“There’s no interest in it,” Edith replied smoothly, “because no one’s telling the story to the public.”
Then she waited three seconds, watching Underwood’s three-dimensional image, wondering how much the woman’s ruffled off-white blouse must have cost. Pure silk, she was certain.
“Edie, dear, no one’s telling the story because there’s no story there. Who cares about a gaggle of mercenaries fighting each other all the way out there in the Asteroid Belt?”
Edith held her temper. Very sweetly, she asked, “Does anyone care about the cost of electrical power?”
Underwood’s face went from mild exasperation to puzzled curiosity. At last she asked, “What’s the price of electricity got to do with this?”
Feeling nettled that an executive of Underwood’s level didn’t understand much of anything important, Edith replied patiently, “The greenhouse flooding knocked out more than half of the coastal power plants around the world, didn’t it?”
Without waiting for a reply, she went on, “Most of the loss in generating capacity is being taken up by solar power satellites, right? And where do you think the metals and minerals to build those satellites come from?”
Before Underwood could reply, Edith added, “And the fuels for the fusion generators that the power companies are building come from Jupiter, you know. This war is driving up their prices, too.”
By the time she answered, Underwood was looking thoughtful. “You’re saying that the fighting out in the Asteroid Belt is affecting the price of metals and minerals that those rock rats ship back to Earth. And the price of fusion fuels, as well.”
“And the price of those resources affects the ultimate price you flatlanders pay for electricity, yes.” Edith grimaced inwardly at her use of the derogatory flatlanders, but Underwood seemed to pay it no attention.
“So it costs us a few cents more per kilowatt hour,” she said at last. “That’s still not much of a story, is it.”
Edith sat back in her little desk chair. There’s something going on here, she realized. Something circling around below the surface, like a shark on the hunt.
She studied Underwood’s face for a few silent moments. Then she asked, “How much advertising is Astro Corporation buying from you? Or is it Humphries?”
Once she heard the question Underwood reddened. “What do you mean? What are you implying?”
“The big corporations don’t want you to go public about their war, do they? They’re paying for this cover-up.”
“Cover-up?” Underwood snapped, once she heard Edith’s accusation. “There isn’t any cover-up!”
“Isn’t there?”
Underwood looked furious. “This conversation is over!” Her image winked out, leaving Edith alone in her snug little office.
She nodded to herself and smiled. That hit a nerve, all right. The big boys are paying off the news media to keep the war hushed up. That’s what’s going on.
Then Edith’s smile faded. Knowing the truth would be of little help in getting the story to the public.
How to break through their wall of silence? Edith wished she knew.
ASTRO CORPORATION HEADQUARTERS
Jake Wanamaker actually banged his fist against the wall. He stomped past the row of consoles in the communications center and punched the wall hard enough to dent the thin metal paneling.
“She just waltzed in there all by herself and now you can’t even make contact with her?”
The communications technicians looked scared. Old as he was, Wanamaker was still a formidable figure, especially when he was radiating anger. For several heartbeats no one in the comm center said a word. Console screens blinked and beeped softly, but everyone’s attention was focused on the big admiral.
“Sir, we got good tracking data on her until she got to the Nairobi base.”
“Those minibeacons are supposed to be able to broadcast through solid rock,” Wanamaker snarled. “We hung a half-dozen satellites in polar orbits, didn’t we? Why aren’t they picking up her signal?”
“It must be the solar flare, sir,” said another of the technicians. “It’s screwing up communications.”
Glowering, Wanamaker said, “You people assured me that the frequency the system uses wouldn’t be bothered by a flare.”
The chief comm tech, a cadaverous, sunken-eyed old computer geek, called across the room, “Their base must be shielded. Faraday cage, maybe. Wouldn’t be too tough to do.”