Between the Strokes of Night

“I know there’s a desperate food shortage around most of the world, and it’s a sin not to clear your dish. But neither one of us seems to be eating much. Can we continue this conversation back in your office?”

CHAPTER FOUR

It was early evening before Judith Niles picked up the phone and asked Jan de Vries to join her in her office. While she waited for him she stood by the window, staring out across the garden that flanked the south side of the Institute. The lawns were increasingly unkempt, with the flower beds near the old brick wall showing patches of weeds.

“Midnight oil again? Where’s your dinner date, Judith?” said a voice behind her. She started. De Vries had entered the open office door without knocking, quiet as a cat.

She turned. “Close the door, Jan. You won’t believe this, but I did have an offer of dinner. A wild offer, with all the old-fashioned trimmings — he suggested oysters Rockefeller, veal cordon bleu, wine, and the moonlit Avon River. Oysters and wine! My God, you can tell that he’s from way out in space. He honestly believed we’d be able to buy that sort of food, without a contract or a special dispensation. He doesn’t know much about the real situation. One of the scary things about all the government propaganda is that it works so well. He had no idea how bad things are, even here in New Zealand — and we’re the lucky ones. Oysters! Damn it, I’d give my virginity for a dozen oysters. Might as well hope to be served roast beef.”

Her voice was longing, and it carried no trace of the usual authority. She sat down at her desk, eased off her shoes, and lolled back in her chair, lifting her bare feet to rest them on an open desk drawer.

“Far too late for any of that, my dear,” said Jan de Vries. “Roast beef, good wine, oysters — or virginity, for that matter. For most of us they’ve fled with the snows of yesteryear. But I’m just as impressed by the other implications of his offer. Only somebody out of touch with the climate changes and literally out of this world would want to look at that ghastly river — not when it’s eighty-seven degrees and ninety percent humidity.”

He sat down gracefully, reclining on a big armchair. “But you turned down the invitation? Judith, you disappoint me. It sounds like an offer you couldn’t refuse — just to see his expression when he could compare reality with his illusions.”

“I might have taken it if Hans Gibbs hadn’t made me the other offer.” “Indeed?” Jan de Vries touched his lips with a carefully manicured forefinger. “Judith, from one of your strongly heterosexual tastes, those words ring false. I thought you longed for offers like that, attractive beyond all other lures — “ “Stow it, Jan. I’ve no time for games just now. I want the benefit of your brain. You’ve met Salter Wherry, right? How much do you know about him?” “Well, as it happens I know a fair amount. I almost went to work on Salter Station. If you hadn’t lured me here, I’d probably be there now. There’s a certain je ne sais quoi to the notion of working for a aged multibillionaire, especially one whose romantic tastes before he went into seclusion were said to coincide with mine.”

“Does he really own Salter Station? Completely?”

“So it is rumored, my dear. That, and half of everything else you care to mention. I could never discover any evidence to the contrary. Since the charming Mr. Gibbs works for Wherry, and you met with him for many hours this afternoon — don’t think your long cloistering passed unnoticed, Judith — I wonder why you ask me these things. Why didn’t you ask Hans Gibbs your questions about Salter Wherry directly?”

Judith Niles padded back to the window and stared moodily out at the twilight. “I need to do an independent check. It’s important, Jan. I need to know how rich Salter Wherry really is. Is he rich enough to let us do what we need to do?” “According to my own investigations and impressions, he is so rich that the word lacks real meaning. Our budget for next year is a little over eight million, correct? I will check the latest data on him, but even if Salter Wherry is no richer now than he was twenty years ago, this whole institute could be comfortably supported on the interest on Wherry’s petty cash account.” “Maybe that’s his plan.” Judith swung back to face into the room. “Damn it, he certainly timed it well.”

“Money troubles again? Remember, I’ve been away.”

“Bad ones. I’ve had it with our brainless Budget Committee. They want to squeeze us another five percent, and already the place is falling apart around our ears. And we can’t keep some of our experiments and results secret indefinitely, much as I’d like to. Charlene Bloom and Wolfgang Gibbs are stumbling over the same lead that we found. Wherry couldn’t be approaching us at a better time. It could work out perfectly.”