Flatlander - Larry Niven [146]
“This had better be worth the hassle.” She got up and reached past me to connect my phone to the lunie cops outside. “Wylie, ARM Ubersleuth Hamilton wants to talk to your visitors. Then get back to me.”
I waited.
Sanchez and a woman with short crisp blond hair fitted their heads into camera view. Bubble helmets still reflect light and hide a jawline. Sanchez said, “We came for the Mark Twenty-nine, Hamilton.”
The woman edged him out. “Hamilton? I’m Geraldine Randall. We were told we could pick up the Shreveshield here. I hope it hasn’t got itself lost.”
Randall was in charge, very much so. I said, “No, no, not at all, but things are a bit complicated at present. Come in and wait, won’t you.”
“I’ll be right in,” Randall said with a glowing smile.
She was going to leave Sanchez to watch the damn cargo shell. “Both of you, please,” I added. “You may have to sit in. I don’t know what authority I have here. Probably whatever nobody else wants.” Just a touch of bitterness showing.
She frowned, nodded.
I switched off. Hecate was still miming. My own message light was blinking, but I waited. Presently Hecate sat back and blew hair out of her eyes.
I said, “Sanity check. When you gave him details, Shreve calmed down. Yes?”
She thought about it. “I guess he did.”
“Uh huh. But you didn’t tell him anything reassuring. Device hasn’t been loaded for return? It’s sitting around the site of a disaster? Involving spacecraft and extralunar celebrities? Waiting for someone to use it? Again?”
Hecate said, “Maybe his med-chair doped him to stop a stroke. No, dammit, he was lucid. And who the hell is Geraldine Randall?”
* * *
“Bauer-Stanson? Hamilton? I’m Geraldine Randall.” We stood, and my feet left the floor, and Randall reached up to shake hands with Hecate and down to shake hands with me. She was six feet five and lush, with short curls of buttery blond hair, full lips, and a wide smile. A short lunie in her forties, I judged her, carrying enough weight to round her out “What news?”
“Cervantes says it’s on the way,” Hecate said. “Knowing Cervantes, it could mean he’s almost ready to launch.”
Sanchez looked miserable. Randall was losing her smile. “Hamilton, I hope you’re using the device only for the purpose intended. Max Shreve is seriously worried about security.”
I said, “Randall, I was pulled out of bed because there was flatlander politics involved, and I’m an ARM with the rank of Ubersleuth. If somebody’s been high-handed, he’ll have two governments on his tail, not just Shreve Inc.”
“Persuasive,” she said.
“Ms. Randall, it’s all being recorded. Think of the movie rights!”
“Not persuasive. We may not hold those. The disaster didn’t take place on our turf. Hamilton, we want the device back.”
“Are you with Shreve Inc. or the government?”
“Shreve,” she said.
“In what capacity?”
“I’m on the board.”
She didn’t look that old. “For how long?”
“I was one of the original six.”
“Six?”
Hecate was offering coffee. Randall took one and added sugar and cream. She said, “Thirty-five years ago Max Shreve came to five of us with the designs for an active shield against radiation. Everything he told us proved out. He made us rich. There’s not a lot I wouldn’t do for Max Shreve.”
“He sent you? He wants it back that urgently?”
She ran a long-fingered hand through her short curls. “Max doesn’t know I came, but he seemed very upset on the phone. I don’t see it as that urgent myself, but I’m starting to wonder. How many lunie police have left eye tracks and fingerprints on the Mark Twenty-nine? And what do I have to do to get it back?”
Message light for Hecate. She picked up. I said, “It’s probably incoming now. Randall, I suppose I’ll sound naive, but I can’t believe you’re old enough—”
She laughed. “I was twenty-six. I’m sixty-one now. Lunar gravity is kind to human bodies.”
“Would you try the same gamble again?”
She thought