The Sparrow - Mary Doria Russell [150]
"Your man sounds upset, Candotti," Voelker said quietly, smiling.
"He’s a scientist and his work was buried, Voelker. He’s got a right to be upset," John said just as softly with as gentle a smile. "How’s the secretary biz these days? Scheduled any first-rate appointments lately?"
It would have gotten nastier had Felipe Reyes not stopped them with a look. It is almost hormonal with these two, Reyes thought. Put Voelker and Candotti in a room together and you could practically see the metaphysical antlers growing out of their heads.
They realized then that the shouting had stopped and for a long while there was no indication of what was going on inside the office. Finally, Voelker glanced at the time on his notebook and reached passed John to rap on the door.
To John’s vast satisfaction, it was the Father General who yelled, "Not now, dammit."
INSIDE THE OFFICE, Emilio Sandoz was staring at Vincenzo Giuliani in utter disbelief.
"So you see, it was, in retrospect, a wise decision," Giuliani was saying, hands spread placatingly. "If we had published everything as the data arrived, it would have been even worse when it came out later."
Sandoz stood there, rigid, almost unable to take it in. He wanted to believe that it made no difference, but it did. It made everything different, and he tried to remember every conversation they’d had, almost faint with the fear that he’d remember saying something, unknowing, that might have wounded her.
Giuliani pulled out a chair for him. "Sit down, Emilio. Obviously, this is a shock." A scholar himself, Giuliani was not at all happy about the suppression of scientific work, but there were larger issues here, things Sandoz could not be told. He was not proud of himself for bringing Mendes into this, but it was a useful diversion and might unearth some relevant insight if he could get Sandoz to open up. "You didn’t know?"
Emilio shook his head, still dazed. "She said something once. Just that she preferred bond-work for a broker to prostitution. I thought she was speaking hypothetically. I had no idea ... She must have been a child," he whispered, horrified. How did she survive being used like that? With all the resources of an adult, it had destroyed him.
She had saved his life, her AI navigation system piloting the Stella Maris back to the solar system nearly a year after her own death on Rakhat. He was a broken man, alone, incapable even when whole of coping with the navigational tasks. Sofia’s programs had done it all: efficient, logical and competent as their creator. Sometimes he would call up the initial screen that put the AI program in motion and stare at the message she had left in Hebrew. "Live," it said, "and remember." It was more than he could stand to think of, and he forced himself away from it, fighting the descent into migraine. She’s dead and I may as well be, he thought. The work doesn’t deserve to be entombed as well.
"It makes no difference," he insisted then, and Giuliani realized the diversion hadn’t worked. "I want our work published. Moral indignation over the authors’ sex lives is irrelevant. And Anne’s stuff and D.W.’s! I want all of it published. We sent back something like two hundred papers in three years. It’s all that’s left of what we were, Vince—"
"All right, all right. Calm down. We can address that issue later. There is more at stake here than you realize. No, just be quiet," Giuliani said peremptorily when Sandoz opened his mouth. "We are talking about solid science, not ripe peaches. The data will not deteriorate. We’ve already delayed publication for over twenty years for reasons that have seemed good and sufficient to three successive generals, Emilio." He was not above applying leverage. "The sooner these hearings are over and we are clear about what happened on Rakhat and