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 pass at you. Then you can cut him down to size.”
Jan shook her head. “I’d rather avoid the experience.”
“God, that’s too much,” Greg said. “I can’t believe he’s that bad.”
Cathy made a face at him. “Well, bugger 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 pass 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 hell 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 wryly. “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 forward to flying to Washington.”
“You’re what?”
“Oh, God, 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 planning—”
“I know, but this will only take a few days, and…”
The 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.
Cathy had wandered out to the patio, announcing that the rain had passed, unnoticed in the tension of the living room. A stretched, artificial good humor seemed to tighten the throats of Peterson and Renfrew as they talked. Their words became clipped and slightly higher in tone. Marjorie’s rushed sentences wove between theirs in a kind of birdlike counterpoint. Peterson was describing the immense paperwork boondoggle surrounding the saving of the Sumatran and Javan species of rhinoceros. The World Council had decided to redirect money for the Javan die-back into isolating the rhino. Ecoinventory had dictated that as part of the stabilization plan, aimed at saving species. The one species in excess was, of course, humans. The Council’s policies had been applauded by the environmental types, politely not mentioning that in the zero-sum game of resources, this meant less available land and money for people. “Matter of choices,” Peterson said distantly, swirling the amber fluid in his glass. Wise nods.
Greg Markham said to Marjorie Renfrew, “No, no, forget that scene between Cathy and Ian. Means nothing. We’re
They were standing on the patio, at the edge of the orange glow from inside.
“But scientists are less emotional, I thought, and to have them
“First, Peterson’s not a scientist. Second, all that about suppressing emotion is mostly a convenient legend. When Newton and Hooke were having their famous dispute over who discovered the inverse square law, I’m sure they were livid with rage. But it took two weeks to get a letter back and forth. Newton had time to consider his reply. Kept the discussion on a high plane, y’see. These days, if a scientist writes a letter, he publishes the damn thing. The interaction time is very low and the tempers flare higher. Still…”
“You don’t think that explains the irritability of the times?” Marjorie observed shrewdly.
“No, there’s something more, a feeling…” Greg shook his head. “Oh rat’sass, I should stick to physics. Even there, of course, we don’t really know much that’s basic.”
“Really? Why?”
“Well, take the bare fact that all electrons have the same mass and charge. So do their antiparticles, the positrons. Why? You can talk about fields and vacuum fluctuations and so on, but I like the old Wheeler idea—they have the same mass because they’re all the same particle.”
Marjorie smiled. “How can that be?”
“There’s only one electron in the universe, see. An electron traveling backwards in time looks like its antiparticle, the positron. So you bounce one electron back and forth through time. Make
“But why would it travel back in time?”
“Tachyon collision? I don’t know.” Greg’s levity evaporated. “My point is, the foundation of everything is shaky. Even logic itself has holes in it. Theories are based on pictures of the world—human pictures.” He looked upward and Marjorie’s eyes followed. Constellations hung like blazing chandeliers. A distant airplane droned. A green light winked at its tail. “I rather like the old, certain things,” she began shyly.
“So we can have archaic and eat it, too?” Greg asked impishly. “Nonsense! We have to go on. Let’s get back inside.”
Markham went to the window and gazed up at the clearing skies. “Makes you wonder what sort of clouds dropped this water, doesn’t it?” he mused, half to himself. His head turned, looking idly around the yard, and suddenly stopped. “Say, who’re they?”
John Renfrew came over to the window and peered out into the gloom. “Who—I say, they’re into our garage!”
Markham turned from the window, thinking of the man at the bus stop the other day. “What’ve you got in there?”
Renfrew hesitated, studying the shadowy figures who now had the garage door swung open. “Tools, old things, I—”
“Food!” Marjorie exclaimed. My preserves, some are stored there. And tinned things.”
“That’s what they’re after,” Markham said decisively.
“The squatters down the way,” Renfrew muttered to himself. “Call the police, Marjorie.”
“Oh my,” she said, unmoving.
“Go
“I’ll do it,” Jan said briskly. She ran into the hall.
“Let’s head ’em off,” Markham said. He picked up a poker from the hearth almost casually.
“No,” John said, “the police will—”
“These guys’ll be long gone by that time,” Markham said. He strode quickly to the front door and opened it. “Let’s go!”
“They may be armed,” Peterson’s voice called after him.
Markham sprinted out the door and onto the lawn. Renfrew followed.
“’ey!” a voice from the garage cried. “Scarper!”
“Come on!” Markham called.
He ran towards the dark maw of the open garage. He could make out a man stooped over, picking up a carton. Two others were carrying things. They hesitated as Markham came down on them. He raised the poker and called out towards the house, “Hey, John! Got your gun?”
The men unfroze. Two bolted down the drive. Greg charged forward and got between them and the gate. He swung the poker. It made a loud
Renfrew ran at the third man. The dark figure sidestepped and slipped past him. At that moment Cathy
