When he had heard: “Tell me about this meeting place.”
And afterward: “Obviously she suspects he’s been implanted—anticipated the possibility, and chose that rendezvous because she knew of just such a bolthole as she’s taken him into. That may give clues to her identity. She’s quick-witted and has had some experience, but didn’t sound to me like a professional at this.”
“A datascan shows that she cannot be any of the persons registered under the name Irene Norton. It is an alias. Orders?”
“Sweep-surveillance of the area. It may find them fairly soon. Kenmuir has to surface sometime. He may even turn himself in. He’s dubious about the whole affair. Meanwhile start inquiries at that Asilo den. Discreet, tactful. It doesn’t impress me as having a staff or a clientele overly friendly to us. Still, detectives may learn who this woman really is.”
“Yes, pragmatic. Further orders?”
“Inform me immediately of any new developments. I will be on my way to Central to take full charge.”
Venator pocketed the disc. Sky, water, sunlight, breeze crowded in on him.
“I hope that wasn’t bad news,” Jomo said slowly.
“Emergency,” Venator answered. “Work-related. I’m not free to say more, and I’m afraid I must leave at once.”
“Pity.” Jomo reeled in his line while his visitor did the same. “Come back again,”
“I hope to.” It was peace and sanity like this that Venator fought to preserve.
Incidentally to the main purpose, to the cosmic meaning of his life.
Jomo started the motor. The boat skimmed shoreward.
This wasn’t really a dire situation, Venator deemed. Not yet. Probably not ever. What could two fugitives do?
It was plain that Fireball knew nothing about Proserpina. Otherwise the truth would have come out long ago—irresistible, to spirits that still yearned after the stars. The arcanum on which the Rydbergs brooded so dragonlike must be some trivial piece of long-irrelevant history, if it was that much: on a par with the unpublished diary of an ancestor.
Lilisaire, intensely researching, had found indications of a mystery in deep space. She thought the object of it might, barely possibly, give her power toblock the Habitat, or actually break Luna free of the Federation.
It could do nothing of the kind, of course. It threatened far worse.
But those data that survived were well safeguarded. Venator himself had not been granted an access code—and it biological—until the cybercosm had concluded that Li lisa ire’s activities were disturbing enough that he had a need to know. How could two amateurs tell where to begin looking, let alone how to break in?
No, they were not important in themselves. They were leads to Lilisaire and her underground—clever, ‘ dangerous Lilisaire.
(Assassination? Difficult, maybe infeasible, disastrous if an attempt failed. Besides, she might well leave word behind her, and others carry on. Arrest? On what charges, with what repercussions? Wait a while. Play the game. It was good to have a really challenging opponent.)
Nonetheless, because they were walking clues, Kenmuir and Norton must be captured. And there were loose ends elsewhere, securities to make secure. For that, communication facilities here were ridiculously inadequate. He would return to Central.
To oneness. The knowledge pierced him like love.
The reasoning brain went on in its work. It was vital to take back control over events, now, before they got out of hand, before crisis led to crisis as in the distant past. The room in Port Bowen was overlarge for two persons, but Dagny Beynac appreciated the courtesy of a meeting there rather than in an office. It softened a little the fact that she had been summoned. Likewise did spaciousness, the sheer expanse of carpet. A conference table stood offside, with a console for data and communications in the adjacent wall. Of the several free armchairs, at each of the two that were in use an end table bore a cup and teapot.
The governor general for the Lunar Authority had given the chamber a personal touch as well. A big viewscreen played a recorded scene, houses on precipitous green mountainsides, the Chiangjing flowing majestic between. Opposite hung a scroll. Its black-and-white picture was of an old man in a robe, seated, probably a sage. Did its calligraphy embalm a poem?