“He seemed content enough to me,” Evelyn said, letting it sound as an objection. She still liked the thought of working with Shipley. Sharing a dig at his expense—even so slight a one as this—didn’t feel comfortable.
“He is,” Corrigan replied.
The hostess came over to tell them that their table was ready, and they went through into the restaurant. Corrigan had already ordered while they were in the lounge, and they began their soup course straight away. When the waiter had left, Evelyn returned to the subject of Shipley.
“Why did it bother him that Jason Pinder wasn’t here himself today?” she asked.
Corrigan shrugged unconcernedly. “That’s the way Eric is. He seems to think that if Pinder attached as much importance to this job as Eric thinks he should . . .”
“Which job? You mean my job?”
“Yes: the one we’re talking about . . . then he would have made sure that the interview was fixed for a day when he was here, instead of leaving it to Quell.”
All of a sudden Evelyn felt uneasy. “What do you think?” she asked.
Corrigan waved a hand unconcernedly. “Ah, Eric worries too much about underhanded corporate politics—especially where influences are involved that he believes science could do without, such as SDC or anything else connected with the military. He should have lived in the nineteenth century and been one of those gifted, all-around amateurs that you read about.”
“It doesn’t bother you?” Evelyn said.
“The thought of getting mixed up with the Space Defense people?” Corrigan shook his head. “Not really. Why should it? That’s where the money is. It might add some excitement to life. It’s like everything else: you deal with the complications as they come.”
He grinned. She smiled back. It was what she wanted to hear, and she thought no more about it. Over dinner, Corrigan brought up the possibility of his coming up to Boston to visit her. It was about time he looked up some of his friends there, he said. At the same time, he could show Evelyn some of his old haunts. Evelyn thought it would be a great idea.
* * *
At the Space Defense Command’s Simulator Center at Inglewood, California, the time was three hours earlier. Jason Pinder and a party of technical and management executives that included the CLC president, Ken Endelmyer, were finishing the VIP tour. They had seen the motion platforms mounting cockpit mockups that even experienced Air Force space pilots reported as being “better than the real thing”; they had played with the telemanipulator helmets and arm-gloves used to remote-direct spaceborne repair and construction robots from ground and orbital stations thousands of miles away. Now they were in a section of the Visual Environments labs for a demonstration of a device that had been undergoing development and improvement for some time: the Vision & Voice head assembly, known as “VIV.” They had heard the presentations, watched the videos, and handled the equipment. Now it was time to lighten things up a little and conclude with some fun.
Don Falker, chief engineer of CLC’s Artificial Vision division, stood a short distance apart from the group. He was wearing a lightweight plastic helmet fitting close, like a skullcap, that supported a set of miniaturized vision goggles in front of his eyes and padded earphones. A microchip package in the crown communicated via an IR frequency link to nearby processing equipment. In his hand, he was holding an imitation Ping-Pong paddle made of aluminum, covered front, back, and around the edge in tiny reflecting surfaces. Similarly equipped, standing a few feet away and smiling a little self-consciously, was Therese Loel, head of CLC’s Engineering Systems Group.
The man in charge of the proceedings was around forty, lean and tanned, with thinning hair, graying at the temples, and silver-rimmed spectacles. He had a presentation style that was smooth and polished, dynamic in content but coming relaxed and easy, developed over years of dealing with high-level individuals. His name was Frank Tyron, SDC’s civilian project manager of the VIV program.
“Hold your other hand horizontal, as if you were about to serve a ball,” Tyron called to Falker.