The Infinity Link (62 page)

Teri's eyebrows flicked upward once. Payne said nothing, and followed her into the office. Finding an empty alcove and desk, he punched in his home number. It took a minute for Denine to answer.

"I tried to call you at your hotel," she said. "You weren't there last night, and you weren't there this morning." She stared at him accusingly.

Payne squirmed a little. "I know, Dee—um—I'm sorry. Things got kind of hectic here. Is something up?"

She stared at him with an unreadable expression. "A call for you—from Stanley Gerschak—that astronomer."

Payne blinked in surprise. "Gerschak? Does this have anything to do with Donny?"

Denine nodded. She stared at him silently, brow furrowed—and finally her anger came out. "Joe, where
were
you last night? I tried three times to call you."

Payne cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Denine. I know. Jeez. It got so late, I just stayed at Teri's place. I would have called to let you know, but it was late, and I didn't think—" He shrugged and held his breath, hoping she would accept that, at least for the moment. "What . . . did Gerschak say?"

"That you should call. He got some sort of letter from Donny, but didn't say what it was." Denine started to say something more, then hesitated.

A letter—

"Joe . . ." Denine said, her scowl softening into a slightly abashed look. "I guess shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I know the last few days have been hard for you—"

"That's . . . all right," he mumbled.

"No, I shouldn't be questioning your every move." She managed a conciliatory half-smile. "Look, maybe you'd better call him. It could be important."

"Yah," he said. Oh lord, he breathed, I hope so.

After signing off, he rocked back for a moment, thinking.
A letter from Donny. Why to Gerschak?
Teri walked by, and he told her about the call.

She touched his shoulder. "What are you waiting for?" He looked up, and knew at once that he didn't have to tell her about the rest of the exchange with Denine; she read it on his face. She punched him gently on the arm and walked away.

He pulled himself forward and tapped out Gerschak's number.

* * *

A narrow pathway was cleared through the snow to Gerschak's house. Payne paused a moment, watching his breath condense out of the clear air, feeling a curious sense of déjà vu, though he'd not actually been to Gerschak's home before. The astronomer had refused to discuss Donny's letter over the phone, saying only that it was "explosive." He had been quietly dismayed, but not shocked, when Payne told him of Alvarest's fate.

Payne strode to the door. The astronomer lived in a small wood-frame house, white with red trim, with a flagstone walk framed by snow-laden trees. Payne rang the doorbell.

A woman, short, with braided black hair, came to the door. Payne stared at her for a moment, before remembering where he'd seen her: at the
Theater of the Sea
, last fall, with Gerschak. "Yes?" she said.

He cleared his throat. "Mrs. Gerschak?"

"No. My name's Ronnie Vale."

"Oh, sorry. Is Stanley Gerschak here?"

She frowned. "He's busy in his study. Can I help you?"

"He's expecting me. Joseph Payne."

Her eyebrows went up. "Oh. Come on in." She held the door open, and he squeezed past her into the front room. She closed the door securely against the cold and turned. "Just a minute, I'll get him." Padding down a hallway, she called, "Stanlee!"

Payne unzipped his coat and glanced around the living room. It was cramped and not very tidy looking, with several straight-backed chairs and a short sofa cluttered with books and odds and ends. Knitting needles, yarn, and fabric lay in a heap beneath a table lamp in one corner. A large tiger cat was testing its nails on the top of the couch.

"Go on in," Ronnie said, returning. She shooed the cat before picking up her knitting. "Down the hall, second door on the left," she said when he looked at her inquiringly. Payne nodded and found his way.

Gerschak was peering at a computer printout. He gestured to a chair stacked with more printouts. Payne lifted the stack carefully and set it on the floor. "Trying to get an optical fix on the tachyon source," Gerschak said. "No luck yet. But you want to know what was so urgent, and why I couldn't talk about it over the phone."

Payne nodded.

"An old-fashioned letter." Gerschak dug under the printouts and pulled out an envelope. He slapped it against his palm a few times, reflectively. Then he handed it to Payne. "He says in there to pass it on to you. I guess he figured if he wrote you directly, it might have been intercepted."

Payne extracted the letter, three hand-written pages.
Dear Stanley
, it began.
You may wonder why I'm writing you from GEO-Four. I'll explain in a moment, and I hope you don't think I'm paranoid.

As Payne read, Gerschak said, "Apparently his fears were justified. Wouldn't you say?"

Payne shrugged, then began shaking his head; by the time he'd reached the end, he was trembling with anger. He looked up at Gerschak, who had trailed off into silence. "They killed him because of this," he said quietly. "I'm certain of it." He hesitated. Gerschak was still as a poised animal, waiting for him to continue. He gazed down at the letter. "Nuclear weapons. That would explain the secrecy. If Donny was right, then this must go all the way to the top of the government. Stanley, you were right not to talk about it over the phone. In fact, don't talk about it with anyone."

Gerschak stared at him without answering. There was fear in his eyes.

"I'm not saying we're targets," Payne added, "but for god's sake, we have to be careful."

"That's not what scares me," Gerschak murmured.

Payne raised his eyebrows.

"An alien intelligence is on its way to Earth at this moment—and our government thinks the way to meet it is in secret, with nuclear missiles.
That's
what scares me."

Payne nodded, swallowing. He had to confirm this. Somehow. Had they killed Donny because he'd found proof? Or because he'd gotten too close? Or had he really died in an accident?
Damn this secrecy
.

"What
I
want to know," said Gerschak, "is who is running this thing? The President? The military? Who the bloody hell is running the show? Can you tell me that?" he demanded.

Payne returned his stare in bewildered silence.

* * *

"Cue in five seconds, and give me a strong finish."

Payne glanced at his notes, and gazed once more into the teleprompter.
"Three . . ."
He took a breath.

"Two . . . one . . ."

He said to the camera: "These are grave allegations, and it must be said, unproved. The very seriousness of their nature, however, demands that they be examined. Have nuclear weapons been taken into space, in violation of international law? Has an armed spacecraft been dispatched on a secret mission . . . to meet an alien spaceship now approaching the Earth? The questions grow in urgency . . . but as yet, no comment is forthcoming from the U.S. government.

"It is clear that the questions will not go away. We the people of Earth must decide, if not now, then perhaps soon—how shall we greet our first visitors from the stars? In open, or in secret? Defensively, with instruments of destruction . . . or in trust, and without fear? There may be no easy answers to these questions . . . but answer them we must, if we are to ensure our honor as well as our survival in the encounter that one day soon may come.

"Future reports will examine both the perils . . . and the unparalleled potential for benefit . . . of First Contact with life from another world.

"This is Joseph Payne, reporting for the International News Service."

Payne gazed into the camera for a few beats, and then blinked.

"Cut. Very good, Joseph. Very solid."

"Thanks. When can you have a replay for me?"

"Five minutes," said the voice in his ear.

Payne removed the microphone from his lapel and stepped down from the set. Teri joined him in the editing room, and with the director and producer, they reviewed the uncut material, from beginning to end. Afterward George, the producer, sat back and lit a cigarette. "There's some beautiful stuff in there, Joe. This is going to get you noticed. We'll get started on the edit right away."

Payne turned inquiringly to Teri. She took a slow breath, and he could feel her ambivalence. "It's powerful stuff, yeah," she said. "But are you sure you're ready to go with it? Isn't it a little
too
strong—with the evidence you have now?"

George waved the cigarette. "What are you saying? You want to bury this?" he demanded.

"Not bury it! Of course not! But go slow with it. Until we're sure."

George looked at Payne.

"I agree with Teri," Payne said.

The producer's hands went up. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. Do you know the audience points we could pick up with this? And you, Joe—this is your chance to shine!" George took a frustrated drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Listen to me, please, George." Payne waved the smoke out of his face. "This
can't
go on the air yet. This story is my ace in the hole."

"Ace in the hole? What are you talking about? Teri, what is he talking about?"

"Putting it all together," Payne said. "This is the tip of the iceberg. You know that."

"We're not doing a frigging documentary! How long are you going to wait for the rest of the story?"

"Look—my sources clammed up on me. Why? Because of intimidation from above." Payne turned to Teri, who was keeping a neutral expression. "Well, I need a way to apply pressure in return. I think this could be it." The producer was staring at him skeptically. "Suppose I went back out to New Phoenix, to Sandaran Link Center."

"Yeah? Suppose you do."

"Suppose I leaned on them a little."

"Who? Leaned on who?"

"My sources. Or higher sources. Suppose I present them with this story as a
fait accompli
. The story's in the can, and it goes public unless they tell me any of it's not true."

"Oh, now you're going to blackmail the
feds?
Teri, talk to this friend of yours." George got up and walked away, shaking his head. After a moment, he came back. "You can't blackmail the federal government!" he exploded.

"Let's not think of it as blackmail," Payne said. "Suppose I tell them what we have, what we're going to run. Then they have the option to comment, and if there's anything in the story that's untrue, they can set us straight. They might decide that it would be better to have
their
truth out than my reconstruction of it."

"They might. Or they might put you in jail—or do to you what you think they did to your friend Alvarest." George glared. "Did you think about
that?"

"I did. That's why I wanted this story done before I left for New Phoenix. If anything happens to me, jail or otherwise, you go on the air with it." Payne took a deep breath. "Meanwhile, you get that guy Davis up at GEO-Four to see if he can get confirmation from the Tachylab people." He glanced at Teri. "What do you think?" he said. "Am I crazy?"

The conflict was visible in her eyes. "I think you believe in this story very strongly," she said quietly. "The question is not whether to back you on it, but what degree of risk is worth taking." She hesitated, and he recognized in her gaze a struggle between the journalistic and the personal, between a wish for the story and success—and concern for his safety.

"Consider," Payne said, ticking off points on his fingers. "Three people have died in unexplained circumstances. All have somehow been connected with the space missions and, one way or another, with Sandaran Link Center. There are persistent reports of an approaching alien spacecraft, also connected with Link Center. Jesus, if we could just get
that
confirmed, it would be the story of the century. And now we have reason to believe that the United States, possibly in cooperation with other nations, may be sending an armed warship to greet the aliens—in secret, and in violation of international law. If we can't find a way to put that all together, then what the hell are we in business for?"

George, stubbing his cigarette, said, "I hope you know what you're doing, Payne. Because, if you don't, I'm going to be out one hell of a good reporter." He looked at Teri, then at Payne. "When are you leaving?"

"As soon as I get
everything
I know in the can."

"Then you'd better get busy."

* * *

"I don't suppose you'd like to spend the night, and get a good, rested start in the morning," Teri said, as they walked out of the studio together. They had finished their second and last day of recording.

Payne shook his head uncomfortably, pulling his collar snug against the frigid air. He'd made his decision already. He'd talked with Denine about trying to resolve what was getting between them, or at least trying to understand it. "I . . . want to be alone tonight, I think, before I fly out," he said huskily, feeling awkward and sad, and a little distant, and a little guilty. "Teri—" he said, and touched the back of her hand.

She caught his gloved hand in hers. She was trying to smile, but not succeeding. "Hey," she said. "I'm not exactly offering you . . . I mean, we both knew it was just a short . . . we knew it wouldn't . . . ."

He waited for her to complete the thought. They paused on the sidewalk, traffic muttering by, a fiercely cold wind cutting across their faces.

She sighed unhappily and shook her head. "Never mind."

He nodded. "I know," he said. "Teri?" Their eyes met. "Thanks," he murmured. "For when I needed it." He squeezed her hand; she squeezed back, hard.

Her eyes darted away from his, then back again. "Take care, Joe," she said, swallowing.

Payne pressed his lips together and nodded, and turned away into the wind because he could think of nothing more to say.

She was aware of the slow passage of the planets, the wake of their orbital movements creasing space and gently rocking the Talenki spatial nexus as it crossed inward toward the sun. Pluto, Neptune, Uranus . . . she recalled the names, and wondered if she could distinguish one from another by their distant feel.