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xenobiology bank. I'll put someone right on it."
Grego frowned. "No, no, no, Juan. Do it yourself. Don't let anyone know what
you're pulling out of the computer. And don't discuss it with anyone."
' "This must be pretty damned big," Jimenez said. His face took on an
aggravated look. "I mean, for common scientific data that's available to
anyone who wants to look it up."
"That's not the point," Grego said briskly. "Dig up everything you can and
bring hard copies to my apartment at 1730. Then, if we have what I think we
have, I'll explain it all to you."
Jimenez frowned and pursed his lips.
"-Honest," Grego said.
"You mean you want a barracks cover in a child's size," the supply sergeant
said.
"No, no, Sam," Vidal Beltran said exasperatedly. "When I say this big-" He
held out both hands with thumbs and forefingers circled. "-I mean Fuzzy size."
The supply sergeant reared back in mock surprise. "Oh, well-why didn 't you
say so? We don't have those in regular issue. To get one that small you'll
have to go to officer's supply."
Beltran gnawed his cigar. "What I want you to do, Sam, is take one and cut it
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down to fit a Fuzzy."
"Which Fuzzy?" Sam asked.
"The one that's the drillmaster for the Fuzzies that live up here in this
valley," Beltran said.
"Kind of like a badge of office, you mean," Sam said.
Beltran gnawed his cigar-more happily this time. "Yeah," he said. "He oughta
have a hat."
Sam leaned on the edge of his console. "Hmmmmm," he said. "I can cut down the
frame and the sweatband-and the cover. The visor, though; that'll have to be
completely redesigned. Hmmmmm."
"Come on, Sam," Beltran said. "You can do it from a component pattern."
"Hmmmm,"TSam said, shifting his weight to the other elbow.
"Look, Sam," Beltran said, "I'll get your section some goodies from the mess."
Sam straightened, suddenly more interested. "What kind of goodies?" he asked.
As Juan Jimenez stepped out of the lift at the penthouse level, he was not
thinking of the packet of data printout which was under his arm. He was not
thinking of why Victor Grego was in such a hell of a rush to get the
information.
He was thinking about the inconvenience of shuffling around his cocktail date
with Liana Bell. Probably better to push it up to dinner, anyway. There would
be much more time to talk with her that way. He could demonstrate his
savoir-faire with the wine list. Perhaps it would be appropriate to dine at
Alfredo's. It couldn't hurt to start things off with a bit of a splash.
Now, if I can just break loose from this meeting by-oh- 1930 or so. . .
Jimenez was startled out of his ruminations by the sudden opening of the
portal and the appearance of Leslie Coombes' slender and suavely elegant self
on the other side of the doorway.
"Come in, Juan," Coombes said. "Victor's in the kitchen, just fixing
cocktails. Would you care for one?"
"Yes, Leslie; yes I would," Jimenez said. "I had to juggle around a cocktail
date to get this stuff over here." He wanted to get that one in. He hadn't
been Director of Science Center all that long and it showed a certain devotion
to the Company. When they were comfortably situated in the living room,
Jimenez opened the packet and read over the main points which he had already
highlighted on the printout that afternoon in his office. He laid down the
sheaf of paper on the coffee table. "That's all the data we have on it at
Science Center," he said. "I think I see what you're driving at, Victor. The
postulates of Garrett's Theorem indicate the disturbing notion mat Fuzzies may
not be native to Zarathustra. There's utterly no evidence to support such an
idea, though. . ."
"I knew it!" Grego interrupted. He smacked the table with his fist, hard
enough to make the nibblements bowl jump about a centimeter off the surface.
Leslie Coombes pursed his lips. "Knew what?" he asked in an irritated tone.
Grego beamed. "Don't you get the drift? All this crap - about the North Beta
Excavations . . . If the wrecked spaceship story is true, and // Garrett's
Theorem is true, and if Fuzzies aren't native to Zarathustra, then that
wrecked ship might be how they got here."
Jimenez sipped at his drink. "That's all a little preposterous, Victor," he
said.
Grego pierced him with a gaze. "So was hyperdrive-five hundred years ago," he
said evenly.
"Now, now, chaps," Coombes remarked. "We're not arguing a court case or
anything."
"I'm glad you brought that up, Leslie," Grego said, "because I was just about
to. Leslie; do you know if Garrett's Theorem has ever been used as evidence in
a court case?" Coombes chuckled. "I doubt it, Victor. It's only a theory."
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Grego was deadly serious. "Just the same," he said, "I want you to check it
out thoroughly in case law. Find out if it's ever been rajged as any kind of
evidence in a court case."
Leslie Coombes averted his eyes. "I'll look into it first thing tomorrow," he
said.
Jimenez took another sip of his drink and fetched some nibblements for
himself. He had never seen Victor Grego in such a state. "Victor," he said
hesitantly, "this is only a matter of speculation on the part of an obscure
scientist. Why all the excitement?"
Grego sloshed the brandy in his snifter irritably. "If we can mount a legal
action which cites case law involving Garrett's Theorem," he said, "we may
stand a chance of getting the Company's charter back. Don't you see?" He
looked around the table, seeking a glimmer that the other two men seemed to
follow his line of reasoning.
Leslie Coombes was nervous. "Victor, "he said, "even if there is case law
precedent on-ah-Garrett's Theorem, we haven't got anything resembling a chance
of winning such a suit. There just isn't enough evidence that we can prove."
Grego frowned deeply. "We don't have to prove a con-founded thing, Leslie," he
said. "All we have to do is-I believe the phrase in your business is-'raise a
reasonable doubt' in the minds of a jury. The case will stay in the courts for
years, anyway. In the meantime, maybe we can get some of the Company's assets
unfrozen and start showing a profit again." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]