Dinkuhl said: “I like you, Charlie. You put things well. I can always join Red League again—you know I started with that outfit?”
“No. I didn’t know.”
“The day I tossed my Telecom membership card in the lake was the happiest day of my life. I’m not even sure which lake it was now. I suppose they would make me out a new one.”
Dinkuhl glanced at his watch; it was extraordinarily big and he wore it on his wrist instead of on his watch-finger.
“But pending Siraq or Red League, the show must go on. So, on your way. One thing.” Charles looked at him. “I hear the boating’s tricky on that coast.”
Charles said: “I’ve already been told that.”
‘“This,” said Dinkuhl, “is official. The voice of the KF News Reel”
II
Saba Koupal did not make a good initial impression on Charles. She was attractive enough, dark, rather square-faced, but her personality was unattractive. It was comforting to remember that Ledbetter had told him he need not keep her if he didn’t want to.
The lab was on high ground, facing the sea and perhaps a hundred yards from it. There was a good view of San Miguel, which was about a mile away, and the back looked into an orange grove which appeared to stretch indefinitely. The equipment in the lab was very good. The first thing he noticed was the five-thousand KV electrobombard he had asked for, and failed to get, when it was announced a year before. There were three cyclotrons. Money had been spent here, and he felt he knew UC policy well enough to be sure that that meant they had expected to get something out of it. The difficulty was finding precisely what.
Humayun’s notes were scrappy; scrappy enough to be just about useless and yet, tantalizingly, not quite scrappy enough to discard entirely. It was the kind of work, clearly enough, which would gain considerably in meaning with the application of the key of what Humayun was driving at.
This need obliged him to fall back on Sara. He found her in the north room, engaged in the graphitization of a specimen of carbon. He stood behind her without saying anything for a couple of minutes. He said at last:
"And the next step?”
She turned round slowly, holding a pair of asbestos tongs. She looked at him steadily, and behind the steadiness she was obviously jumpy and hostile.
“Slow bombardment, drying out for twenty-four hours, and checking lattice changes by positron diffraction.” “To establish?”
She hesitated; she still looked at him but her gaze was edgy. “It’s a continuation of a series of experiments Dr. Humayun put in hand.”
It was a warm day outside. Charles said impulsively: “I’d like to have a talk with you, Sara. You can spare half an hour?”
She said distantly: “If you’d prefer that.”
They walked down to the shore in silence. To the south there was something of an anchorage—a rough breakwater with a couple of concrete posts built on.
He nodded toward them. “What became of the boat?” She was still standing, as though awaiting orders. He said: “We might as well sit down, I guess,” and she sat on a stone a few feet from the one he took.
She smoothed her skirt down and looked not at him but away out to sea. “The boat? They took it away.” “They?”
“Your friends.” She glanced at him. “Contact Section.” He said, slowly:
“We might as well get some things clear at the start I'm not Contact Section, and I haven’t been briefed by Contact Section. I’ve been doing a very ordinary job in diamond research under Detroit Sector, and I've been pulled in here apparently because they wanted someone in a hurry. I’d hoped you might be able to help me... I’m pretty much in the dark all the way round.”
‘It was most inconsiderate of Dai,” she said, “to get drowned without first leaving you detailed instructions.” “I’m sorry.” He looked at her averted face, trying to gauge the kind of emotion responsible for the bitterness of her remarks. “I’m probably not putting things very well. You see, I didn’t know Dr. Humayun. One can’t—” He thought for a moment she might be going to smile. She said, more gently than she had spoken so far:
“You still aren’t putting them very well, are you? You’re right that you can’t be expected to feel very sorry for someone you never knew, but at least when you are talking about him you can give him his title—as you finally did.”
He looked at her in astonishment; then he understood. “There’s no disrespect,” Charles said, “in not giving a man his title here. Scientific titles are very rarely used, anyway. There was really no offense meant.” He smiled ruefully. “In fact, I wasn’t even being accidentally rude, though I believe I often am.”
She said: “I’m sorry.” She studied his face. She had a direct and honest look and for the moment her nervousness had gone. “What is it you want to know?”
He looked at her helplessly. “Primarily, what I am supposed to do. You seem to have a line to follow. It’s somewhat embarrassing that I haven’t.”
The mistrust was there again, and stronger. “It’s hard to swallow—that they should appoint you in Dai’s place and not tell you what you were expected to do.”
“All the same,” Charles said. “I’d like you to make the effort.” He paused. “It may make a difference that I’ve been rushed straight here from Detroit. I gather you are implying that Graz knew what’s up, but that doesn’t mean Detroit does. I suppose Graz may finally wake up to the need for telling me. I suppose I could telecall Nikko-Tsi and jog their memories, but in my experience it’s always better to get along on your own if you can. Pestering HQ can have unfortunate results.”
She wrinkled her brow. “Am I being dumb again? Is that a usual sort of thing to happen in a managerial?” “Not unusual. Why do you think all the original work is now being done in Taifa and El-Majalem?”
She was pleased and surprised. “You see that, too?” “They that have eyes can see. Now—this job?”
She hesitated for a second, then said firmly: “Dai Humayun was after a new power source, on a photoelectric basis. He had reached the stage where he could see things a lot more clearly, but there was still a good deal of work to be done.”
“Power...” Charles said. “Photoelectric...? For the first time I have an inkling. Selenium obviously—germanium and diamond?”
“Long-term irradiation of type III diamonds induces a fundamental structural change—the refractive index—”
“I saw that report. I thought it was a blind for something else. Type III diamond—that’s new on me.”
“Type III signifies those stones which do respond in that way to prolonged irradiation. There aren’t many, but they seem to come indiscriminately from type I and type II groups. The germanium, incidentally, is in because of the structural similarity to diamond. As far as I know it never gave anything. But Dai didn’t find it easy to explain the lines he was following. He was still working on germanium.”
“And titania?”
“We tried a few things with titania. No soap. The greater refractive index in the raw state doesn’t help at all. It’s a structural matter.”
“So it’s a power source,” Charles said. “That explains a few things at least. It explains why it was such a rush job getting me down here and also—” He looked at Sara with attention. “Did you know the information had got out—outside UC, I mean?”
She said bitterly: “Does it explain an overturned boat drifting back to shore?”
Gloomily Charles surveyed his cigarette. “Whatever it is, I’m in it, up to the neck.” The impact of her last words came properly home to him. “Look, are you suggesting Humayun was murdered?”
She was silent for a moment. “I talk too much,” she said at last. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I’ve already had my say to Contact Section. It makes no difference— you might as well know what I think. Dai learned his sailing in the Mediterranean. The day he was drowned... there was a fair swell but nothing that would be likely to worry him unduly.”
"Acci
dents do happen. And Ledbetter told me it was a tricky coast.”
She said: "Dai never thought it particularly tricky: he had been sailing it for some years.”
"If you think that, why the objection to Contact Section? Surely you’re not suggesting they had anything to do with it? UC would hardly be likely to kill the goose just when it’s getting broody. Why didn't you tell them what you thought about Humayun’s death?”
“I did.”
He was surprised. "And?”
"They would not take it seriously. They reported accidental death.”
‘That doesn’t make them your enemies. They might just be mistaken—if your view’s the right one.”
Her eyes were cold and unfriendly again. "I was under the impression that the job of Contact Sections was to go into anything that might be to the disadvantage of their managerial.”
He said easily: "These are slack times, even for Contact Sections. It’s rare to find a job done properly nowadays.”
He felt a twofold relief. That there was so simple an explanation of her antipathy to Contact Section, and that the predecessor had, after all, simply got himself drowned. The phantasmagoric mists were clearing, leaving behind a familiar and recognizable world framing an ordinary hysterical girl, instead of a nightmare situation pivoting on murder.
She said: "And got out—where?”
"Got out?”
Her voice was impatient. "You said just now—that the information had got out I suppose, about our work here?”
"That? Yes. It seems to have done. At least, I had the impression that something was known—I don’t know how much.”
"Inside UC—or another managerial?”
"Strictly speaking, another managerial. Telecom.”
“And this was in Detroit. Didn't it seem odd to you that Ledbetter should be in the dark, and whoever it was, not?”
“Not really. I didn't mean to imply that he necessarily knew anything more than Ledbetter did. And Ledbetter wasn't entirely in the dark, of course; he knew it was restricted work and had one of Humayun's reports on his desk—not that it conveyed anything to him.”
The interview, he realized, had changed its course. His intention had been to question Sara; now, with the bit well between her teeth, Sara was questioning him. The problem was to ease her off the subject without upsetting her further.
He thought he could see how the conversation might be turned; if he could divert the subject to Sara herself.
He said: “Why do people—you, for instance, and Humayun—come over from Siraq in the first place? Faith in the managerial idea? Or what? Not just for the flesh-pots, I take it?”
“People come over for both those reasons. There are always some students who find the system in operation across the border more attractive than that at home. And the standard of personal comfort is less high in Siraq. There's a third reason as well, though. My father came over as a political refugee, and I came with him.”
“Political refugee?” It was hard to get hold of a term that had ceased to be valid, in the major world, a century before. He saw Sara smile, understanding his bewilderment. “In what way?”
“It would be difficult to explain. Men conspire as much in Siraq as they do here, but in rather different ways. Daddy was in some plot to overthrow the government, and the plot was discovered. He would have been imprisoned if he had stayed.”
Charles said apologetically: “I'm afraid I don't even know what kind of government you have in Siraq. It's not a monarchy, is it?”
“In the true sense of the word, yes. A one-man rule. The President has the advice of the Sinarqim, but he doesn’t need to take the advice.”
Charles thought of asking what the Sinarqim might be, and then thought better of it. Something else struck him.
‘Tour father was mixed up in a plot against the President? And Humayun?”
“Yes. Dai was in it, too.”
“Then, if there was something fishy about his death, might it not be that—”
She interrupted decisively. “No. It would only have been imprisonment if they had stayed. We are not a primitive people. And, anyway, it was Daddy who was one of the leaders of the plot; Dai played only a very minor part in it.” Her eyes were on a hydroplane, skimming across the ocean’s middle distance.
“It’s only here that the innocent are killed, simply because they get in somebody’s way.”
Charles saw no advantage in arguing with an obsession. She had been thawing, perceptibly thawing, and his only concern was to have the process continue.
“Your father?” he asked. “Does he like it over here?” She shrugged. “Better than prison. He teaches History at Berkeley.”
“History?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “There still are some who take it. He has two students at present. He gets paid a little less than”—she gestured towards the laboratory—“than Luke does. But he has modest needs. He seems to enjoy life fairly well.”
Charles got up. “We could be getting back to see how Luke and Tony are progressing.”
They were walking up the pebbled path when she said:
“I suppose they gave you a free hand about me?”
“A free hand?”
“You don’t have to keep me here if you don’t want to?” He hesitated. “No. But I can think of no reason why I should want to get rid of you.”
She smiled. “Especially since Dai didn’t make the right kind of notes. Well?”
They both laughed. A moment later her foot slipped on the loose stones, and he had to catch her to prevent her falling. It was precisely the right contact, at the right time.
One of the skills that Charles had bothered to acquire was that of grinding his own diamonds, instead of depending on having the work done outside. He had gone into the matter with a thoroughness that was natural to him, and had found that certain cuts, which for undiscoverable reasons had been allowed to disappear from use, gave a far greater effect of brilliance than the ones currently fashionable. He explained this to Sara when she showed him one of the stones which had formed the basis of Humayun’s report on the refractive index changes in type III diamonds. She held the stone in a narrow pencil of light and they both had to turn their eyes from molten brilliance reflected from it Charles took the stone and examined it.
“Rose cut. A brilliant cut would give you double the fire. And there was a mid-Twentieth-century improvement, the Brown-brilliant that does even better.”
She looked at him with surprise. He went on. “The stones are cut before irradiation, of course? Did you ever try irradiating them first and then cutting?”
“Yes. It goes dead. Whatever form the lattice change takes, it can’t be very stable.”
Charles nodded. “Not surprising. And the battery— a simple heat—electricity conversion? What about shielding?”
“Sapphire.”
“Yes. Just what was it needed ironing out, Sara?”
“A lot of things. The shielding’s a long way from being perfect, and the mirror system is still primitive. In fact, there’s only the idea so far. All the development has to be done.”
Charles turned over the small diamond in his hand, examining it. “The development… yes, I get that” He looked at Sara. “Imagine for a moment that you are running United Chemicals. You get something like this underway. You—lose your research man, but the thing has reached this stage, anyway. What do you do next?” “Turn it over to the engineers. It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Charles nodded. “You certainly don’t get another research man in to do what has been done already. So the question remains—why me? Can you think of a reason why they haven’t turned this over to Design Section?” “No. I wondered about it while Dai was alive. I asked him what he thought about it.”
“And he said—”
“He had a poor opinion of the people at Graz. As far as I could gather, he thought they just didn’t understand what we were doing. It seems difficult to believe.” “Quite possible, though, I’m afraid. D
ai”—he saw her glance at him with pleasure—“would know more about their reactions than you or I. I suppose you didn’t see his confidential reports?”
She pointed toward the microfilm files. “Only those on work done. Not the actual memoranda to Nikko-Tsi.” “And the memoranda? Are they on file?”
“They were. Contact Section took them.”
He shook his head. “Not that it matters a great deal. I don’t think there’s anything I can do but piece the picture together, and then send it in with a recommendation that they push it through to Detroit or Milan.”
Sara said slowly: “I hope you won’t make up your mind too quickly.”
“I shall have to get the hang of things properly before I can recommend anything,” Charles said.
She said: “You could try the irradiation out on a brilliant-cut stone. I’d like you to have a look at the plan for the selenium rectifier. I’ve had some ideas which I’ve incorporated into the scheme as Dai left it.”
Without waiting for his reply, she flicked the lights off and dropped a microfilm in the reader. The telescreen on the wall lit up. She demonstrated with a pointer on the small inset screen in the bench, drawing circles round the salient points, circles which, reproduced on the big screen, glowed for perhaps a minute before fading out.
“This is the original scheme. I thought if we made this linkage”—two ellipses joined and became a circle— “and cut out the third stage here…”
She pressed a button and a new print appeared on the screen.
“It would look like this. That should boost it.”
Charles said: “Yes. That’s a pretty piece of work. Very pretty. I’m going to have my own work cut out to keep up with you.”
Looking at her as she stood in the shadows beyond the narrow beam of light he thought he saw her flush.
She said: “Thank you. Dai left most of this side of things to me.”