Between the Strokes of Night

Judith walked over to the desk, ignoring the youth who had brought her in. There was nothing. No terminal, no data links, no modems; not even data cube holders. She was looking at a flat desk top with two buff file folders upon it, and a black book set neatly between them. A Bible.

“Where does he keep all — “ she began.

“Videos? Books? Electronic equipment?” It was a different voice behind her. “I have everything that I find necessary.”

Salter Wherry had quietly entered through a sliding door to her left. The pictures that she had seen of him showed a man in vigorous middle age, substantial and strongly built, with a sensuous, fleshy face and prominent nose. But they had been taken thirty years ago, before Salter Wherry became reclusive. Now the man standing in front of Judith Niles was frighteningly frail, with a thin, lined face. Judith looked at him closely as he held out his hands to take both of hers. The aquiline nose was all that had survived of the younger Salter Wherry. Judith found the new version much more impressive. All the softness had been burned away from the man standing in front of her, and what remained had been tempered in the same inner furnace. The eyes dominated the countenance, glowing bright-blue in deep sockets.

“All right, Edouard. You will leave us now,” said Wherry after a few moments. His voice was gruff and surprisingly deep, not at all an old man’s thin tones. The boy nodded deferentially, but as he turned to leave there was a pout, a condescending look at Judith, and an arrogant sway of his shoulders. Salter Wherry gestured to the narrow couch.

“If it will not make you uncomfortable, I will stand. Long ago I learned that I think better this way.”

Judith felt her stomach muscles tighten involuntarily as she sat on the couch. Wherry’s intuitive perception of motives was legendary. It might be hard to hide any secret from the probing intellect behind those steady eyes. She cleared her throat. “I appreciate your willingness to see me.”

Salter Wherry nodded slowly. “I assume that your desire was not merely social. And I want you to be assured that the problem your Institute will be addressing is of prime importance to me. We have been obliged to introduce so many new precautions in space construction work that our rate of progress on the new arcologies has become pathetic.”

He stood motionless in front of her, quietly waiting.

“It’s certainly not social.” Judith cleared her throat again. “My staff are asking certain questions. I want to know the answers as much as they do. For example, you have a problem with narcolepsy. We are well qualified to tackle it.”

And if I’m right, I may have already solved it. Go carefully now, that’s not the main point at issue.

“But why not employ us simply as your consultants?” she went on. “Why go to the trouble and expense of hiring an entire Institute, at great cost — “ “At negligible cost, compared with a hundred other enterprises I have up here. You will find me generous with money and other resources. ‘Thou shalt not muzzle the ox when he treadeth out the corn.’ “

“All right, even without considering the cost. Why create an Institute, when you want to solve a single problem?”

He was gently nodding. “Dr. Niles, you are logical. But permit me to suggest that you see this with the wrong perspective. The problem is too important to me to use you as consultants. I need a dedicated attention. If you were to remain on Earth, with your present responsibilities to the United Nations, how much of your time would be devoted to my problem? How much of Dr. Bloom’s time, or Dr. Cameron’s time, or Dr. de Vries’ time? Ten percent? Or twenty percent? — but not one hundred and twenty.”

“So why not hire a team for the specific problem? The salaries that you offer would attract many of my staff.”

“And you yourself?” He gave a curious little smile as she looked pensive. “I thought not. Yet I am told that if anyone will solve it, it will be Judith Niles.”

Judith felt the hair on her arms and shoulders tingle into goosebumps. Salter Wherry was willing to move a multimillion dollar operation into space and make a long-term commitment, merely to ensure her own availability. Careful, said the inner voice. Remember, flattery is a tool that never fails.

Did he suspect that she would be obliged to move some of the experiments into space, if her ideas on the processes of consciousness were correct? And if she knew already what was causing the narcolepsy problem in Salter Wherry’s space construction crews, then from his point of view the move of the Institute would be unnecessary. She would be manipulating the master manipulator. “You appear doubtful,” he went on. “Let me offer an additional argument. I know already of your personal indifference to money, and I will not offer it. But what about freedom to experiment?”