responsible position to begin with, or anything like that.”
“I could use a couple of good engineering project managers and program
directors,” Ramelson said, not quite able to keep a sharp edge out of his voice.
“Could Jeremy handle a structural dynamicist ten years older than him and with
twenty years’ experience? What does he know about Doppler radar or orbital
mechanics? Those are the people I need.”
“Now you’re being pompous. All I—”
“Oh, I didn’t want to suggest anything like that,” Valerie interrupted hastily.
“But maybe something less demanding—possibly more in the administrative area,
but not too humdrum …” She treated Ramelson to a smile of sweet, wide-eyed
reasonableness. “Something with some life and glamor to it would suit his
temperament—marketing, maybe, or advertising . . . Isn’t there a place like that
where he could do some good? There must be, surely, Burton.”
Ramelson finished his coffee and made a face to himself behind the cup. He and
Penelope would be able to talk about it much more freely on their own later,
without his being rushed into committing to anything prematurely. And besides
that, with the meeting probably waiting for him already, he didn’t want to go
into all the whys and wherefores. “I’ll talk to Greg Buhl about it today,” he
promised. He put down his cup and sat back with an air of finality that said the
matter was finished for the time being. Penelope glanced at Valerie and nodded
almost imperceptibly. “So what do you two have planned for today?” Ramelson
asked. “Anything wild and exciting?”
“We thought we’d take the shuttle up to New York and go shopping,” Penelope
said. “I called Jenny and Paul, and they invited us to dinner with them.”
“Uh-huh. Sounds like a late night back,” Ramelson said.
“Probably.”
“Why not stay over and get a flight back tomorrow?”
“We could, I suppose . . . Yes, why not? I’ll give you a call and let you know
if that’s what we decide to do.”
Ramelson looked at Valeric. “You seem to be enjoying your stay. Glad to see it.”
He glanced at his watch, folded his napkin and placed it in front of him, and
stood up. “Well, the others will be waiting for me, so I’m afraid I must ask you
to excuse me, ladies. Have a pleasant trip to New York, and do give my regards
to Jenny and Paul.”
“Of course,” Penelope said as Ramelson turned to leave. “Oh, and you will
remember to talk to Greg about Jeremy, won’t you?”
“I’ll remember,” Ramelson sighed.
He had forgotten less than thirty seconds later as he crossed the hall outside
the breakfast room, and his mind returned to the Titan situation. The rest of
the world, especially the Soviets, had been outraged when the true purpose of
the Orion mission was finally admitted after the months of speculations,
accusations, and denials that had followed Zambendorf’s revelation at the
mission’s departure. But that event was no longer viewed so widely as the major
catastrophe that it had seemed at the time, since at least it had half prepared
the world for the true story when it finally emerged—as it had to eventually—and
had thus partly defused what would otherwise have been a bombshell of immense
proportions. The reactions had been expected, of course, but apart from making a
lot of noise and threats, what could the Soviets do. True, they could have
started a war, the Western leaders had conceded among themselves; but the
Pentagon’s strategic analysts had concluded that they wouldn’t—for the same
reason that nobody had dared risk anything serious since 1945 … or at least,
very probably they wouldn’t; better than 92.4 percent probably, the computers
had calculated.
On the other hand, depending on exactly what Titan turned up, exclusive access
to advanced alien technology might provide the means for solving all of the
West’s problems once and for all—with the Soviets militarily, and with the rest
of the world commercially. So the West had taken the gamble, and so far it
seemed to have paid off. About the only casualty that Ramelson had seen so far
was Caspar Lang, who in his last videogram from Titan had still seemed to be