Zimmermann’s eyebrows shot upward in momentary surprise.
“Me? Good heavens, no! I knew nothing of these things. We are rather isolated here and have more than enough work to keep us busy. I had assumed that after my reply to ACRE a program of investigation would have followed as a natural consequence. That, I’m afraid, Dr. Clifford, is why you never received any reply from me; it must have seemed most discourteous, and I do apologize, but, you understand, it did not occur to me that my reply to ACRE would fail to be passed through to you. Disgraceful!”
“So you really haven’t had anything more to do with the project since you sent that reply?” Aub asked, edging into the viewing angle.
“Certainly not with the politics,” Zimmermann said. “But as far as the scientific aspects go, you didn’t really expect me to forget all about it, surely—not something like that.” He grinned in a vaguely mischievous way that enhanced the warm feeling they already had toward him. “My goodness me, no. I have had several of my astronomers doing observational work in connection with the paper ever since I realized its significance. In fact, we have a team working on it at this very moment.”
“You have!” Clifford was excited. “Anything to report yet?”
“Mmm . . . not yet . . .” Zimmermann gave the impression that he knew more than he was prepared to talk about for the time being, but his manner was cautious rather than furtive. “Certainly we cannot yet offer any evidence as conclusive as the experiments of Dr. Philipsz that you described, but . . .” his eyes twinkled mischievously again, “we are working on it.”
“So you haven’t gotten involved in a dialogue with any other institutions about it?” Clifford inquired.
“No, we have not, I’m afraid,” Zimmermann replied. “I did urge that other organizations should be encouraged to test out those parts of the theory that we are not equipped to investigate, but after that I left the matter in the hands of the powers that be. I had assumed that, should any of those organizations wish to discuss anything with us here, they would contact us accordingly. It was my intention to compare notes when we had a full set of confirmed results to report, but we have not quite reached that position yet.”
A brief pause followed while Clifford wrestled in his mind with the problem of how to broach the object of his call in a tactful manner. Before he had formed any words, Zimmermann’s expression changed to a shrewd, penetrating stare, but his eyes still sparkled. When he spoke his voice was soft and had a curious lilt. “But your immediate problem, of course, is that of deciding where you go from there, is it not?”
This piece of mind reading caught Clifford unprepared.
“What . . . well . . . yes that’s right,” was all he could manage.
Zimmermann finished the rest for him. “And you called me in the hope that I might be able to help.”
So the problem was solved; there it was, said—over. Clifford nodded mutely. He could sense Aub and Sarah tensing on either side of him.
Zimmermann gazed out of the screen for a long time without speaking, but they could tell from his face that his mind was racing through a whole list of undisclosed possibilities.
“I do not make promises unless I am certain of my ability to honor them,” he said finally. “Therefore I will not promise anything. I want you to stay near your terminal for the next twenty-four hours. During that time—and this I do promise—either I or somebody else will call you. That is all I am prepared to say for now. And the sooner we finish this call, the sooner I will be able to do something about the things I have in mind. Do you have any further pressing questions?”
The three looked at one another. There were no questions.
“I guess not, Professor,” Clifford answered.
“Very well then, good day. And remember—make sure at least one of you stays home.”
“We will. . . . Good-bye, and thanks again . . . thanks again very much.”