He forced an expression of shocked surprise. “Surely you’re not referring to the project . . . not at a time like this, after the news about Tom?” He shook his head to say he knew that Pinder hadn’t meant it—giving him the opportunity that any decent person would have to put it another way. “We’re not imagining that tomorrow’s schedule still stands?”
Pinder faltered while unseen circuits hastily recomputed weighting evaluation matrixes. His change of stance was as abrupt as yesterday’s, or as Barry Neinst’s a few hours earlier.
“Well, of course, I didn’t exactly mean to imply that. Naturally we must observe a proper sense of priorities. . . . But there are certain interests with a considerable stake in the outcome, who don’t share our dimension of, shall we say, `personal involvement’—as I’m sure you appreciate. If the schedule is affected—as it has to be, of course—we still owe it to them to be kept informed.”
“I’m working on it now,” Corrigan lied. “But I don’t have a full picture yet. Yeen should be getting in touch again at any time.”
“Very well. But in that case please call Endelmyer back and inform him of that much.”
Corrigan sighed beneath his breath, nodded, and entered the code into his desk unit. Anyway, it would be as easy to turn Endelmyer’s animation around too, he reasoned. The features of Endelmyer’s secretary appeared on the screen. “Hi, Celia. Joe Corrigan for himself,” he said.
“Oh, at last. I’ll put you straight through.”
Then Judy’s voice came from outside on another line. “Sorry to interrupt, but Harry Morgen and Joan Sutton are back with Frank Tyron, wanting to see you. Victor Borth is with them. They say it’s urgent, and you know what it’s about.”
“All right!” Corrigan exclaimed with relish, and forgetting all else, sprung up from the desk and headed for the door.
“Joe? . . . Joe Corrigan, where are you?” Endelmyer’s puzzled voice said from the screen.
“Hello? No, it’s me,” Corrigan heard Pinder splutter behind him as he went out. “Well, he is, but he’s just gone. I don’t know what’s happened to him. . . .”
Whereas Morgen’s approach had been conciliatory and placating, Tyron immediately launched into the offensive—possibly because Morgen had got nowhere; more likely to maintain a firm image of the heavyweight in front of Borth.
“What do you people think you’re playing at?” he demanded. “Don’t you realize that the information that’s coming out of this is already priceless? You’re sabotaging what could be the biggest breakthrough in the whole field in the last fifty years.”
“Everything’s on this now,” Borth pitched in, pushing his way forward beside Tyron. “If it blows, Xylog folds—the whole works. If it flies, we’ve got the oyster. You have to see this one through now.”
Corrigan, furious, pointed an arm in the general upward direction to indicate “out there.” “That’s all you can think about, even after what you forced Tom Hatcher into?”
“Unavoidable collateral,” Tyron said. “It’s a shame it has to happen, but there’s some in every operation.”
“Unavoidable collateral!” Corrigan exploded. “Is that what you call it? It’s still all just—”
Tyron brushed it aside with a tired wave. “Look, he’s okay. I just talked to him. If you want to be part of the Big League, you’ve gotta start thinking in big terms, Joey boy.”
Judy, who had been listening bemusedly from her desk, gasped. “Tom, okay? But how could he be? I don’t understand. . . .”
Tyron ignored her. Corrigan, however, was a person whose habits died hard. “Let’s do this somewhere less public,” he said. He looked back at the open door of his office, but Pinder was still talking at the screen in there. There was still the room where Lilly was ensconced. “Come on. This way.” And before anyone could object, he began herding them away. “Don’t worry about it, Judy,” he threw back as they disappeared around the corner. “I’ll explain it all later.”
Lilly was sitting in a chair to one side of the room, apparently thinking to herself, when Corrigan came in followed by the others. Tyron halted when he saw her, a frown of puzzled recognition on his face. She seemed unsure of whether she had met him before or not.