The Omega Expedition - Brian Stableford [74]
“The process can’t be stopped,” Davida said, very firmly indeed. “It’s too far advanced. To attempt to reverse the process now would place him in considerable danger. It’s out of the question.”
Horne seemed to realize that she had made a mistake. She had seen the opportunity to ask “Whose plan?” and she had seized it reflexively — but the occasion had been inappropriate and the move had been premature. She wanted to get away now, to consult her own people. She and Conwin made their excuses and left.
Davida made as if to accompany them, then thought better of it. She let them climb into their pods, and then turned back to me. “I’m sorry about that,” she said.
“Why?” I said, with a smile. “I thought we all got along famously.”
Davida grinned at that, and her face was instantly transformed into that of a real mischievous child. But she knew that it wasn’t entirely a joking matter.
“Whatever those two may think,” she said, “my instructions came through the customary channels, and were quite explicit. It’s entirely possible that there is a dispute within the ranks of the Foundation, but I’ve every reason to believe that the decision was proper and authoritative. If there are problems between the UN and the Confederation, I know nothing about them.” She changed tack abruptly then, and asked: “Why did you make the assumption that Solantha Handsel is Michael Lowenthal’s bodyguard?”
“Because she looks like one,” I told her. “Maybe appearances are deceptive, given the passage of a thousand years, and maybe people nowadays think everything’s just for show, but I’ve seen real bodyguards. The big boys at PicoCon used to take their personal protection very seriously, and it wasn’t the Eliminators they were worried about.”
Davida was enough of an innocent not to catch the implication of the final remark, so I elaborated. “There was still a certain amount of competition for places on the Ultimate Board,” I told her. “Damon didn’t have to kill anyone in order to step into dead men’s shoes, so far as I knew, but some of his colleagues did. In a world where everyone lives for a long time, people with ambition sometimes have to use unconventional measures to make room for themselves. I assume that’s still the case.”
“Not on Excelsior,” Davida told me — but the fact that she’d put it that way suggested that she wasn’t so sure about Earth and the outer satellites.
“It’s only ninety-nine years since a whole lot of shoes fell vacant at a stroke,” I reminded her. “I’m a stranger here, but I can’t help wondering how closely Excelsior is in touch with the rest of the solar system. Personally, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to discover that Michael Lowenthal is more than a little worried about the way things are back home. Wouldn’t you be anxious, if your world had recently suffered an accident of that magnitude?”
Davida didn’t answer immediately, but she certainly seemed to take the thought aboard. “Something is going on that I don’t understand,” she confessed. “Somewhere, there’s been a drastic failure of communication. We’ll have to get together with both delegations, to work out exactly who’s been misled, and how…” She broke off then, realizing like Horne before her that these might be matters best not discussed in front of a barbarian refugee from the twenty-third century. “Christine Caine has asked to be allowed to see the interior of the Child of Fortune,” she told me, changing her tone decisively. “I relayed the request to Niamh Horne, who said that she would be pleased to guide a party around the ship — including Mr. Lowenthal and Dr. Gray — as soon as Adam Zimmerman is awake. Would you like to be included?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
Davida nodded. “It should be very interesting,” she observed. “It’s an opportunity I’ve never had myself. The ship that rescued Dr. Gray from the Arctic Ocean must have been similar in kind, but a much older model.” She seemed to be groping toward a point without being entirely clear what it was.
“You don’t actually know whose decision it was to wake Adam