Infinity Beach - Jack McDevitt [37]
It was a luxurious section, well away from the tourist and operational areas, featuring dark-stained paneling, potted plants, and thick carpets. The walls were hung with landscapes. Soft music whispered out of unseen speakers. The lighting was restrained, lending an aspect of quiet significance to the digitals marking the individual offices.
Interstellar, Inc., was located behind a pair of frosted-glass double doors. A young dark-skinned woman looked up from a desk as she entered. “Good afternoon, Dr. Brandywine,” she said. “They’re waiting for you. Please follow me.”
She showed Kim into a compact conference room. A recording crew was already at work, setting up for pictures. Averill Hopkin arrived on her heels, looking frazzled. After a minute’s conversation Kim realized he didn’t like making presentations. He was nervous and irritated, and not at all anxious to participate in a public forum. But there’d been no easy way out for him, and so here he was, his gaze running between Kim, the lectern, and the time. “I hate these things,” he told her.
“It’s the price of being celebrated,” she said, keeping her amusement out of her voice. She thought briefly about advising him that 90 percent of everything is public relations, but prudently let it pass.
“I’ve just got more important things to do, Kim,” he said. She put a hand on his arm. It was rigid. “I’m not good at this sort of thing,” he persisted.
“Relax, Avy.” She gave him an encouraging smile. One of her best. “You’ve nothing to prove. All they want is for you to be here. You could fall over a chair, and they’d think that’s just the way genius behaves.”
He nodded solemnly, accepting the accolade without a flicker of humility.
The lectern was set on a low platform at the front of the conference room, flanked by four chairs and a side table. Behind it, the company shield hung proudly on the wall, framed by blue and white bunting, Interstellar’s colors. Kim had kept the award in its container, which she now placed on the side table after showing it to Hopkin.
Corporate employees were beginning to come in. She knew a couple of the executives, and she introduced the physicist to them. They fawned over him, and she was pleased to see him calm down somewhat.
A tall, blond woman entered and everyone snapped to attention. This, Kim knew, was Magda Kenneal, Tripley’s chief administrative assistant. Magda took over, introduced herself to Hopkin, said hello distractedly to Kim, and began giving directions. There were now about twenty people in the room. After she’d gotten everyone satisfactorily seated, Magda apparently got a signal from somewhere. She nodded, stepped behind the lectern and the conversation stopped. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “I’d like to welcome you here this morning. As you may be aware, Mr. Tripley has long been a staunch supporter of the Seabright Institute—”
She continued in that vein for a few minutes, extolling her boss’s efforts on behalf of a world of worthy causes. Then she stood aside. A door to her right opened, and Ben-ton Tripley himself came in.
The audience applauded enthusiastically. There was no question here who signed the paychecks.
Tripley, dressed formally in white for the occasion, sat down on Kim’s left. He smiled graciously at her, and she returned the gesture. Kim had never met him. Magda had always represented Lost Cause at Institute events.
Up close, she sensed that Benton was a more electric personality than his father. Everything she’d seen about Kile suggested a serious, somber man, with an intellectual side, and a tendency toward abruptness. But one did not get the feeling of unseen depths. The current Tripley, on the other hand, looked far more congenial, if she disregarded his eyes, which revealed a flatness that left her cold.
He was not a man she’d have over for dinner. Yet the charm was undeniably there, and it washed over her when he favored her with a broad smile. It made