"And just what is this venture?"
Kustow smiled for the first time. "Near-space technologies. The kind of things our fathers wouldn't normally touch."
She laughed. "Too right. That field is sewn up tight."
"Right now it is," Michael agreed, "but change is coming. There are rumors that the Seven want to make a deal with the Above. A deal that'll mean a radical rewriting of the Edict of Technology. Things are going to open up, and when they do, we plan to be there, at the cutting edge."
"I see. And all I have to do is say yes."
The two men looked at each other, then back at her, nodding.
She was quiet a moment, considering. It was a big decision. If she took this step there was no turning back. Old Man Lever would make damn sure of that. No, she had seen how he'd reacted that night Michael had said no to him; had been witness to the private scenes afterward. You didn't cross swords with Charles Lever. Not unless you wanted to make an enemy of him for life. Common sense, therefore, told her to say no. To turn around and get out of there at once. But for once common sense held no sway. After all, she hadn't come to America to carve herself out a safe career. She'd come here to do something positive; to change things. It was time, then, that she stopped running; that she dug in and did something she, believed in.
She looked back at them. They were watching her; somberly, expectantly. How well she knew that look. How often she'd seen it, back in the old days, in City Europe. "Okay," she said, smiling broadly. "Count me in."
"Great!" Michael said, beaming, slapping Kustow on the back. "Bloody great! All we need now is a research scientist and a patents man."
"That and a lot of money," Kustow said, grinning, his eyes meeting Emily's briefly to thank her. "A huge pile of money!"
OLD MAN LEVER strode out onto the podium of the great lecture hall and looked about him imperiously. His gaze swept across the empty tiers, then returned to the two great screens that dominated the wall to the right of where he stood.
"I like it," he said finally, his voice booming in that great echoing space. "I like it a lot. It's exactly what I envisaged."
Behind him, the four-man design team looked among themselves with expressions of relief and triumph. It had been hard going satisfying the Old Man, but now it was done, the building finished to his precise specifications. And not before time. In three weeks the hall would be filled to bursting for the inauguration ceremgriy. Before then there was much to do: laboratory equipment had to be installed, personnel hired and trained, not to mention the countless items of decor—Lever's "final touches"—that had to be seen to between now and then. Even so, to have reached this stage at all seemed a miracle of sorts. Six months back, when things had been at their worst, not one of them had believed the project would ever see completion, not because what was asked of them was impossible, but because of Lever's constant meddling in their work—his abrupt changes of mind and irritating refusal to trust their judgment at any stage. The pay had been good, true, but he had ridden them hard.
Not that their experience was unique. In every area Old Man Lever had not only insisted that they hire the best in the field but that he be allowed to sit in on their consultation sessions. More than once he had overridden specialist advice, determined to stamp his own view on things, only to return, each time after a long, frustrating delay, to the very thing he'd first rejected, and with never a word that he'd been in the wrong.
But so it was with Lever. It was as if the man were obsessed. As if this one project, this single huge building and what it held, consumed him, blinding him to all else. And now, standing there at the center of his creation, he glowed with a satisfaction that seemed much more than the sense of achievement one usually got from a job well done.
"Where's Curval?" he said, half turning toward them. "Has anyone seen the man?"
"I'll bring him, Mister Lever," the Architect said, recognizing that tone of impatience in the Old Man's voice.
Fourteen and a half billion it had cost. Twice the original estimate. But not once had Lever balked about the cost. "Money's irrelevant," he had said at one point, to the astonishment of the Project Accountant. And so it had proved. Never once had he skimped to cut costs. No, the problem had been one of time. Of getting the thing done in time for the ceremony. As if it were a race . . .
Curval arrived, making his way between them, the great geneticist hesitating, glancing at them uncertainly before he walked out onto the broad platform. "Good luck," one said softly, almost inaudibly. "Poor bastard," another mouthed silently as they turned to leave, bringing a knowing smile to his colleagues' faces. So it was. Their dealings with Lever were, thank the gods, almost over; CurvaPs, poor sod, were only just beginning.
"Ah, Andrew. . ." Lever said, turning, smiling at the man and extending his hand. "I wanted to talk to you. To make sure everything's going to plan."
Curval bowed his head and took Lever's hand, allowing his own to be pumped and squeezed indelicately.
"It all goes well, Mister Lever. Very well indeed."
"YouVe signed the two men you mentioned last time we talked?"
The last time they had talked had been the day before, less than eighteen hours earlier, in fact, but Curval let it pass.
"I got onto it at once, Mister Lever. The contracts were signed and verified this morning. The men will be here tomorrow, first thing, ready to get down to work."
"Good." Old Man Lever beamed his satisfaction. "That£ what I like to hear. So you've got your team now? Everyone you need?"
Curval hesitated. He knew what the Old Man wanted to hear. He wanted to hear a resounding yes; that they had the best team possible—a team good enough to tackle the big questions and overcome them—but both he and Lever knew that that wasn't so.
"It's as good as we'll get, Mister Lever. If we can't crack it with this team, no one will."
Lever stared at him a full ten seconds, then gave a terse nod. "It's the boy, neh? You still think we need the boy?"
Curval took a long breath, then nodded. "I've looked over some of the things you showed me and there's no doubting it. You can't counterfeit that kind of ability. You either have it or you don't."
"And he has it?"
Curval laughed. "In excess! Why, he's head and shoulders above anyone in his field. He's quick of mind, and versatile, too. If anyone could make a quick breakthrough, it'd be Ward." Again he hesitated. "Look, don't mistake me, Mister Lever, the team we've got is good. Exceptional, I'd say. If anyone can find an answer, they can. But it'll take time. All I'm saying is that having Ward would give us an edge. It would help speed things up considerably."
"I see." Lever looked about him thoughtfully, then turned back to Curval, smiling. "Okay. I'll come and visit you tomorrow. It'll be good to meet the team at last. I can give them a little pep talks neh?"
Curval nodded, his face showing no sign of what he thought of the idea, then, with a low bow, he backed slowly away.
For a while Lever stood there, as if in trance, a deep frown lining his grizzled features. Then, abruptly, he turned about, marching off the platform and out through the open door, his silks flapping out behind him as he made his way through the maze of rooms and corridors to the entrance hall.
Beneath the great twist of stairs—that huge, unraveled double helix that filled the north end of the massive domed cavern that was the entrance hall—Lever stopped, looking about him, as if coming to himself again.
Waving away the two servants who had hurried across, he went over and stood before the blank partition wall that rested in the center of the floor between the stairway and the huge entrance doors. This, this great screen, was the first thing that visitors to the Institute would see on entering the building, and as yet he was still to find something to fill it. But fill it he would. And with something quite exceptional.