His surprise took on an added element of perplexity when further inquiring revealed Foy to be SOE’s representative on the Kronian “Consolidation Council,” which concerned itself with mapping the longer-term future toward which Kronia was heading. In other words, this was not just an official from one of the Directorates, but a member of the topmost level of the administration, charged with setting the aims that lay beyond merely existing from one generation to the next—the end purpose that the Kronians saw their existence as serving. He didn’t seem the kind of person to be interested in details of propulsion system engineering. Keene got the feeling that more was going on than was obvious on the surface. He sensed Cavan’s hand at work somehow, but what the motive might be, he was unable to fathom.
* * *
Keene arranged to arrive in time to join Foy and some unnamed others for lunch. He made the two-thousand-mile hop to Foundation in a surface transporter skimming at 10,000 feet through the twilight beneath Titan’s cloud canopy above a wilderness of ice and rock, broken at intervals by scatterings of lights from a habitat or some kind of construction in progress. Eventually, the capital materialized from the gloom, growing and taking shape as the vessel descended, into another sprawl of domes and arc-lit metallic geometry huddled in the frozen night. Keene wondered how long it would be before humanity could once again flourish across sunny landscapes with coastlines and forests. No wonder so many of the younger Terrans like Robin had sunk into melancholy and dejection.
Keene had been to Foundation a number of times before on space-related business and in connection with energy matters, the last occasion being three months or so ago. The Kronian Offices of Congress had not been given any grand or imposing character to set them apart from the rest of the city complex. They were housed in a squat, hexagonal structure with several adjoining domes, standing west of the general central area and extending many levels below the surface. The transporter landed on a flood-lit pad atop the Hexagon, and Keene deplaned along with several other arrivals via a tube connected to the terminal entrance. He was met by a youngish couple who introduced themselves as Dril and Marna from SOE’s Engineering and Development Division, and then escorted him down into a labyrinth of the kind that had come to seem normal for the sanitized metal and plastic environment that the surviving sliver of human civilization was creating for itself. They came to an entranceway displaying the SOE emblem of a gold sun-and-planets on a black background and passed through a lobby to a staircase leading down to a side room adjoining the cafeteria, where a table was set for lunch. The first figure Keene recognized, stepping out from the small, chattering group already assembled and evidently awaiting his arrival, was Cavan. He looked breezy and casual, and his expression was not without a hint of amusement at the look on Keene’s face.
“Leo, I had a hunch you were behind this. Did you have to work at being subtle or does it just come naturally?”
“Oh, come on, you know my ways.”
“So what’s it all about?”
“In good time, Landen. All in good time.” Cavan turned to present a man who was waiting. He was white haired with a dusky countenance, wearing a silver-gray robe-like garment, standing tall but relaxed and studying Keene attentively. “Jon Foy. Jon, this is Landen Keene, the man you’ve been hearing about.”
“Leo has enthralled us with his account of your escape,” Foy said. He was soft spoken, with a hint of what could have been taken for an Asian accent. His eyes were alert and alive—the kind that seemed to take in much from a distance. “A remarkable story of tenacity and endurance. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Dr. Keene.”
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, sir,” Keene replied.
Another figure, dressed in a light purple jacket embellished with silky trim and braid embroidery over a black polo-neck shirt, had moved up beside Foy and was exchanging words with Dril and Marna. He was fiftyish, stockily built for a Kronian, with wavy, yellow-brown hair, golden skin—UV tanning was widespread among Kronians—and firmly defined features underscored by a heavy-set chin. His name was Mylor Vorse. He ran Engineering and Development, and had presided over some of the meetings there that Keene had attended. On his other side was a woman in a maroon tunic, who from the compad and document holder she was carrying, Keene guessed to be some kind of assistant.