hint of emotion in the American’s voice. He nodded slowly, though
still not comprehending.
“You didn’t drag me here to give me a UNSA commercial,” he said.
“No, I didn’t,” Caidwell agreed. “I dragged you over because it’s
time we had a serious talk. I know enough about you to know how the
wheels go round inside your head. You are made out of the same
stuff as the guys who are making all the things happen out there.”
He sat back in his chair and held Hunt’s gaze with a direct stare.
“I want you to quit messing around at IDCC and come over to us.”
The statement caught Hunt like a right hook.
“What. . . ! To Navcomms!”
“Correct. Let’s not play games. You’re the kind of person we need,
and we can give you the things you need. I know I don’t have to
make a big speech to explain myself.”
Hunt’s initial surprise lasted perhaps half a second. Already the
computer in his head was churning out answers. Caidwell had been
building toward this and testing him out for weeks. So, that was
why he had moved in Navcomms engineers to take over running the
scope. Had the thought been in his mind as long ago as that?
Already Hunt had no doubt what the outcome of the interview would
be. However, the rules of the game demanded that the set questions
be posed and answered before anything final could be pronounced.
Instinctively he reached for his cigarette case, but Caldwell
preempted him and slid his cigar box across the desk.
“You seem pretty confident you’ve got what I need,” Hunt said as he
selected a Havana. “I’m not sure even I know what that is.”
“Don’t you. . . ? Or is it that you just don’t like talking about
it?” Caldwell stopped to light his own cigar. He puffed until
satisfied, then continued: “New Cross to the Journal of the Royal
Society, solo. Some achievement.” He made a gesture of approval.
“We like self-starters over here-sorta . . . traditional. What made
you do it?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “First electronics, then
mathematics . . . after that nuclear physics, later on nudeonics.
What’s next, Dr. Hunt? Where do you go from there?” He settled back
and exhaled a cloud of smoke while Hunt considered the question.
Hunt raised his eyebrows in mild admiration. “You seem to have been
doing your homework,” he said.
Caldwell didn’t answer directly but asked, simply, “How was your
uncle in Lagos when you visited him on vacation last year? Did he
prefer the weather to Worcester, England? Seen much of Mike from
Cambridge lately? I doubt it-he joined UNSA; he’s been at Hellas
Two on Mars for the last eight months. Want me to go on?”
Hunt was too mature to feel indignant; besides, he liked to see a
professional in action. He smiled faintly.
“Ten out of ten.”
At once Caldwell’s mood became deadly serious. He leaned forward
and spread his elbows on the desk.
“I’ll tell you where you go from here, Dr. Hunt,” he said. “Out
-out to the stars! We’re on our way to the stars over here! It
started when Danchekker’s fish first crawled up out of the mud. The
urge that made them do it is the same as the one that’s driven you
all your life. You’ve gone inside the atom as far as you can go;
there’s only one way left now-out. That’s what UNSA has to offer
that you can’t refuse.”
There was nothing Hunt could add. Two futures lay spread out before
him: One led back to Metadyne, the other beckoned onwards toward
infinity. He was as incapable of choosing the first as his species
was of returning to the depths of the sea.
“What’s your side of the deal, then?” he asked after some
reflection.
“You mean, what do you have that we need?”
“Yes.”
“We need the way your brain works. You can think sideways. You see
problems from different angles that nobody else uses. That’s what I
need to bust open this Charlie business. Everybody argues so much
because they’re making assumptions that seem obvious but that they