Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Warhead - Andrew Cartmel [34]
‘I’m sorry if you felt pressured by the way you were brought here, Stephanie.’ O’Hara moved away from her to refill Mulwray’s glass then returned to sit beside her on the long black silk couch. Mulwray grinned and saluted Stephanie with his glass before he drank. Stephanie didn’t smile back.
‘You see,’ said O’Hara, ‘I knew almost immediately when Mr Mulwray went into the company computers and began to –’
‘Snoop,’ said Mulwray.
‘Let’s say, began to study the corporate structure of the Butler Institute. Of course the company could have punished him. But he was a promising young employee and I like to think that I am a good man manager.’ O’Hara wasn’t looking directly at Stephanie as he spoke. He was staring thoughtfully out the wide dark window of his living room. The sun was rising over the treeline and in the gaps between the conifers you could see the distant yellow shapes of the excavation machinery beginning to move back and forth to the tunnel mouth as the working day began.
‘I’ve always favoured the carrot instead of the stick,’ said O’Hara. ‘Reward instead of punishment. So I not only offered Mr Mulwray a promotion, I also explained about the Institute’s latest and biggest project.’ O’Hara turned and looked into Stephanie’s eyes, smiling. ‘I let him into the secret.’
Stephanie smiled right back. ‘And now you’re going to let me in on it, too?’
There was a small noise from the doorway of the living room and Stephanie instantly turned towards it. She saw Mulwray move as well, coming out of his chair and reaching under his jacket, then stopping when O’Hara raised his hand. ‘It’s all right,’ said O’Hara, getting up off the couch and walking through the doorway to the kitchen. He came back carrying a little boy, swinging him through the air and laughing. ‘A spy,’ said O’Hara. He sat down on the couch again, putting the boy on his lap. ‘This is my son Patrick. Patrick, this is Mr Mulwray and Stephanie.’
‘We’ve met,’ said Stephanie, solemnly shaking hands with the child and smiling at him. All of them were smiling except the little boy.
‘Of course you have. Stephanie looked after you at the office yesterday, Patrick.’
‘I remember,’ said the little boy.
‘Where was I?’ said O’Hara. ‘The project. Well, it’s a big idea and a big challenge. But we live in times that offer big challenges.’ The little boy settled comfortably in his father’s lap as he spoke. ‘Challenges of survival. In this world health is rapidly becoming the most precious commodity. Forget gold or oil or data. Forget about water. None of these things are any good if we don’t remain alive to use them.’ O’Hara gestured with his hands as he spoke, lifting them up, then letting them settle back on the shoulders of his son. Patrick caught hold of one and gripped it in his own small hand. ‘Stephanie, both you and Mr Mulwray are familiar with our use of surgery and transplants to maintain health. But do you know how difficult it is to find good stock? That’s because the environment is increasingly compromised. We are poisoning the planet we live on. For decades we’ve known the dangers and for decades we have insisted on doing nothing. Now our information gatherers bring us the inevitable news. We are reaching the point of no return.’
O’Hara paused and took a sip of orange juice, offering the glass to his son afterwards. ‘But the Butler Institute is taking action. We have the solution.’ The boy drank the rest of the juice and then stared solemnly up into his father’s face. It’s quite a simple solution. A bright child can grasp the basic concept.’ O’Hara took the empty glass from his son. ‘Go on. Patrick. Explain the project to Stephanie.’
The little boy looked across at Stephanie. He was a solemn, quiet child, taking after his mother in looks and mannerisms. Stephanie had met Mrs O’Hara a few times, at company parties. Anne Marie O’Hara had been trained as a mathematician but abandoned