Quiet Invasion(74)
Or how close they still are, Michael chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. If the validity of the Discovery is called into question, the money flood is going to dry up, and we’ll be right back where we started.
Enough. The accusation had been made. The only question left was what to do about it.
First thing, revisit the evidence. Make sure the investigation was as complete as he thought it was four months ago. Second, check out Dr. Hatch. If she was doing this to call attention to herself, maybe she’d done similar things in the past. It might help to have that to hold up to her, or to anyone else who came calling.
Of course there was somebody on the base who knew all about Dr. Hatch. Michael pictured Philip Bowerman—a big man, serious, but with a sense of humor that ran just below the professional surface. From the beginning Bowerman and Cleary had been polite, circumspect, and very aware that they were unwelcome. Michael, in return, had made sure his people were polite, circumspect, and very aware that Bowerman and Cleary were just doing their job.
Still, the idea of going to the yewners with this made his stomach curdle.
And not because you’re worried you might have let something slide past that they’ll catch. Oh, no.
Michael straightened up. “Desk. Contact Philip Bowerman.” Bowerman was wired for sound, as were most U.N. security people. He and Cleary had given Michael their contact codes within minutes of his meeting them.
“Bowerman,” the man’s voice came back. “How can I help you, Dr. Lum?”
“I’ve got one or two questions about the U.N. team to ask you.”
“Okay,” said Bowerman without hesitation. “I’m in the Mall, but I’ll be right up.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll come down.”
Eleven years as head of security had given Michael a refined appreciation of how Venera’s rumor mill worked. There would actually be less talk if Michael “ran into” Bowerman at the Mall than if he sat closeted with the man at his desk behind sound dampeners. Lack of talk was something much to be desired right now, especially with Stykos and his camera band roaming the halls.
“Desk,” said Michael as he stood. “Display Absence Message 1. Record and store all incoming messages, or if the situation is an emergency, route to my personal phone.”
“Will comply,” said the desk. Its screen displayed the words AT LUNCH, LEAVE A MESSAGE.
Michael tucked his phone spot into his ear and threaded his way between the desks, heading for the stairs.
Michael walked down past the farms, past the gallery level with its harvester and processing plants, its winery, brewery, bakery, and butchery, past the research level, and past two of the residential levels with their concentric rings of brightly painted doors, and past the educational level where the irrepressible sound of children’s voices rang off the walls. Below the educational level waited the Mall.
From the beginning, Venera had been designed to support whole families. Helen had wanted people to be able to make a long-term commitment to their work. The open Mall with its shops, trough gardens, food stalls, and cafe-like seating clusters was one of the features that made the base livable for years at a time.
The Mall was about half full. An undercurrent of voices thrummed through the air, along with scents of cooking food, coffee, and fresh greenery. Meteorologists clustered around a table screen, probably getting readings of a storm from the sampling equipment Venera carried in its underbelly. Off-shift techs and engineers played cards, typed letters, ate sandwiches, or sipped coffee. Graduate students took advice and instructions from senior researchers, and senior researchers tossed ideas back and forth between each other. A pod of science feeders held a whispered argument among themselves. If the gestures were anything to go by, it was getting pretty heated. Families, knots of friends, and loners drifted in and out of the shops or stood in line at the food booths. Around the edges of the hall, a couple of maintenancers spritzed the miniature trees and dusted off the grow-lights. A cluster of children played with puzzle bricks at their parents’ feet. If anyone’s gaze landed on him, they waved or nodded and he returned their greetings reflexively. Michael no longer knew the names of everyone on Venera, but he knew most of the faces, and he couldn’t bring himself to think of anyone aboard the base as a stranger.
This was his world. It was not the only one he had ever known, but it was the only one that had ever truly known him.
Spotting Bowerman took only a quick scan of the room. The man stood out in his subdued blue-and-white tunic. Venerans went in for bright colors.
Bowerman had picked a table near the far edge of the Mall under a pair of potted orange trees. He spotted Michael before Michael was halfway across the floor and lifted a hand.