De Vries sat silent for a few moments, then nodded. “Plausible — more than plausible, almost certainly correct.”
“All right. I agree. So here’s item five.” She closed her fist. “All of this has been known for forty years. The increased pressure in the carotids is a classical cause of narcolepsy. The brain wave reinforcement is a standard positive feedback mechanism. What does all that say to you?”
De Vries leaned far back, gazing up at the ceiling. He shook his head. “Judith, put in those terms I see where you are heading — but I must admit that it would not have occurred to me if you had not waved it in front of my nose.” Judith Niles regarded him grimly. “Be specific, Jan. What’s wrong with it?” “It’s too simple. When you set the explanation out on a plate, as you just did, it’s clear that we should not be needed to solve the problem. Remember, you told me you thought you knew the answer when you first looked at the suits and the case histories. All the medics on Salter Station had to do was a minimal amount of background reading, and a few well-designed experiments. At the very least they would have noticed the correlation between the new suits and the onset of the problem.”
“Exactly. So why didn’t they?” Judith Niles stopped her pacing and stood in front of de Vries. “Even if they didn’t catch on as fast as we would here at the Institute, they should have deduced it after a while. Jan, I’m very worried. We have to go up to Salter Station. Our own experiments require it, and anyway I’ve burned too many bridges here in the past few days to stop now. But I feel that things are out of control.”
She suddenly lifted her left hand and began to rub gently at her eye, her forehead wrinkled.
Jan de Vries looked concerned. “What’s wrong, Judith? Headache?”
She shook her head. “Not any sort I’ve ever had before. But I’m getting blurring from this eye — very off- putting. Not quite seeing double, but not far from that. Odd feeling.”
De Vries frowned. “Don’t take chances. Even if it is no more than the strain of too much work, let a specialist take a look at it.” De Vries did not say it, but he was astonished. Never since he had known her had Judith Niles shown any sign of strain and fatigue, no matter what pressures she had worked under, no matter how she forced herself along.
“I’ll be all right,” she said. “Sorry, Jan, what were you saying?” “I agree with you that things may be out of control.” The little man wriggled forward in the armchair so that he could stand up. “And let me give you, as Salter Wherry quoted in his speech on the space colonies, ‘naught for your comfort.’ I’ve been doing the follow-up work you asked for on Salter Wherry. Did you know that most of his expenditures are not on development of the arcologies at all? They go into two other areas: efficient, spaceborne fusion drives, and robots. He is rumored to be many years ahead of anyone else in those areas. I believe it. But what do our projects have to do with either of those research endeavors? If you can see the connection, I beg enlightenment. And then there is the question of the breadth of Wherry’s influence, and his sources of wealth. Do you remember my telling you that insurance rates for Station personnel have gone up greatly in the past year?”
“Yes. Because of the increased accident rate.”
“So we had assumed. But this afternoon I obtained and examined the financial statements of Global Insurance — the organization which issues the policies for Salter Station personnel. It turns out that a single individual owns more than eighty percent of the stock of Global, and exercises complete control over corporate actions.” De Vries smiled grimly. “You are permitted one guess as to the identity of that individual. Then, my dear Judith, we should perhaps discuss who is manipulating whom.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The fish were nervous. Moving in regular array, they darted to and fro through the fronds of weed that curled across Workwheel’s great tanks. As the schools of fish turned in the cloudy water their silvery scales caught the green-tinged sunlight, filling the interior with flashes of brilliance.
The two human figures, naked except for light breathing masks, swam slowly around the perimeter of the tank, driving the fish along before them. The outer edge of the wheel was a filled lattice of transparent plastic, admitting perpetual day to the four hundred meter cylinder. Far above, near the hollow central axle, oxygenation pumps sent a faint thrumming through the sluggishly moving liquid.
The female figure swooped without warning down to the clear honeycombed plastic of the outer wall, kicked off hard from it, and surged upward toward Workwheel center. The other, taken by surprise, followed her a second later. He overtook her halfway to the axle and reached out to grasp her calf, but she wriggled away and headed off in a new direction, still slanting toward the surface. Again he pursued, and this time as he neared her he reached out to grasp both her ankles. His fingers closed, and at that instant the tableau suddenly froze. Two nude sculptures, their muscles tensed, hung in the water among the motionless fishes. Salter Wherry looked closely at the video display for a few seconds, then carefully moved it along several frames. It was difficult to see the expressions clearly in the recording, and he zoomed in on Judith Niles’ face for a high-mag close-up. Even with the mask on, her face contrasted with her taut muscles. She looked totally relaxed, though Hans Gibbs was gripping her firmly around the ankles. After a few moments of study Wherry skipped forward, a few frames at a time, watching the changing expressions as the nude bodies moved together, embraced, then slowly rose. Entwined, they moved to meet the broad concave meniscus of the water surface near the axle of the wheel.
Salter Wherry watched their actions calmly in the darkness of the control room. Always, regardless of the couple’s embraces, his attention rested on Judith Niles’ face. At last he leaned forward and pressed another key on the console in front of him. The scene changed to a brilliantly lit interior. Now it was Judith Niles standing alone in Wherry’s office on Spindletop, just next door from the hidden studio, waiting for her first meeting with him. Again his attention was on her face. One minute more, another press of a key, and Wherry was seeing her as she stood after their first meeting. He grunted in dissatisfaction. The hidden cameras were carefully placed, but they could not offer views from all angles, and this time a full-face view was denied him.
He moved on. The next shots had come from the inside of the Institute itself, down on earth. Preparations were under way for the move to Salter Station. The cameras showed experimental animals being carefully housed in well-ventilated crates for upward shipment. This time Salter Wherry seemed pleased. There was a hint of satisfaction in the blue eyes as he cut to the receiving network for his daily global status report.
Salter Station’s observing network tapped all open news channels around the globe, plus a number of sources that national governments would have been shocked to see so routinely cracked. Ground reports were supplemented and confirmed by the station’s spy satellite network, the hundred polar-orbiting spacecraft that permitted a constant detailed look at events anywhere on the globe.
Salter Wherry now began his daily routine, switching with long practice between different data sources. As the mood struck him, he cut back to earlier events of the past year, then moved forward again to the present. Patiently, he tacked his way to and fro across the face of the globe, sometimes a thousand miles above the surface, sometimes through a hand-held camera on an open street, occasionally with video taken inside government buildings or within private homes. The images flooded in.
. . . East Africa. The four-thousand-mile flow of the Nile northward to the Mediterranean showed a river shrunk and diminished by unremitting drought. The Sudan was parched desert, the great agricultural systems along the river all vanished. Khartoum, at the confluence of the Blue Nile and the White Nile, was no more than cindered buildings. The cameras swept north, high above the muddy river. Close to the Mediterranean, Cairo was a ghost town where packs of hungry dogs patrolled the dusty streets. The nilometer on Roda island stood far out above the river’s trickling flow. Water supply and sewage systems had failed long since. Now, only the flies were energetic in the monstrous noon heat.… Alaska. The long southern coastline was shrouded in perpetual fogs, marking the meeting of warm and cold currents. Inland, the warming peninsula was suddenly bursting with new life. The permafrost had melted. Rampant vegetation was rising to clog the muskeg swamps, and clouds of mosquito and black fly buzzed and swirled above the soft surface. The population, at first delighted by the warming trend, was now struggling to hold its own against the rising tide of plant and animal life. All day long, aircraft loaded with pesticides sprayed tens of thousands of square kilometers. They enjoyed little success… London. The steadily melting icecaps had been raising the sea level, slowly, inexorably, a few inches a year. The tides were lapping now at the top of the seawalls, pressing inward all the way from Gravesend to Waterloo Bridge. Cameras in the streets caught lines of volunteer workers continuing their long toil with sandbags and concrete buttresses. Wading through
