"That it's what? We don't
know
what it is. We have suspicions—but no evidence. The only certain knowledge we have is what John learned before he was taken off the tachyon search project. But they'd barely begun to analyze the signals at that point."
"But everything points to it," Johanson insisted. "The secrecy, the military, the whole
Father Sky
thing masquerading as something that it isn't—"
"Yes," said Adams, nodding. "It all fits. But it's only supposition and circumstantial evidence—and we could easily be made to look like fools. We've got to be patient. It's a complicated issue, and we can't expect people to grasp it—or believe it—all at once. Even
I
don't believe it sometimes."
Johanson looked doubtful, but finally he agreed. "Part of the problem is all this sneaking around. We can't even discuss it properly among ourselves."
"Well, let's keep at it indirectly," Adams persisted. "Let information out, but do it in bits and pieces. Go through intermediaries. See if we can get someone interested outside of our network."
"Such as—?"
"I don't know. Someone in the media. Someone who would be willing to treat it as a puzzle, and not push it too hard right away." Adams scratched his chin. "Someone who can get it public for us—but in a gradual, nonthreatening way. Until we have real evidence."
"Maybe Ellen can do something—"
"Hasn't she just been sitting on it, down there?"
"She's as afraid to move as we are, probably. But I think she has her own contacts. John indicated that someone was getting at least part of what we sent down to her."
"That's what we need—more people getting it," Adams said. "But with our names kept out of it. Let somebody else dig from the outside. Get someone else involved in sharing the risks."
There was a beep from the instrument panel, and Johanson turned. He put on his communication set. "Johanson." He listened a moment, then said, moving the mike away from his throat, "Alicia says George is coming up for a report. You'd better get back. He might not believe us if we said we were docked up for a quick game of poker."
"Tell him we were having lunch together," Adams growled. He moved toward the hatch. "That little prick is going to cause trouble, so keep a watch on him. What's our decision?"
"I'll see John again tomorrow," Johanson said. "I'll tell him where you stand. I don't know what he'll say."
"Where do
you
stand?"
Johanson shook his head. "I don't know. I really don't."
"Let's just not do anything stupid, all right?" Adams said. "See you back at the station." He turned and slipped back down the hatchway, banging his elbow on the lip of the hatch as he went. He cursed as he pulled himself back into his own compartment and slammed the hatch closed. Flexing his arm with a wince, he made his way back to his seat.
As he prepared to undock, he glanced out the overhead window and caught sight of Earth's southern hemisphere just peeking over the window's rim. Home. He could be visiting there in a few more months—if he wasn't in solitary confinement by then. Damn this business anyway. He'd never asked to be an underground conspirator. If there was something out there in space that was half as interesting as they all thought, why in hell couldn't HQ open the thing up for all the world to see? Who was going to be hurt? Why did things like this always seem to require a bunch of unwilling rebels to risk their necks getting at the truth?
He released the docking mechanism with a sigh. His elbow hurt like hell. With eleven more units to test, he was going to be good and irritable by the time he was finished today.
Payne paced as he talked into the phone. "I've tried every connection I could think of, Teri. I've gone through channels, and I've tried to go through the back door. It's just no go. Chang won't talk to me on the phone, and the Space Agency gives me the standard spiel about the space probe. What?"
Teri Renshaw spoke louder, or moved closer to her phone. The picture was off; he had caught her at home, changing clothes. "I think you should go out there," she said. "See this Chang woman in person."
Payne struggled with the question in his mind. "I don't want to throw good money after bad," he sighed finally. "It seems like such a long shot." Since his talk with Gerschak, he had gathered some background material, but had yet to produce a single solid additional lead. He couldn't keep investing time and effort in a story that was going nowhere.
"Joseph, wait a minute." Seconds passed, and then the picture screen on Payne's console lighted, and Teri peered out at him. She was dressed now, in a starched white blouse, but she had a hairbrush in her hand, and a look of exasperation on her face. "Where are you?" Payne moved into the range of his video sender. "Okay. Now look, Joseph, you have to be prepared to take some risks—"
"I know that," he said in irritation. "But to travel across the country—"
"It's a long way," she agreed. "Joseph—"
"Yah?"
"Would you listen to me for a minute?"
Payne stopped pacing and stood in front of the phone. "Sorry."
"Look," Teri said. "It's your project, so you can do whatever you want. You won't have that luxury once you have a studio contract."
"Of course."
"Well, you called me for my advice. So here it is. I think you've got a good angle, and you'd be a fool not to follow it up." Teri ran the brush through her hair. "Maybe something will come of it, maybe not. But when people don't want to talk to you, that's generally a sign that they're hiding something."
"Or that they just don't like newscopers," Payne said.
Teri sighed, only it was more like a growl. "Why are you being so obstinate, Joseph?"
He frowned and wondered the same thing. "I just feel uneasy about it. I don't want to waste more time than I have already."
"It's a chance you have to take. Quit acting like a scared puppy. Look—so this woman doesn't want to talk over the phone. Can you blame her? She doesn't know who you are, she's never met you. If you try paying her a visit, you might just be surprised."
"Mmm."
"What does it take to light a fire under you? This could be the story you're looking for, and you're acting as though it's too much trouble." She glared at him. "Is it the money? Is that a problem?"
Payne scowled. That was exactly the problem. Money. He knew that he was acting like a terrified amateur; but the hard truth was that as long as he was a freelancer on spec, he had to pay his own expenses—and his budget could scarcely afford a frivolous trip to California. "You know what it costs to fly cross-country these days," he said finally.
"Take the airship. It's cheaper." Teri began brushing her hair again, then stopped, when he made no response. "All right, look," she said. "Unless I misunderstood, you expressed some interest in collaborating. Did I misunderstand?"
"No—you didn't."
"Well, then, I'll be wrapping up production on this federal education thing in a few days. If you want—
if
you want—we could set up some terms. I'm not trying to pressure you—"
"I'd like to do that," Payne said.
"Okay, write up what you have so far, and let me talk to some people at the studio and see if they might be interested. Would some advance money help?"
"It might," Payne answered.
"I'll see what I can do, then." She pressed her lips together and stared at him for a few moments. "Joseph, damn it, I believe I have more confidence in this story than you do."
Payne grunted. It was true; she did. "Welcome aboard," he said. "Full partners?"
"If you like. We can settle the details later." Teri glanced at her watch. "I have to scoot—I should be at the studio. But make a decision on that trip, and I'll see if I can help on the money end. All right?"
"Right. And thanks." Payne signed off and stared thoughtfully at the blank screen. He was amazed at how casually he had just agreed, not only to pursue the story, but also to work with Teri. There were a lot of potential difficulties with that. You can make it work, he told himself. She's a good friend, and you'll probably learn a lot from her.
He heard the back door slam. Walking out through the kitchen he greeted Denine and relieved her of an armful of groceries. "Would you miss me if I went to California for a while?" he asked as he set the bag on the counter.
"Hell, no. Why should I?" Denine grinned and started unloading the bag. Eggs, tofu, bread, milk, cheese, bananas. "What's in California, and how are you going to pay for it?"
"A story's out there, I hope. I just talked to Teri Renshaw, and we're going to collaborate." Payne peered into the bag. "No coffee?"
"None in the store," she said, putting the milk and cheese away. "They had some Tuesday, and sold out the same day." She pushed things around on the shelves to make room for the eggs, and closed the refrigerator door. "What story?"
"Space probe. Tachyons. I want to talk to this Ellen Chang at JPL and see if I can do any better with her face to face." He opened the cupboard. "Do we have any cookies left?"
"We're cutting out the junk food, remember?" Denine said. She tore off a banana and offered it to him.
He scowled and searched the cupboard for a moment longer, before giving up and accepting the banana. "Did you get that fashion layout design accepted yet?" he asked.
"Yup. Hey, what's this?" She plucked an envelope out of a small pile of mail on the counter and held it up. Her eyes widened. "A letter from Mrs. Moi—I can't believe it. She must have tracked me down through three cities." In response to Payne's questioning look, she waved the envelope, which was decorated with several forwarding address labels. "Mrs. Moi—Mozy's mother."
"Mozy? Your friend—the one who doesn't return phone calls?"
"Right. Her parents are in Kansas City. I haven't heard from them in ages. Wonder what this is all about." Denine tore the envelope open, and frowned as she unfolded two sheets of paper.
Payne peeled the end of the banana and took a bite. Denine looked up with an expression he couldn't quite decipher. "What is it?" he asked, swallowing.
She handed him the letter. "You read it. Shit." She sat down at the kitchen table and stared at the floor as he examined the letter. He frowned for a moment, then read:
Dear Denine,
I know it's been a long time since I've written, and I hope this letter finds its way to you. I trust and pray that you are well, and happy in your work. The last I recall, you were going into the graphic arts. You always were talented in that area. It's been so long since I've heard, and I know it's probably my fault, for being such a poor correspondent. But since your parents moved away, and then after your mother died, I just haven't kept up the way I should.
Anyway, the reason I am writing you now is this. You may know that there were some problems between Mozy and the rest of us, a while back, and she dropped out of touch. She stopped writing and calling, and I guess we did, too. I haven't been able to contact her for some time. I have her phone number, but she doesn't return my calls. Have you heard from her, Denine? I was wondering if she might have moved. I urgently need to locate her.
Mozy's father has become very ill, with cancer, and the doctors are not sure if he will respond to treatment. He may only live a few more weeks or months. Denine, it is very hard for me to write this. Please, if you know how to get in touch with her, ask her to call home immediately! Or let me know where she is.
I hate to write to you out of the blue like this, asking for a favor—but I'm sure you understand. Thanks so much, if you are able to help. I hope you are well. We would love to hear how you are doing.
Sincerely,
Jennifer Moi
Payne cleared his throat uneasily. Denine was twisting her hair in her fingers, and did not look at him as she took back the letter. "Brings back a lot of memories," she murmured finally.
He pulled up another chair and sat facing her. "Do you suppose something's wrong?" he said. "It seems strange that she wouldn't answer
anybody's
calls."
"Maybe not," Denine said softly. "She had a falling out with her family just before the one with me." She stirred uncomfortably. "Neither one made much sense, as far as I could tell."
"You never really told me what happened between you," Payne said. "Didn't you say you'd been best of friends?"
Denine nodded slowly. "All through high school. We were inseparable." She glanced up, and there was hurt in her eyes. "Then, when we were sophomores in college, everything changed. I got involved in my first real relationship with a guy, and it affected Mozy terribly. She was jealous, I suppose. Jealous that I had something she didn't. Jealous that it might cut into my loyalty to
her
, which it didn't." Denine grimaced. "She resented all the time I spent with Bob. When I moved in with him, it was just too much. She said that that was the end of our friendship, and she just cut me off. Or tried to. She couldn't give it up altogether—there was the occasional phone call, and when I moved east, a letter once in a while.
"
I
never wanted to stop being friends. It just became impossible to give anymore. How could I, when it always meant rejection?" Denine shook her head. "Mozy must have been terribly hurt, terribly lonely." She placed the letter carefully on the table and cleared her throat.
Moving behind her, Payne began to massage her shoulders. He felt tightly knotted muscles, and squeezed gently. She sagged and breathed more easily in response to his touch. "Do you think she's still angry—and that's why she's not answering anyone's calls?"
Denine rubbed her eyelids with her fingertips, and sighed. "I don't know." She stood, picking up the letter again. "I'd better write to Mrs. Moi." Payne followed her into her study, where she sat down before the phone console. She switched on the keyboard, then hesitated. "Shit."
"What?"
"It's just that Mrs. Moi sounded so desperate—and I hate to write and just say I'm sorry. I feel as though I ought to do more." Denine massaged her eyebrows worriedly. "As though I owe it to Mozy. Maybe I should at least make a quick directory search—"