“And he told you there was an informer here?”
Gina looked up curiously. “What is all this? Wasn’t he on the level?”
“Don’t worry about that for now.”
“He said there was reason to suspect one,” Gina went on. “They didn’t trust the official channel through Cullen, so the idea was to put in an independent observer that nobody knew about. You weren’t to know about it, not Cullen—not even Garuth.” Gina shrugged. “I guess that having me show up, who nobody could connect to any organization, seemed like a perfect opportunity.”
Hunt took a cigarette pack from his pocket, selected one, and looked up before putting it to his mouth. “And was that when he gave you the contact procedure that Marion Fayne used?”
Gina sighed again, in a what-the-hell kind of way. “No, later, after we arrived. He’s here in Shiban. I met him a couple of days ago.”
The look on Hunt’s face sharpened. “When?”
“The day Baumer showed me the town.” She paused. “I’ve got a feeling he might have been working for Shaw, too, somehow.”
“I guess we’ll never know now, will we? What happened?”
“I think a lot of this about Baumer being a head junkie might have been an act for cover. We did go to the club, but just so that I’d be able to tell it believably, and for it to be okay if anybody checked. But I didn’t stay as long as I said. Another guy collected me and took me to some place—a room in an apartment block that could have been anywhere—and I gave Shaw a rundown on what’s been happening since D.C. That was when he updated me on what he wanted and gave a new code that contacts would use.”
“I see.” Hunt lit his cigarette at last, then got up and paced across the room, thinking to himself and smoking several draws.
Gina settled further back into her chair. “What would you have done?” she asked him after the silence had dragged into more than a minute.
“What?” Hunt seemed to return abruptly from somewhere miles away. “Oh, much the same, I think. As you say, you didn’t know us at the time.”
“That’s nice to hear, anyway.”
Hunt picked up her briefcase, which she had put down on the chair by the working area on one side of the lounge, moved it to the desktop, then sat down in the chair and swiveled it to face back at her. “Do you remember that conversation we had in my place at Redfern Canyons the day you drove out there? You asked me what reality out there was, and I said it was all photons. Everything else you think you see, you make inside your head.”
“Neural constructs. Yes, I remember.”
“Funny things, heads. I knew a chap at Cambridge once, years ago now, who wanted to be a great scientist. He bought this big house with lots of quiet and seclusion, and filled it with all the things that were going to make it happen. Paneled study with a fireplace; the best computer, with access numbers into everywhere; huge library, and a lab set up with everything. He even had a chalkboard and plenty of pads ready to capture the inspiration when it came . . . The only trouble was, nothing ever did. He surrounded himself with all the paraphernalia and then sat back waiting for it to do something for him. A lot of people try and live their lives the same way. But things don’t work like that, of course. It has to come from inside. . . Rather like what you said about J.H.C.: His message was that everyone has to find their own way of figuring out who they are. Relying on the world outside to do it for you doesn’t work.”
“Why are you bringing this up now?”
Hunt shrugged nonchalantly. “Just talking about the funny things that go on inside and outside people’s heads. Sandy was telling me a little bit about your experiments with VISAR on the Vishnu. I hadn’t realized you’d gone that far into it—in fact, I hadn’t realized that you could go that far into it. Amazing, isn’t it? Me, the ever-curious scientist. It comes as a bit of a shock to find out you’re not quite what you thought, doesn’t it?”