," he said abruptly.

  Two others were in the room with Mozelle—a guard and a female nurse. Mozelle herself was sitting in the subject chair—motionless as a wax statue. Her eyes were unblinking, and showed no awareness of the presence of others.

  Jonders crossed the room. "Mozelle?" he said softly. He touched her cheek. There was no reaction. He lifted her chin to force her to meet his gaze. "Mozelle, can you hear me?" Her eyes blinked once, but remained unfocused. "Mozelle." He released her chin, and her head dropped slowly to its original position. He felt for a pulse in her wrist. Her arm was limp. Her pulse felt normal. Jonders looked up at the nurse. "Have you examined her?"

  "She's been like this since I arrived an hour ago," the nurse said. "Her life signs are stable, and I could find no sign of physical injury. I'm waiting now for Dr. Phillips to arrive." She gestured to the linkup equipment. "Could there have been an electrical shock?"

  "Unlikely—but we'll check it out," Jonders said. "In the meantime, get on the phone to the Riddinger Institute and have them put through an emergency call to Dr. Diana Thrudore. See if she can get out here right away."

  "But Dr. Phillips—"

  "He can check her out physically. But Dr. Thrudore is a neuropsychiatrist, one of the best. I want her here." He refrained from adding that he never trusted company doctors. He turned to the officer standing behind him. "Where's Forbes, and Hoshi?"

  The man gestured. "This way."

  Jonders turned, as he was leaving. "Have someone stay with her at all times," he said. "And call me if she so much as stirs." He spun and followed the officer.

  * * *

  Hoshi remained silent and inscrutable. His eyes darted to Jonders and away.

  Damn those eyes, Jonders thought ungraciously. They were worse when Hoshi was trying to be mysterious. "If you won't explain to me what you were doing, Hoshi, we will have to assume the worst." Hoshi continued to ignore him. Jonders felt a surge of anger. "What the hell's gotten into you?" There was no response. He turned to the security officer and said, "Go get Forbes."

  When Tim Forbes walked in, he glanced nervously at Hoshi, then took a seat. Jonders asked him to describe exactly what he had seen. Forbes took a deep breath, and began elaborating on what he had told Jonders over the phone. "It appeare
d that he was doing a full-spectrum, intensive scan on her," he concluded.

  "A full-spectrum scan?" Jonders glared at Hoshi. "That's not true, is it?" The full-spectrum scanning programs were entirely experimental, not to be used on human subjects without considerably more refinement and preparation.

  Hoshi remained stoically oblivious. Furious, Jonders turned back to Forbes. "What else?"

  "Well—" said Forbes, stammering.

  "What else, dammit?"