“You don’t think he’ll get restless again, do you?” Sarah asked apprehensively.
“Restless? You mean take another walk?”
“Yes.”
Aub pursed his lips for a few seconds. “Well . . . to be honest about it, if things get much worse . . . maybe.”
“That’s my Brad,” Sarah sounded resigned but with no hint of bitterness. “I’d just grown to like this house too. Oh, well, what does it say in the book of Ruth . . . Whither thou goest I will go . . .”
“Huh?”
“Doesn’t matter. Here—I’ll take that can.”
“Thanks. You know something . . .”
The house shook and a noise like thunder echoed up the stairs as the front door slammed. Elephantine footsteps pounded in the entrance level below.
“Oh, jeez,” Aub murmured.
“Is that you, sweetness?” Sarah called. No reply.
A minute later Clifford appeared in the door of the dining room, glowering. He mumbled perfunctory greetings, stamped across to the bar and began pouring himself a large measure of Scotch. Sarah emerged from the kitchen and walked over to stand just behind him. He turned, glass in hand, to find her confronting him with hands on hips and lips pouted expectantly. He scowled back at her for a few seconds, then emitted a sigh of exasperation, grinned, and kissed her lightly.
“Hi.”
“Should think so too,” she said, and marched back into the kitchen.
Aub smirked through the serving hatch. “Man . . . wait till I tell the guys about this.”
“You shut up if you don’t want to end up eating at McDonald’s.” Clifford inclined his head in the direction of the bar. “Want a drink?”
“Cheers. Rye and dry.”
Clifford turned to the bar once more as plates began appearing. Aub ambled round into the dining room and transferred them from the counter to the table. A few seconds later Sarah followed.
“My acute perceptiveness tells me we have problems,” Aub said as they sat down.
“They want the project run their way—formal schedule of timetabled objectives, regular progress reports, resident liaison man from Washington. The works. Just what I knew would happen.”
“Well . . .” Aub tried to sound philosophical. “I guess they figure that they’ve made the down-payment and ought to be seeing some deliveries . . . delivery estimates anyway.”
“I’ll deliver everything I said I would, but I won’t jump through hoops too. I can’t work that way.”
“You have to see it from their point of view, Brad,” Sarah tried. “It’s a lot of money to put down with no guarantees at all. Perhaps you’re making it look a bit like they owe it to you to fund anything that interests you. Surely you can trade off somewhere with them.”
Clifford grew irritable again.
“See it from their point of view . . . Why do I always to have to see it from their point of view? Why can’t they try seeing it from mine? Their so-called management science is going to everybody’s heads. When will they realize they can’t manage human thinking like production lines for plastic ducks? I already said—I’ll deliver. That should be enough.”
Aub was beginning to lose his patience. “You know that, I know that, Al knows that, and Sarah knows that,” he pointed out. “But maybe they don’t know that, or at least, they don’t believe it enough. Maybe we have to persuade them a bit harder, that’s all. Like Zim always said—remember—it needs selling.”
Clifford wasn’t buying. “We’ve been through all that and look where it’s led. Anyhow, I’m not a salesman and I’m not interested in becoming one. I’m a scientist. It’s just another hoop to jump through. Why should we have to?”
After a short silence Aub asked: “So what happens if you end up telling them to get lost? After all, it’s not really like last time. We’re working for ISF now when all’s said and done. There wouldn’t be any question of the job going down the pan.”
“True,” Clifford answered. “But they could still pull the BIAC out . . . plus all the other stuff they’ve bought.”
Aub stopped chewing and looked hard at Clifford with a stare of disbelief.