Baumer came around to usher Gina inside, and then closed the door. He indicated the seat that Lesho had used and returned to his own side of the desk.
“I apologize for that,” he said stiffly. “As a sociologist one must be prepared for all types of people.”
“I suppose so.” Gina sat down. “Thanks for fitting me in at short notice. You seem busy.” Her phrasing was the code to switch on the miniature voice recorder, supplied by Del Cullen, that was concealed inside the fold of her collar.
“It’s a busy time. There’s a lot to do here.” Baumer’s manner reverted to cool. He didn’t know what this was about, and he wasn’t prepared at this stage to commit to a lot of time.
“I’ve only seen a little, but I think I know what you mean.”
“You’ve just come to Jevien, I think you said?”
“That’s right—with the Vishnu. It’s all a bit mind-blowing. I guess I haven’t gotten used to Ganymeans yet. How long have you been here yourself?”
“Almost five months, now.”
“Time enough to find your way around?”
“It depends what you want to find. . . You said you’re some kind of writer?”
Gina nodded. “Books on subjects of topical interest. Right now, I’m planning one on historical figures who were Jevienese agents— known or possible. I don’t know if you’ve kept in touch with the popular stuff that’s been coming out on Earth, but the amount of nonsense is unbelievable. I wanted to get the record straight, and this seemed to be the place to start. So here I am.”
“Jevlenese intervention in history. Famous figures who might have been agents . . .“ Baumer repeated. His English was clearly articulated, with the barest hint of an accent. He had pale, delicate features, which were accentuated by thin lips, a narrow, tapering chin, and heavy, horn-rimmed spectacles, giving him a youthful look for his years. An untidy mop of light brown hair and the mottled gray sweater that he was wearing enhanced the studentlike image. But the eyes regarding Gina through the lenses were cool and remote, and the hard set of his mouth infused his expression with a hint of disdain. It was the kind of look he might have used to dismiss a saleslady who had been given her chance.
He stared down at the desk; a loose wave of hair flopped down over his forehead, and he brushed it aside with a hand. “I’m not sure I can help,” he said. “The kind of history that I think you mean isn’t my line.”
“I hadn’t assumed it was,” Gina answered. “But I was hoping that you might have some suggestions on how I should go about it—some thoughts on possible contacts, maybe. You’ve had a lot longer to find your way around.”
Clearly Baumer was preoccupied with other things and did not want to get involved. But Gina had her objectives, too. She had been scanning the office with her eyes ever since she sat down. It was bare and dusty, with little in the way of immediate evidence as to the kind of thing he did there. She got the impression that this was not where he spent most of his time away from PAC.
Her gaze came back to the companel by the desk. Baumer wasn’t equipped with Ganymean communications accessories for interacting with ZORAC. The man she had heard talking when she arrived had been Jevlenese, and the translations of his and Baumer’s voices—into German, she had noted—had come from the panel.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
“What?”
She motioned toward the panel. “Those Jevlenese who were here when I came in—the one who was talking was being translated through there. But I was told that VISAR doesn’t extend out into the city. And JEVEX isn’t supposed to be running. So what was doing it? Do you have stand-alone systems here that can do that kind of thing?”
“You are observant, Ms. Marin,” Baumer said, conceding a nod. “No, none of those. The Ganymeans have connected ZORAC into the regular comnet. You can get a translation facility on channel fifty-six. It’s handy—we can talk to the Jevienese anywhere.”