“Oh? And why not?”
“Because . . .”
“Because what?”
She sighed a sigh of infinite patience. “Because of Aub,” she told him. “To be credible, you’d have to tell them where you got the information, and that would drag Aub into it. The only other way would mean you’d start a big scene and then have to admit that you’d got nothing to back up your accusations, in which case you’d end up looking silly. Either way, it’s not practical.” Sarah also knew, but didn’t say, that whatever satisfaction such an action might have bought Clifford in the short run, ultimately it would achieve nothing significant. Even if such a showdown resulted in his being offered, belatedly, his rightful place in the operation, he would never accept it—not now; the price would be more than his pride and his principles would allow him to pay.
“Yeah . . .” Clifford mumbled after a while. “Yeah, I guess maybe you’re right.” He walked across the room and stood staring out of the window for a long time, unsure of what he was going to do next. Sarah said nothing but sat soberly contemplating the toe of her shoe.
She had a fairly good idea of what he was going to do.
* * *
“You can’t,” Corrigan declared flatly. “Your contract says so.”
“That stuff’s academic now,” Clifford retorted. “I’ve already told you—I have.”
A long table was set at right angles to the desk in Jarrit’s office to form a T—useful for impromptu conferences and small meetings. Jarrit was leaning forward at the desk, fists clenched on the surface in front of him, while Edwards and Corrigan were seated next to each other on one side of the table. Clifford sat opposite them. All four faces were grim.
“There has been no formal request and therefore no approval,” Edwards pointed out. “The matter will have to be considered in the regular manner.”
“Screw the regular manner,” Clifford said. “I’ve quit.”
“I don’t think you fully realize the gravity of the issue, Dr. Clifford,” Jarrit stated. “This is not some trivial question that can be settled by local procedures. You are employed under the terms of a special federal directive which states, quite unequivocally, that you do not have the right to terminate your contract unilaterally. Surely I don’t have to remind you that we—the whole Western world—are facing a crisis. We are living in an emergency situation.”
“The screw-ups that brought it on had nothing to do with me. I’ve quit.”
“Maybe not,” Corrigan said. “But the same could be said for everybody else. Nevertheless, you’d agree that you have a share in the obligation to protect the nation from their consequences, wouldn’t you?”
“That’s what your book says. I never said so.”
“Oh, is that so?” Corrigan felt himself getting into stride; the old familiar feeling of limbering up before launching into the devastation of another awkward witness was coming back. “Are you telling us that you are above the law of this country? Do you consider yourself . . .”
“I’m telling you I’m not an object for compulsory purchase,” Clifford cut him off short. “The goods aren’t for sale.”
“You’re copping out then, huh? That’s what you’re saying?” Corrigan’s voice rose uncontrollably. “Democracy can go to the wall.”
“What do you know about democracy?” Clifford made no attempt to hide the contempt that he felt. His tone was close to a sneer.
“I believe in what it says, that’s what I know,” Corrigan snapped back. “People have a right to choose how they want to live, and I’ll fight any bastards who try to come here and take that away . . . there’s a billion of ’em out there. Nobody’s gonna ram some crummy ideology I don’t want down my throat, or tell me what to or what not to believe. I make my own decisions. That’s what I know about democracy and that’s what I say you’ve got a duty to defend.”
“That’s okay then.” Clifford’s voice sank abruptly to almost a whisper; the contrast to Corrigan’s shouting added emphasis. “I’ve chosen. You’re doing the ramming.” Corrigan’s face whitened and his lips compressed into a tight line. Before he could form a reply, Clifford went on, his voice rising. “There’s no difference between you and them. You’re all preaching bundles of canned delusions, and it’s all the same crap! Why can’t you all go home and forget about it? The people of this planet have already chosen how they want to live, but the message doesn’t suit you so you don’t hear it—they want to be left alone.”