“Right. Well, just a minute. Got to shake hands with the wife’s best friend.”
“Ah…I didn’t know you were married.”
“I’m not. Means I’ve got to piss.”
“Oh. That’s amusing.”
Sanges was waiting when Nigel came out of the men’s room, which struck him as odd: why did he need an escort to find Valiera’s office?
“Did you see the new directives on staff?” Sanges said conversationally as they strode along.
“Wouldn’t take the time to blow my nose on ’em.” “You should. I mean, you should read them. It looks as if we aren’t going to get any additional staff.”
Nigel stopped, looked at Sanges in surprise, then continued walking. “Bloody stupid.”
“Probably so, but we have to live with it.”
“The news doesn’t seem to bother you very much.” Sanges smiled. “No, it doesn’t. I think we should go very slowly in our work. Care will be repaid.”
Nigel glanced at him and said nothing. They reached Valiera’s office and Sanges gestured him in, while remaining outside himself. Valiera was waiting for him and began with a series of good-humored questions about Nigel’s accommodations, the work routine, scheduling and the quality of food. Nigel was grateful that the moon, with no atmosphere, afforded Valiera no chance to go on about the weather. Then, abruptly, Valiera smiled warmly and murmured, “But the hardest aspect of my job, Nigel, is going to be you.”
Nigel raised his eyebrows. “Me?” he said innocently. “You’re revered. And you seem to have a special talent for surviving, even when the men above you in the organization do not. It will be difficult for me to administer with a famous man under me.”
“Then don’t.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Let events develop. Don’t manage them.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“I’m sure you understand.”
“ ’Fraid not.”
“I am under pressure,” Valiera said carefully. “Others want this job. If I don’t get results—”
“Yes, yes, I fathom all that.” Nigel hunched forward. “Everybody wants results, like cans coming off the end of a production line. The Achilles heel of treating research like that is that you can’t program it from the top down.”
“There are some parameters—”
“Sucks to parameters. We haven’t a clue what this caved-in pile of litter is yet.”
“Granted. I’m here to be sure we find out.”
“Only that’s not the way to do it. Look, I know how governments run. Promise them a timetable and they’re yours. They don’t want it right, they want it Friday.”
Valiera clasped his hands together and nodded sagely. “There’s nothing wrong with schedules, though.”
“I’m not at all bloody sure.”
“Why not?”
“Because”—he threw up his hands, exasperated—“if you want it done by the weekend, that already assumes there will be a weekend, in those terms—that there’ll still be business as usual. But if you’re after something that really alters things, then it doesn’t just explain and clarify, it changes the world.”
“I see.”
“And that’s what you can’t program, you see.”
“Yes.”
Nigel realized that he was breathing a bit quickly and Valiera was staring at him oddly, head tilted to the side.
“You speak like a visionary, Nigel. Not a scientist.” “Well. I suppose.” Nigel rummaged about for words, embarrassed. “Never been one for definitions, myself,” he said softly as he rose to go.
EIGHT
Nigel squinted at the screen before him and said into his throat microphone, “Afraid I don’t understand it either. Looks like another one of those meaningless arrays of dots to me.”
“Meaningless to us, yes.” Nikka’s voice blossomed in his ear, tinny and distant.
“All right then, I’ll put it in passive log.” Nigel punched a few command buttons. “While you were cycling that, I got a reply from Kardensky’s group. Remember the rat? Well, it’s not a rat or any other kind of rodent we know of, it’s apparently not standing on Earth and it’s probably at least a meter tall, judging from the apparent bone structure in its ankles.”
“Oh! Then it’s our first picture of extraterrestrial life,” Nikka said, excited.
“Quite so. Kardensky has forwarded it on to the special committee of the NSF for publication.”
