“No. The others are already a year or two ahead of him in . . . the puberty sweepstakes. But as I say, the others don’t really hate him. In an odd way, they respect him. He’ll help anyone with his homework, without being arrogant about it, and he doesn’t show off his intelligence in the classroom. You trained him in that.”
“I was in his shoes once,” Robert says.
“Yes, of course. But the net result of this is.. . well, in playground jargon, they say he has a diode loose. That affair with the animals last year didn’t help.”
“That was blown all out of proportion,” Robert says evenly. “Scientific curiosity. He thought he had anesthetized them.”
Weinberg squares the stack of paper in front of him and stares at it. Softly: “That’s not what he says under hypnosis.”
49 – CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jacque was dreaming that they had inserted a long needle into his brain. They screwed a syringe onto it and sucked out yellow fluid.
“Darling! Jacque! Wake up.” Carol was shaking him hard.
Jacque shook his head and patted her on the shoulder. “Nightmare.” The sheet was twisted around him, soaked. He worried at it but only made the situation worse; swore, and jerked, tearing the fabric.
“Here, let me.” Carol got off the cot and unwound him, from the feet up. “Poor helpless creature.” She slid into bed next to him. Held him.
“Look, if you want to do that, let’s switch sides. This one’s all clammy.”
“Okay.” She rolled over onto her cot and Jacque followed. “Are we alone?” he asked.
“Far as I know. Nobody’s come in since I woke up.” He started caressing her. “Look, that, that’s not necessary. I’ve been waiting for you for an hour.”
He laughed softly and eased himself onto her. “We can go an easier way,” she said. “Long day ahead of you.”
He answered with a first slow thrust. “Call this work?”
The door to the billet slammed open. Sampson’s voice came through the privacy screen: “You up, Lefavre?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Carol giggled into his chest.
“Well, the last bunch of VIP’s came in. They’re about two hundred klicks away and homing.”
“All right. Give me five minutes.”
“Ten!” Carol said: “Jackrabbit,” she whispered.
“I’ll be outside in the truck.”
It wasn’t much of a conference room: a dissection table covered with homespun, surrounded by folding chairs and stools. Nobody sat. Pacing around the room were six of the most important people in the world:
Hilda Svenbjorg, pale, thin, chain-smoking; a touch of blonde in her ruff of white hair. World Order Council Majority Leader (C., Westinghouse).
Jakob Tshombe, light chocolate skin, expressionless features more Caucasian than Negroid, standing patiently. World Order Council Minority Leader (L, Xerox).
Pacing were Bill (“Hawkeye”) Simmons, leader of the Union of Independent Scientists; Reza Mossadegh, Coordinator of the World Petroleum Cartel; Fyodor Lomakin, Premier of the Eastern Grain Bloc; and Chris Silverman, leader of the World Council of Churches and Western Pope (her eyebrows shaved California-style).
They were ignoring Jacque and the other three Tamers. Carol and Vivian and Gus were in their GPEM suits, acting as bodyguards. Jacque sat on a stool in the middle of the room, next to a bowl of water that held the bridge.
A hissing sound from outside: the last arrivals. Jacque and Bahadur went out to greet them.
Tethered to the floater were three man-sized canisters, like overgrown oil drums: static life-support units. You can’t put an untrained person (or a pregnant woman, past a couple of months) into a GPEM suit; these LSU’s could keep a person alive, if immobile, for several weeks in any environment.
With the help of the floater pilot, they unscrewed the tops of the canisters; three undignified dignitaries came out. They limped into the conference room and Bahadur addressed all nine.
“I don’t know how much time we have, so I’ll give a brief summation of what we know. Which isn’t much. Then answer questions.
“You know that the L’vrai are an ancient race, and that they can assume virtually any shape, evidently by an exercise of will-“
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Hawkeye Simmons muttered.