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The phone on his desk rang. He steeled himself for another reporter. "Dr. Heber, what is your
reaction to the allegations that have been appearing recently concerning . . .?" Or, "Can you
state categorically, Dr. Heber, that there are no adverse side effects whatsoever?" But it had
to be done, of course. If not he, then who?
He sat forward and picked up the phone. "Yes, Beverley?"
"I've got Michelle Lang on the line for you."
"Oh." Eric's eyebrows raised. "Very well. Put her through."
"Hello, Eric?"
"Yes. Hello there. What's new in the legal parts of the world? Or did I phrase that badly? Are
there illegal parts?"
"I think I'm beginning to see where Kevin gets it from. As a matter of fact it's more social. I
know this is short notice, but are you doing anything for lunch?"
"Well, I was originally scheduled to spend it with a couple of entomologists from San Francisco
who are interested in using mecs to observe working insect colonies from the inside." Eric
shrugged to himself. "At least, they were interested. They've canceled the trip. I guess we
slipped down on the priority scale. Why, are you due out this way?"
"I can be," Michelle said. "And I want to talk to you preferably before the holiday."
"Well, I'm glad somebody does, apart from jugular-seeking reporters. What time did you have
in mind?"
"I'm flexible. How about twelve-thirty?"
"Sounds good. Would you like to meet here?"
"That would be fine. Oh and by the way, I mentioned what you said about Relativity to a
physicist I know at the university. He said you're crazy, it's all been proved experimentally,
and haven't you ever heard of mass . . . what was it? I've got a note somewhere here . . ."
Eric smiled. "Mass-energy equivalence," he supplied.
"That's it. And there was something else about "
"Don't tell me. Velocity-dependence of mass, and time dilation," Eric said.
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"Is that what it was? Okay, if you say so."
"I have heard that before. Well, you can tell him that all those can be derived from Maxwell's
equations and the conservation of momentum by classical methods, and don't say anything
that's unique to Relativity at all. Einstein himself admitted it in his later years." Eric waited a
second. "Was that all?"
"From me or from the physicist?"
"From the physicist."
"Yes, I think so."
Eric made a face. "Then tell him I'm disappointed. If he comes up to Barrows Pass this coming
weekend he'll hear more objections than those and some interesting answers, too. Ask him to
explain the aberration of VLB interferometers. And what about laser ring gyros?"
"Slow down, Eric. I'm still at the beginning. Who was it again with the equations? Maxwell,
was it? . . ."
"Don't worry about it," Eric said, laughing. "I'll write it down and give it to you at lunch. We'll
see you here at about twelve-thirty, then."
On her drive south from the city, Michelle tried to analyze her own thoughts and ask what,
exactly, she was hoping to accomplish. Her honest answer was that she wasn't sure. She felt
frustrated at the little headway she had made the day before, the only tangible result being
faxed copies of Jack Anastole's autopsy report and death certificate, which were public-domain
information anyway and could have been obtained by anyone. Her real intention, she supposed,
was to sound out Eric's state of receptiveness, and, depending on his reactions, maybe plant
some thoughts that might germinate over the holiday weekend. In that way she would have
done as much as was possible for the present to create the circumstances for things to progress
further in their own time. If nothing more happened for the remainder of the week, it would not
have been entirely wasted.
She arrived at Neurodyne shortly before twelve-thirty. As she parked in the visitor area, she
noticed that both the Jeep and the Jaguar were in the reserved slots, which meant that Vanessa
was also on the premises today. Michelle tried to anticipate what complications that might be
likely to precipitate. Would it not seem odd for Michelle to be visiting Eric, not Vanessa, when
she and not he was involved most in the firm's legal matters? Worse still, he might invite
Vanessa to join them, which would negate the whole point of Michelle's coming here.
Michelle was still hurriedly composing some alternative reason in her mind for being here,
when Eric appeared in the lobby alone. Outwardly he was his usual affable self, and said he'd
had Beverley call ahead to make reservations at a seafood restaurant in University Place, a
marina waterfront center on the shore of the Narrows; but in his eyes and his voice, Michelle
detected hints of strain.
When they left the building, Eric showed her to the Jaguar. "What's this? Don't you think the
Jeep is appropriate to taking a lady to lunch?" she teased as he held the door for her to get in.
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"It really doesn't matter. I'm not that much of a snob really."
"Vanessa's taking the Jeep into the shop to be looked at this afternoon," he told her. "She
says the transmission's playing up, or something."
"How is she today?" Michelle asked as Eric climbed in the other side and closed the door.
"Tied up with Joe Skerrill I think. Something to do with the DNC patents. It all means about
as much to me as Swahili. I haven't seen her all morning."
Which put paid to that particular worry. Michelle settled back in her seat, feeling more
relaxed. The road outside the gates was still as Michelle had last seen it: machines digging
trenches for sewer pipes; earthmovers leveling the adjacent lots. "That's another advantage of
being in microengineering," Eric commented as they threaded their way between cones and
warning signs. "Expanding to larger premises isn't a problem. You just open up another room."
On the way to the restaurant, he talked about the bad press that DNC was getting and its
effects on the company's fortunes. Neurodyne stock was down alarmingly, and investors were
getting nervous. A couple of big ones had actually pulled out. It was the first time Michelle had
heard him admit that it was probably being engineered deliberately. He didn't seem to
understand how people could try to suppress through fraud and disinformation what they were
unable to compete with legitimately. Michelle couldn't help but get the feeling that he had
never before seriously entertained the possibility that the world could be that way. He was
ready to grant, too, that certain among the top management at Microbotics and perhaps some
of their financial associates were probably behind it. The journalists and hack scientists who
figured more visibly were dupes or hired hands. At least, this changed outlook could make her
task easier, Michelle reflected.
The head waiter knew Eric and had saved them a window table facing the water not that
there was especially much to look out at; it was a moody day, with dark piles of cloud low down
to the west and gray overcast everywhere else. Choppy waves roughened the Sound, with a
stiff wind flapping the lines and rigging of the boats at their moorings. Eric decided that the day
called for something hot and ordered the steak and mushroom pie.
"Bowdlerized American version," he commented, now back to his usual self, eyes twinkling
through the gold-rimmed spectacles. "In Europe it's steak and kidney."
"Sounds dreadful."
"You see expectations predetermine taste."
Michelle settled for the grilled salmon.
When the waiter had gone, Eric produced a slip of paper with the phrases scrawled on it that
he had used over the phone when they touched on Relativity, along with a few lines of
explanation. "Do we need to go into this now?" Michelle asked as she took it.
"I hope not."
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