Clans of the Alphane Moon Read Online Free PDF Page B

He smiled, and yet his face—and especially his eyes—still contained the world-weary pain, the weight of an ancient burden. “I’ll hire your husband if I get to see you now and then. If he understands the
real
reason for the deal, what diplomats call the ‘secret protocols.’” To Jerry Feld he said, “And you know how my protocols have been bothering me, lately.”
    “Chuck is in a run-down conapt on the West Coast,” Mary said. “I’ll write the address down.” Quickly she took pen and paper and jotted. “Tell him you need him; tell him—”
    “But I don’t need him,” Bunny Hentman said quietly.
    Mary said, with caution, “Couldn’t you see him, Mr. Hentman? Chuck has a unique talent. I’m afraid if no one pushes him—”
    Plucking at his lower lip Hentman said, “You’re afraid he won’t make use of it, that it’ll go abegging.”
    “Yes.” She nodded.
    “But it’s
his
talent. It’s for him to decide.”
    “My husband,” Mary said, “needs help.” And I ought to know, she thought. It’s my job to understand people. Chuck is a dependent infantile type; he must be pushed and led if he’s to move at all. Otherwise, he’ll rot in that awful little old conapt he’s rented. Or—throw himself out the window. This, she decided, is the only thing that will save him. Although he would be the last to admit it.
    Eyeing her intently Hentman said, “Can I make a side-deal with you, Mrs. Rittersdorf?”
    “W-what kind of side-deal?” She glanced at Feld; his face was impassive as if he had withdrawn, turtlelike, from the situation.
    “Just to see you now and then,” Hentman said. “Not on business.”
    “I won’t be here. I’m going to work for TERPLAN; I’ll be in the Alph’ system for months if not years.” She felt panic.
    “Then no job for your hubby,” Hentman said.
    Feld spoke up. “When are you leaving, Dr. Rittersdorf?”
    “Right away,” Mary said. “In four days. I have to pack my things, arrange for the children to—”
    “Four days,” Hentman said meditatively. He continued to eye her, up and down. “You and your husband are separated? Jerry said—”
    “Yes,” Mary said. “Chuck’s already moved out.”
    “Have dinner with me tonight,” Hentman said. “And meanwhile I’ll either drop by your husband’s conapt, or send someone from my staff. We’ll give him a six weeks’ try… get him started doing scripts. Is it a deal?”
    “I don’t mind having dinner with you,” Mary said. “But—”
    “That’s all,” Hentman said, “just dinner. Any restaurant you want, anywhere in the United States. But, if more develops…” He smiled.
       After flying back to the West Coast by jet cab, she traveled on the urban monorail into downtown San Francisco and TERPLAN’s branch office, the agency with whom she had dealt regarding her highly desirable new job.
    Shortly she found herself ascending by elevator; beside her stood a trim-cut young man, well-dressed, a P.R. official of TERPLAN whose name, as she had gotten it, was Lawrence McRae.
    McRae said, “There’s a gang of homeopape reporters waiting, and here’s what they’ll throw at you. They’ll imply, and try to get you to confirm, that this therapeutic project is a coverup for Terra’s acquisition of the moon Alpha III M2. That fundamentally we’re there to reestablish a colony, claim it, develop it, then send settlers to it.”
    “But it was ours before the war,” Mary said. “Otherwise how could it have been used as a hospital base?”
    “True,” McRae said. They left the elevator, walked down a hall. “But no Terran ship has visited it for twenty-five years and legally speaking that terminates our land-claim. The moon reverted five years ago to political and legal autonomy. However, if we land and reëstablish a hospital base, with technicians, doctors, therapists, whatever else is needed, we can assert a fresh claim—if the Alphanes haven’t, and evidently they haven’t.