Timescape. Part 15

"They did? You didn't tell me."

z ? ?''ou gave m no chance. I can never reach.you, at the b.l.o.o.d.y lab. AndNicky came home from scnoot in tears because Miss Crenshaw, of all people, has up and gone off to Tristan da Cunha with no notice or anything, and you know how devoted Nicky was to her. I thought the government was going to stop emigration of needed workers. I suppose Miss C. didn't qualify as needed. Anyway I had to console Nicky.

And then you phoned and said you-were bringing Peterson home. Honestly, sometimes ! feel' just like a *.Londonshopping? Buy yourself a dress. Go to the theater.""Alone?"'ou choose the day and I promise I'll come up inthe evening and m,e-t you for a play. How aboutthat? So lone as it s not one of those new-stylegloom-and-doom pieces. The world s m bad enoughshape already without that."She laughed, mollified. "Oh, things are not as badas everyone makes out. The world's been throughworse times. Think of the Black Death. Or the SecondWorld War. We'll survive all this too. Yes, I think aday in London is a good idea. I haven't bought anynew clothes for ages. Oh, John, I feel a lot better now.And you know, you don't really have to stay thisevening. I know you're dying to get back to yourwork."I'll stay," he said firmly. "Tell me more aboutwhat was taken from the garage. You know, it's hightime we had an alarm system installed. Do you thinkit was those squatters up at the old farm?""Oh my Goci, John," she wailed suddenly, "look atthe souffle! It's flat as a pancake!" She sat downheavily and stared at it. Then she started to laugh.Her laughter merged gradually into sobbing. Johnstood behind her, patting,her shoulder awkwardly.

"Don't take on so, luv,' he kept saying.

Finally she dried her eyes anci sat up. 'Vell, I mnot hungry anymore anyway. I don't want to eat the 2 ? 8 Gregory Ben fordbeastly thing. I'm exhausted. But the kids haven't had dinner. I suppose I'll have to get them some-thshgd' started to get up, but John pushed her back into her seat. "No, you don't. I'll open a tin of soup for them or something. You go off to bed. You look all in. Don't worry about a thing. I'm staying home this evening and I'll take care of everything.""Thanks, John, you're a dear. Yes, I really think I will go to bed."She watched him go into the kitchen and stood up wearily. Then she almost started to laugh again. Just an hour or two ago, she had been feeling starved of s.e.x because John was so seldom home. Now he was home for the evening and she was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open long enough to get to bed.

b.l.o.o.d.y marvelous, wasn't it?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

SHE APPEARED ON TIME AT THEIR AGREED-UPON.

meeting place, the low stone wall in front of King's.

Peterson hesitated for only an instant, rummaging for the phrase that would call up her name. Ah, yes, Laura-at-Bowes. "Hope I haven't kept You waiting,"

she said, smoothing her dress with dainty hands.

He murmured something in automatic reply, struck again by how pretty she was. He noticed with amus.e.m.e.nt that she was wearing a simple dress that was a copy of one of Sarah's models. A good copy. It would have fooled almost anyone.

Laura was impressed with the car, a late model custom-modified for him. She looked wonderingly at the bossed wood and understated dash, yet said nothing. Trying to appear blas, he judged. Even Sarah, who must have been sophisticated at age five, had exclaimed over the interior. Come to think of it, the only person he could recall who had not been impressed was Renfrew. He wondered what that meant.

When they entered the restaurant, some miles out- 2 a 0 Gregory Ben ford side Cambridge, the head waiter apparently recognised him. The other male diners didn't; it was Laura who drew the stares. Gin-and-tonics, opulent linen napkins, the usual. Laura looked round the room in a way suggesting that she was taking mental notes for her friends. Impressive, he supposed, but stylistically a hodge-podge. Basically an English country inn with touches of French elegance that didn't fit. The chintz, the large stone fireplace filled now with plants for the summer, the beamed ceiling, the low round oak tables--all were comfortably familiar, solid. The chandeliers and tinted mirrors were wrong. Doubly so for the flatplate TV giving a not-quite-right view of a French courtyard, with distant moving figures in the fields, farmers apparently gathering hay. And the fake Louis XVI half-round side-table with its bowed gilt legs was simply a monstrosity.

"Frangers!" Laura exclaimed.

'Yes," he said.

She remarked very precisely, ' wonder what the romons de veau fiamb is like? And the coles d'agneau l'ail?"

"The first, probably so-so. They're big on flaming here. The second, more likely adolescent mutton than real lamb. Your French is quite good." Might as well get that in. He phrased a longer-compliment in French.

"Sorry, I only speak food."

He laughed, pleased to find a touch of wit in her.

They discussed shiplifting in Bowes & Bowes; Peterson had deflected most of her questions about Council matters. "Why not a guard at the door, searching briefcases?" he asked.

"Mr. Smythe wants ours to remain a gentlemen's establishment, where the customers don't feel they're under suspicion."

Peterson recalled a time when one could count on having rooms in college, and was given sherry when one went round to one's tutor, and wore a white din- 2 8 !.

ner jacket for the May b.a.l.l.s. Now all the colleges admitted womei, and women shared rooms with the men if they liked, and there was even an all-gay college, and academic gowns weren't required anywhere.She went on about how rude the students were today. He nodded, guessing that this was the sort of thing she expected he would like to hear. Not far wrong, actually. But it was her charm that interested him, not her opinions.He brought his mind to bear on the situatiofi. It seemed like a straightforward problem in the timeless s.e.xual game. Perhaps it was the predictability of it' that explained his inattention to detail; he had to force himself to follow the thread of her talk. She wanted to get into films or maybe acting, check. A flat in London if she could only find some way to move, right. Cambridge was dull unless you liked the dreadful academic sort of amus.e.m.e.nts. She felt something really did need fixing in the current political situation, but had no suggestions as to what that might be. No surprises, but she was awfully pretty and had a graceful way of moving.She accepted all of the vegetables that arrived in silver dishes, each in its own sauce. Probably didn't get much variety at home, particularly since the French crop, failures. He speculated for a moment about whether the Council should have stepped in on that one, ruling out the new techniques, and then pushed the subject back into place; no point in dwelling on past issues.Since he was having trouble focusing, he began directing the flow of talk. It was easy enough to work in a recent state function, slide a few names past at the right speed to be understood, but not so slowly that she would suspect he was dropping them in deliberately.

Then he slipped in a reference to Charles and she blurted, "Do you really know the King?" Actually he was on respectful and professional terms with Charles, but had no hesitation in exaggerating 2 S Gregory Ben fordthe relationship as far as believable. He felt confident that she did not even notice the discreet gesture with which he ordered another half bottle from the wine waiter. She was getting slightly giggly now. He took advantage of it to try rather more risqu stories on her. At one point she covered her gla.s.s with her hand, protesting that she had had enough. He set the bottle down and started to tell her the salacious details behind the Duke of Shropshire's recent divorce.

He quickly got to the scene in court when the famous "headless" photo was produced. Lady Pringle had sworn it was the Duke, she would recognize him anywhere. The judge had asked to see the photo. He found it to be essentially a close-up of a man's gen-italia, though' his companion's face was clearly identifiable.

Laura was giggling so helplessly that he felt sure she did not see him refill her gla.s.s. As he went on with how the judge had asked Lady Pringle how she could be so sure it was the Duke, he raised his gla.s.s and Laura imitated him unthinkingly. He let her swallow her wine before he told her Lady Prin-gle's reply, which had so convulsed the court that the judge had had to order it cleared.He sat back and watched her. Things were .oing splendidly. She had abandoned her affected flirtatious att.i.tude and, momentarily, her refined accent."Oh, go on with you," she said, her vowels sliding obliquely through a range of East Anglian diphthongs.The waiter had pushed a trolley of sickeningly elaborate French pastries to their table. As he expected, she chose the creamiest and attacked it with the unabashed eagerness of a schoolgirl.Over coffee she became earnest again, watching her vowels and pressing him about politics. She repeated the common newspaper cant about irresponsible corporations pushing questionable new products into the world without a thought for social impact. Peterson resigned himself to sitting through this standard lecture and then, without quite realiz- 283.

ing it, found himself thinking aloud about maers he had shelved for a long time. "No, no, you've got it wrong," he said suddenly. "The wrong turning came when we started going for the socially relevant research in the first place. We accepted the idea that science was like other areas, where you make a product and the whole thing can be run from the top down.""Well, surely it can," Laura said. "If the right people are at the top--""There are no right people," he said with energy.

"That's what I'm just now learning. See, we went to the senior scientists and asked them to pick the most tPhrOmising fields. Then we supported those and cut e rest, to 'focus our efforts.' But the real diversity inscience comes from below, not from innovative managers above. We narrowed the compa.s.s of science until n.o.body saw anything but the approved problems, the conventional wisdom. To save money we stifled imagination and verve.""It seems to me what we have is too much sdence."

"Too much applied work without really understanding it, yes. Without pursuing the basics, you get a generation of technicians. That's what we have "More checking to see the unforeseen side effects""To see you must have vision," he said earnestly.

"I'm just beginning to catch on to that fact. All this talk of b.l.o.o.d.y 'socially relevant' work a.s.sumes a bureaucrat somewhere is the best judge of what's use-fui.

So now the problems are outstripping the can-do types, the folks with limited horizons, and, and ..."He stopped, puzzled with himself at this outburst.

It had altered the carefully cultivated tone of the evening, perhaps fatally. Maybe spending the day with Renfrew had done it. For a moment there he had been arguing fervently against the very point of view that had brought him so rapidly to the top.He took a long pull of coffee and chuckled 2 s 4 warmly. "I rather got off the beam on that one, didn't I? Must be the wine." Properly played, the momentary outburst could be used to show that he was pa.s.sionate about the world, involved, independent thinker, etc., all of which might well appeal. He set to work insuring that they did.

The moon was high above the trees. An owl swooped silently across the patch of sky above the clearing. Cautiously he slid his arm out from under her head and looked at his watch. Past midnight.

G.o.dd.a.m.n. He stood up and started dressing. She lay still, sprawled quite unself-consciously, legs flung 'wide as he had left her.She was lying on his jacket. He stooped to retrieve it and in the moonlight saw tears on her cheeks. Oh, s.h.i.t. Surely he wasn't going to have to cope with that too."Better put your clothes on," he said. "It's getting late."She sat up and fttmbled with her dress. "Ian," she began in a small voice, "that's never happened to me before.""Come on," he said, not believing her. '/ou can'ttell me you were a virgin.""I didn't mean that."He searched for her meaning. "You never--?"

"Iranot with a manmnot like thatI never had---"

She stumbled over her words, trailing off, embarra.s.sed.So that was it. He didn't help her out. He felt weary and impatient, unmoved by her implied compliment.

It was a point of honor to satisfy them, no more. G.o.d knows she had taken long enough over it.

Still, it had been a better job than that j.a.panese nym-phomaniac in La Jolla,' Kiefer's wife. There was now an unpleasant twinge when he thought of her. He had done the usualsindeed, more. She had come again and again and seemed insatiable. There had 2 o 5 been a kind of feverish clutching to her, a thing he had noticed in many women lately. But that was their problem, not his. He sighed and pushed away the memory.He shook out his jacket, brushing away blades of gra.s.s. She was silent now, still fiddling with the tie on her dress, probably trying to make it into the same bow she'd left home with. He led the way from the clearing, empty of any further des'tre to touch her.

When she slipped a hand into his he thought it polite to let it stay there; he would be coming to Cambridge again, after all. Absent-mindedly he scratched a midge bite on his neck that he'd collected while tussling in the gra.s.s. Tomorrow was going to be another long one. He flexed his shoulders. A cold ache had settled into the muscles at the base of his neck. Let's see, there was the subcommittee meeting tomorrow, and some backup reading on the Sacred Cow War still sputtering along in India ... He realized with a start that he was living slightly in the future these days, as an ingrained habit. At Renfrew's he'd been distracted by thoughts of dinner and wine. At the restaurant he had watched Laura's hair and thought how it might look fanned out across a crisp white pillow. Then, immediately after the act, his mind h.ad drifted on to the next day and what he had to do.

Christ, a donkey driven by the carrot.He was faintly surprised when they emerged from the damp woods into the moonlight and he remembered he was still in Cambridge.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

GREGORY MARKHAM WAS SURPRISED WHEN IAN.Peterson appeared in the laboratory, striding pur-.

posefully down the lanes of electronic gear. After the usual greeting Greg said, "I would have imagined you didn't have much time these days for secondary efforts like this."Peterson looked around the bay. "I was in the neighborhood. I saw Renfrew a few days ago and have been busy since. Wanted to talk to you and see this new Wickham woman.""Oh, about that. I don't see the necessity of my going Stateside right away. There's--"Peterson's face hardened. "I've cleared your way with NSF and Brookhaven. I've done all I can from my end. I should think you'd no objection to runninginterference for Renfrew back there.""Well, I don't, but ...""Good. I'll expect you on the flight tomorrow, as planned."

a s ?"I've got a lot of interesting theory to go over here,things Cathy brought--""Take it with you."Markham sighed. Peterson was not the easy-going breed of administrator popular in the US, open to suggestion even after a decision had been made."Well, it will hold things up, but ...""Where's Wickham?""Ah, down that way. She came in yesterday and John's still showing her around."A slim, rather bony woman approached..'ust finished the tour," she said to Markham. "Pretty impressive.

I haven't met you, I think," she continued, turning her large brown eyes to Peterson."No, but I know of you. Ian Peterson."';So you're the guy who got me strong-armed out here.""More or less. You're needed.""! was needed in Pasadena, too," she said grimly.

'You must're lit a fire under some big honcho upstairs.""I wanted to hear about these tachyons from subuniverses and so on.""My, you must be used to getting what you want pretty d.a.m.n fast.""At times," Peterson murmured lightly."Well, I've got the lowdown from Greg and John here, and I think that noise just might have, well cos-mological origins. Maybe microuniverses, maybe dis-tant Seyfert galaxies in our own universe. Hard to tell. Quasar cores can't produce this much noise, that's for sure. The data coming into Caltech and Kitt Peak seems to suggest there's a lot of dark matter in our own. Enough to imply there are microuniverses, maybe.""Enough to close off our geometry?" Greg put in.

"I mean, above the critical density?""Could be." To Peterson she added, "If the density of dark matter is high enough, our universe will 2 a Gregory Ben fordeventually collapse back in on itself. Cyclic cosmos and so on.""Then there's no way to avoid the noise in Renfrew's experiment?" Peterson asked."Probably not. It's a serious problem for John, who's trying to focus a beam in spite of all the spontaneous emission this tachyon noise causes. But it'll be no worry for 1963 or whatever. They're just receiving; that's a lot easier."Peterson murmured a neutral, conversation-breaking reply and said that he had to make some calls. He departed quickly, seeming rather distracted.

"Funny gu" Cathy said.Markham leaned against the computer console.

"He's the man who opens the cash register. Humor She smiled. "I'm amazed you got funding for all this---" a sweep of the arm. Her eyes moved, studying his face. "Do you really think you can change the past?"Markham said reflectively, "Well, I think Renfrew started out simply to get funding. You know, a practical icing on a cake that's really fundamental and 'useless.' He never expected it to work. I thought it was good physics, too, and we were both surprised at Peterson's interest. Now I'm coming to think that John was earnest from the first. Look, you've seen the equations. If an experiment doesn't produce a causal loop, it's allowed. That's open and shut."Cathy sat in a lab chair and rocked back, putting her feet up on the console. The skin seemed stretched thin across her cheekbones, dry and papery, lined by sun and fatigue. Jet-lag shadows made crescents under her eyes. ''yeah, but those heat'mg-up experi-ments you did first That's one thing, simple stuff.

With people involved, though--"

"You're thinking about paradoxes again," Mark- ham said sympathetically. "Having people in the ex- periment introduces free will, and that leads to theTIMESCAPE.

problem of who's the Observer. in this pseudo-quantum-mecho-nical experiment, and so on.""And this experiment works. Remember Peterson's bank message."

"Yeah. But sending this ocean st-tiff--what would success be like? We wake up one day and that bloom is gone?"

"We're thinkin in aradox-makin channels g P g .

again. You're separating yourself from the, experiment.

The old cla.s.sical observer, sort of. See, things don't have to be causal, they only have to be self-consistent."

She sighed. "I don't know what the new field equations say about that* Here's a copy o,! my paper on ,the coupled solutions, maybe you ...

"Combining quantum-mechanical supersymmetry and general relativity? With tachyons in?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, that's worth looking at." Markham brightened.

"A lot of the old features are still in these equations, I can tell that much* Every quantum-mechanical event--that is, involving tachyons in a paradox-producing loopsstill leads to a kind of scattering into a family of event-probabilities." *

"A wave pattern between past and future. The light switch hung up between 'on' and 'off.'""So we still get probabilistic predictions. No certainties."

"I think so. Or at least, the formalism has that part in it. But there's something else ... I haven't had time to figure it out."

"If there were time to think..." Markham puzzled over the neatly typed pages of equations. "Interpreting this is the hard part. The mathematics is so new .

"Yeah, I sure as h.e.l.l wish that guy Peterson hadn't yanked me away from Calech. Thorne and I were on z o o Gregory Ben fordthe verge--" Her head jerked up. "Say, how did Peterson know about me? You tell him?""No. I didn't know you were working on this."

"Ummmm." Her eyes narrowed. Then she shrugged. "He's got some power, that much I can tell. Seems like a typical English prig."Markham looked uncomfortable. "Well, I don't know ...""Okay, okay, put that down to my jet lag. The flight was packed, too. Jesus, I wish Peterson had held off a week or so."Markham saw Peterson emerge from where Renfrew was working, and signaled to Cathy. She put on a bland, faintly comical face. Markham hoped Peterson wouldn't notice."Just talked to my staff," Peterson said, hitching thumbs into his waistcoat as he approached. "I had them look into the people who were working at NMR at Columbia, Moscow, and La Jolla around 1963. Biographies and so on."Markham said, "Yes, that's an obvious thing to check, isn't it? Trust Ian to cut through all this physics and try something simple.""Ummmm." Peterson glanced at Markham, eyebrow lifting microscopically. "Staff haven't much time, with all that's going on. They turned up nothing obvious, like papers in the scientific journals.

There was something about 'spontaneous resonance'

that never reappeared--seems to have been a red herring--but nothing about tachyons or messages.

One chap did stumble on a piece in New Scientist about messages from s.p.a.ce, though, and credited an NMR chap named Bernstein. There's a reference to some television appearance, along with a life-in-the-universe type.""Can your saff dig.that out?" Cathy asked.

"Perhaps. A lot was lost with the Central Park nuke, I'm told. The network files were in Manhattan.

News programs 35 years old aren't kept in multiple copies, either. I've put a woman to searching, but Sir 2 o !Mar's got a crash program going on this" He broke off suddenly."You think it was this Bernstein who left that note in the bank?" Markham asked."Possibly. But if that is all the effect Renfrew's begins have had, the ocean information hasn't got through."Markham shook his head. "Wrong tense. We.can still keep transmitting; if one message made i.t, otherscan.""Free will again," Cathy said."Or free won't," Peterson said mildly. 'ook here, I've got to go into Cambridge, see to a few matters.

Could you give me a briefing on your work, Cathy, before I go?"She nodded. Markham said, "Renfrew's having a come round. Don't absolutely have to be back in London until tomorrow."He and Cathy Wickham went into Renfrew's small office, to use the blackboard. Markham watched them talking through the clear gla.s.s paneling of the door. Peterson seemed caught up in the physics of the tachyons, and had largely forgotten the supposed usefulness of them. The two figures moved back and forth before the board, Cathy making diagrams and symbols with quick swoops of the chalk. Peterson studied them, frowning. He seemed to be watching her more than the board.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

MARKHAM GESTURED WITH THE HAND THAT HELD.his drink, spilling a little on the Renfrews' gray carpet.

Absent-mindedly he dabbed at it with his foot, as if uncertain whether it was due to him, and went on talking to Cathy Wickham. "Those new equations of yours have some funny solutions. There's the old probability wave for the causal loops, yes, but ..."

He kept on in a dreamy, thoughtful wax at the same time in the back of his mind hoping Jan would arrive soon. He had called her from the lab when Renfrew told him that this gathering was to be a sort of informal bon voyage party for him. Renfrew was pinning hopes of overcoming the noise problem on the Brookhaven equipment, and Markham's dexterity at talking them out of it. "p.i.s.sing down out, isn't it?"

Renfrew remarked, peering out a window. It was. A .brooding gloom had followed the sudden, thunder-mg rain. Peterson, driving in from Cambridge, had had to roll his window down and lean out to see the gate. Markham walked to the window and caught , 2o the heavy scent of damp earth and sodden leaves.

Winged sycamore seeds spiraled down into the wet hedgerows. A soaked world.Marjorie Renfrew hovered at. the edge' of the Peterson-Wickham-Markham triangle, unable to join in the casual science chat. John Renfrew prowled the room, pushing little plates of finger food a centimeter nearer the true center of the little tables. His face was flushed and he seemed to have drunk quite a lot already.The doorbell rang. None of them had heard an a.p-Pdroaching car in the hammering rain. Marjorie ashed to answer, looking relieved. Markham heardher voice in the hall, running on with no pause for an answer. '%Vhat a terrible evening! Isn't it absolutely awful? Come in, haven't you got a raincoat? Oh, you must to' live here, no matter what, I'm glad Greg reached you. It was at the last minute, yes, but I am quite surrounded by scientists here and need someone to talk to."He saw rain dripping steadily from the edges of the porch roof behind Jan, before Marjorie dosed the door, bucking it with her shoulder to get it into the jamb. "Hi, hon." He kissed her with a casual warmth.

"Let's get you dry." He ignored Marjorie's fluttering and tugged Jan into the living room."A real wood fire! How lovely," Jan said."I thought it would cheer things up," Marjorie confided, 'qout actually in a way it's depressing. It makes it seem like autumn and it's still only August, for goodness sake. The weather seems to have gone haywire.""Do you know everyone?" Greg asked. "Let's see, this is Cathy lArckham."Cathy, now sitting on the sofa with John Renfrew, nodded to her."Oh, to be in California, now that August's here, eh?""And this is Ian Peterson. Ian, my wife, Jan."

Peterson shook hands with her.

2 9 a Gregory Ben ford"Well, how did the experiment go?" Jan asked the company at large."Oh heavens, don't start them on that," Marjorie sad quickly. I was hoping we could talk about something else now you're here.""Both good and bad," Greg said, ignoring Marjorie.

"We got a lot of noise, but Cathy's detailed explanation of the noise level and spectrum sounds good, so with better electronics John here can sidestep some of the problem.""I'm surprised Peterson can't get it for you with a telephone lift of his finger," Cathy said sharply.

Heads turned towards her. She wagged her jaw back and forth, the sidewise swaying intense and uncon-sdous."My omnipotence is overrated," Peterson said mildly."It's impressive to see the scientific tail wagging the CIA dog.""I'm sure I don't know what you mean.""People ought to put files back the way they found them.""I'm sure I have no idea what you are ""Are you going to hide behind that memorized sentence forever?"Marjorie stared at the two in horror, caught by the Prinark of tension. "Won't you have something tok, Jan?" she broke in desperatel her voice a little too loud. Peterson's brittle retort drowned Jan's quiet reply."Here in England we still rather think discretion and civility oil the wheels of social intercourse, Miss Wickham.""Doctor Wickham, if we're going to be formal, Mister Peterson.""Doctor Wickham, .of course." He made the word an insult. Cathy straightened, her shoulders rigid with fury."Your sort can't bear to see a woman as anything but a mindless lay, can you?"

2 o $ "I a.s.sure you that is not the case in relation to yourself," Pterson said silkily. He turned to Renfrew, who looked as though he wished himself a thousand miles away. Markham sipped his drink, looking from one to the other with alert interest. Better than the usual party small talk ..."Funny, that wasn't the impression I got this afternoon,"

Cathy continued doggedly. "But then you haven't learned to take rejection very well, have you?"Peterson's hand clenched on the stem of his gla.s.s, knuckles bleached white. He turned slowly. Marjorie said feebly, "Oh my goodness.""You must have misunderstood something I said, Dr. Wickham," he said at last. "I would hardly raise the subject with a woman of your--ah--persuasion."For a moment no one else moved or spoke. Then John Renfrew walked to the fireplace and stood in front of it, legs planted firmly apart, holding his mug of beer. He frowned, looking every inch the solid English squire."Look," he said, "this is my house and I expect my guests to behave civilly to each other in it.""You're quite right, Renfrew," Peterson replied promptly. "I apologize. Put it down to intolerable provocation." It had the effect of making Cathy seem ungracious."Oh, G.o.d," she said ruefully. "John, I'm sorry that I had to get carried away in your house. But I did enjoy being rude to him--""That's it," Renfrew declared. "No more." He waved his mug in dismissal."Well done, John," Jan said. "Stand on your rights.

Now, if I might have that drink--" She moved towards him, smiling. The rigid circle broke, tension dissipating. He took her elbow and they crossed to the sideboard. Peterson went to talk to Marjorie.

Greg sat down on the sofa next to Cathy Wickham.

"Well, I think I took a fall in that round," she said 2 9 cheerfully. "But it was worth it for a minute or two there."'qid he actually proposition you?" Greg asked. "I was right there and never noticed a thing." Jan joined them, perching on the edge of the sofa."You kidding?" Cathy laughed. "Of course he did.""Familiarity breeds attempt, or something. But to 'come right out and--""Oh, he was very subtle and discreet about it. Left room for a gracious refusal, save his ego and all. Self-satisfied b.a.s.t.a.r.d. But Jan disapproves of my actions, don't you, Jan?"'q//ell, yes. I think you made things too uncomfortable for John and Marjorie. Frankly, I have the same opinion of him that you do, but ...""This is fascinating," Greg said. "Let's hear you two get your daws into the poor guy.""Poor guy? He's a highly successful, confident, slimy toad who despises women. You going to take his side as a man against two catty females?""He despises women?" Greg asked, startled. "I would have thought the opposite was true." Jan and Cathy exchanged glances."He loathes us, every one. And he can't stand rejection by an inferior being. Why do you think he im-plied I was gay?""Are you?"She shrugged. "I'm bi, actually. But, yeah, I tend to prefer women. Don't look now, but old Ian is putting the make on our dear hostess. She's blushing like crazy." Markham twisted in his seat and stared across the room, curious."Christ, I can't imagine that. She doesn't strike me as s.e.xy at all. Besides, she'd probably talk all the time.""Now who's being catty? At least she's obviously heteros.e.xualmthat's all Peterson needs to soothe his wounded ego. It'll be Jan's turn next."Jan raised an eyebrow. "Oh, come now. With Greg 2 9 ?.

right here in the room? Anyway, he must know that I don't particularly care for him.""You think either of those facts would bother him?

Go talk to him--I'll bet it won't take five minutes before he makes a pa.s.s at you. Then you can cut him down to size."Jan shook her head. "I'd rather avoid the experience.""G.o.d, that's too much," Greg said. "I can't believe he's that bad."Cathy made a face at him. "Well, b.u.g.g.e.r you. I'm *

going to talk to John about his experiment." She got Up and left them.''Well?" Greg asked."Well, what?"* "Don't you think she's overdoing it on Peterson?

Do you think he really made a pa.s.s at her?,"I'm quite sure he did. But I think what' bothers her is being pulled away from her own work by someone who won't treat her like a scientist. And it can't be pleasant knowing one's personal papers have been gone through.""Oh, the h.e.l.l with it. Peterson seems quite reasonable to me, compared to the rest of the company.

Renfrew's dull outside of the lab, Marjorie's a nit, and Cathy's abrasive. Jesus. There's only thee and me that's normal.""And even thee's a bit queer," she supplied wryl.y.

"I thought you were feeling good about the experiment.

Why is everyone in such a' terrible mood?"''You're right--we're all edgy, aren't we? It's not the experiment. Personally, I'm not looking forwardto flying to Washington."''You're what?""Oh, G.o.d, of course I haven't had a chance to tell you yet. Here, let me get you another drink and I'll explain.""But we're planningw""I know, but this will only take a few days, and ..."

2 9 a Gregory BenfrdThe other guests studiously avoided the sofa while Jan and Greg settled their family logistics. Then the Markhams sat for a while listening to the flow of English conversation around them, the long a's, the rising inflections.