BOUNDARY(175)

He shrugged. "It ain't the end of the world, George. Just another complicated situation that we live with from one day to the next. Like we've been doing for a long time now. The world gets a reasonably open space program that they feel part of, and don't feel too threatened by, and we can still buy ourselves a year or two—won't ever be longer than that, don't kid yourself—in the event the people at Melas Chasma ever do turn up any real military secrets. 'C'est la vie,' as our off-and-on French friends say."



Jensen was trying to glare at Hughes, but . . . was obviously finding the task difficult. As several of his predecessors had discovered over the years, the country boy from Mississippi was impervious to such efforts. Mississippi was ancient history. Hughes had been in Washington and survived its feuds longer than just about anyone. One of the other common jokes in the capital was his nickname. Devil Anse Hughes.



"All right, then, keep her if you insist. But send out a replacement as soon as—what? You won't even give me that much?"



Hughes stopped shaking his head. "George, for Pete's sake. Think. Or if you won't, then trust my assessment of the situation. Now that Fathom's gotten what she wanted—"



"Which was what? What did that bitch—" he broke off, seeing the Director's glare. Andy Hughes glared even less often than he used cuss words.



"Not in this room, George. Not ever. Way I was brought up, we don't call a lady a bitch. Sure as hell not a lady like Madeline Fathom. She's been places and done things that would have—"



He broke off himself. Pearls before swine, and all that.



He leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk. "What did she want? Exactly what she's going to get. You still don't understand, do you?"



Then, wearily: "Ah, never mind. My recommendation to the President is that we leave the existing agent in place. Seeing as how— this is not rocket science—one of the other side effects of her transmission is that she'll now have all those cantankerous scientists out there eating out of her hand. Thirty percent of whom, I remind you, are foreign nationals—and one hundred percent of whom are among the top scientists in the world and will be about as easy to keep squelched as herding cats. Genius-grade cats, to make things worse. If there's anyone who can do it—well enough, anyway—it'll be Madeline Fathom."



"Oh."



"Yeah. 'Oh.' Live with it, George. Just live with it." He looked at his watch. "You'd best get back, since you'll be having a new crisis coming down the pike."



"What are you talking about?"



"Oh, I figure right around . . ." He glanced at the watch again. "Now, I'd say, it will finally be registering on every CEO of every major aerospace, oil and auto company—probably the railroads, too—that a reactionless drive might upset their applecarts. They'll be flooding the President with calls demanding to know what he intends to do about that dire threat to national security."



He managed to say it without a trace of sarcasm. A waste of effort, really, since by the time he was finished the National Security Advisor was already out the door.





Chapter 54




Three days later, after watching the latest news transmission sent down from Nike, A.J. shook his head. "Jeez, who woulda guessed? It never occurred to me that transmission of yours would stir up such a hornet's nest. Honestly, I thought you and Joe were joking about taking it on the lam."



By then, Helen and Bruce had finished clearing the table of the dining ware and cleaning it. That was always an obnoxious chore, given the water regimen in Thoat, and thus one that was scrupulously and fairly rotated. The task done, they returned to the table.



"What is your situation?" Helen asked quietly. "I mean . . .?"



Madeline waggled her hand back and forth. "Not too bad, all things considered. Think of me as skating on very thin ice—but I'm an excellent skater, if I say so myself, and I've got a great pair of skates." She reached out and patted the interior wall of the rover. "Bless Thoat. And all the rest. It's just awfully hard—especially in Washington—to skin alive Ye Heroine of Ye Day. Even if half of them are sharpening the knives and would like nothing better."



She lowered the hand and patted the table with it. "Anyway. Here I am and here I'll stay. For a veddy veddy long time, I imagine. The director made it pretty clear that as long as I stayed out here he could cover my ass—even keep me in charge—but if I ever returned . . ."



She shrugged. "That's fine with me. This is the best assignment I've ever had or could hope to have. The work is fascinating and important, I like almost all the people around me—boy, is that a change from my usual situation—and . . ."