“You’re right,” Kieran said, leaning forward to refill her glass. “Not another word, so . . .”
4
The office and laboratory facility of Quantonix Researchers Reg. was located in a multilevel jumble of industrial and commercial premises that had grown in and under a complex of domes called Wuhan, forming the outer end of Gorky Avenue. The firm’s appearance was modest and utilitarian, with an unpretentious sign beside a plain entrance to proclaim its existence, and inside, a counter separating two clerks from the vestibule. Nobody had any delusions of lasting grandeur or of erecting monuments for the benefit of posterity in this business.
It was more crowded and busy than felt normal for a place of its size when Kieran and June arrived—which was hardly surprising in view of what had happened there two days before. A half-dozen or so people, fidgety and impatient, were waiting in the narrow entry space, and there was a constant bustle of others coming and going, phone beeps and call tones, on the far side of the counter and in the partitioned spaces beyond. “Did I ever tell you that story about the after-dinner speaker?” Kieran asked as they waited while the receptionist June had spoken to endeavored to locate one of the Morches.
“Which one?” June queried.
“Well, this fella is introduced as `John Jones, who made three-hundred-sixty million dollars in two weeks on uranium, and who’s going to share some of his insights with us.’ ”
“Uh-uh,” June said, looking mystified as to where this was leading.
“So Jones stands up and says, `Thank you very much. First, I’d just like to correct a couple of small details. It wasn’t uranium; it was uranium oxide.’ ” Kieran shrugged with the sheepish smile of a toastmaster conceding, yes, well, who couldn’t have got that wrong? ” `It wasn’t three-hundred-sixty million dollars; it was three-hundred-sixty-two million. It wasn’t two weeks; it was fifteen days. . . . And I didn’t make it; I lost it.’ ” Kieran showed a palm. “You see—my point: a little detail, but it makes a big difference.”
They were directed up to the office of Herbert Morch, managing director and TX Project chief, on the floor above the labs. His brother Max, the financial vice president, joined them shortly after. After June performed the introductions, Herbert ushered her and Kieran into two visitors’ chairs and then retreated back to the far side of his desk. It was molded, simulated-wood grain with a scratched top, bearing an unruly litter of papers, and a couple of comscreens at one end. The fleshy features beneath his balding dome were smiling, but the eyes gave away nothing. Max perched his sparse frame on the edge of a seat by the wall to one side, outwardly composed but unconsciously tapping a tattoo on the floor with a foot. Kieran took them as typical, stressed-out sunsider management, totally preoccupied with holding the act together until the gamble either died or paid off big. Getting a working, salable technology out there before the others was the only consideration. If Sarda could give it to them, and Kieran had no qualms about the details of what went on, they weren’t going to argue. At the same time, he detected them as having something of a fondness for June, which doubtless had a lot to do with their agreeing to accommodate him at such a busy time. He would have been more surprised if he hadn’t had long experience of her ways with people before.
She described Kieran as an old professional friend and “planetary privateer.” In answer to the four raised eyebrows that greeted the remark, she explained, “Frontiers always create adventurers. He’s one of the new kind.”
“So . . . what kind of adventures do you find, Mr. Thane?” Herbert asked.
“Anything that helps pay the rent,” Kieran replied, crossing a foot over the other knee and smiling easily. “Preferably unusual and interesting. All the better if it helps spare unworthies the temptation of spending ill-gotten gains. It must be a moral calling.”
“It sounds as if you make a point of delivering comeuppances to criminal elements,” Max commented. And then, half jokingly, “I hope you’re not expecting anything in that direction here.”