And those cretins in Washington couldn't see--refused to admit?-- there was a problem. Were they mad, or was he?
In the window seat next to his, Cheryl leaned forward, blocking his view. Resisting the impulse to touch her hand, Theo asked instead, "You're not regretting this, are you?"
"Not so far," Cheryl answered briefly. She spared him a cool glance and turned away, a shaft of pure sunlight gilding her razored cap of hair and snub-nosed profile.
He had no right to expect anything more. All those years of absence and neglect couldn't be simply wiped away by the promise of a week in Geneva. He remembered his resolve, not to rush her into a kind of false intimacy that would embarrass them both. No, if any real affection was still there it would have to evolve naturally, unforced, at its own pace. It came as a shock that for years he had experienced not a twinge of guilt, and now to discover that it was his strongest emotion.
He said diffidently, "This trip will be useful to you. You'll meet other marine biologists and people with different views, be able to get involved in seminars and debates--" Then hastily reconsidered and thought it wise to add, "Of course, for you, I want it mainly to be a vacation."
Still not looking at him, Cheryl said, "I thought maybe you'd invited me along to take notes. Work comes first, doesn't it? And second. And third." *
"Yes, my work is important to me," Theo acknowledged soberly. "But it is also important to me that you are interested--that you believe in what I am doing--that is, I hope--" He was fumbling for the words and making a mess of it. He looked down at his hands, gnarled mahogany. "I wanted you to be with me because . . ."
The truth was he didn't know himself what the reason was. He suspected it had something to do with a need to find understanding. Sympathy. Affection? One person in all the world who might believe in him. Strength and belief failed and withered with the passing years, while the popular myth was that they grew strong, became deep-rooted, like a sturdy tree. Not true. A damnable lie. Alone on his island Theo had cheated time, but here and now, with his daughter beside him, the weight of age and failure pressed heavily.
Cheryl shook her head, looking out of the window. "You don't have to explain. If I wanted reasons I'd have asked for them. I'm here. Let's leave it at that."
Theo found a smile. "If nothing else, you're an independent young woman." He meant it as a compliment, but it was a day when he could say nothing right.
"Yes," Cheryl said. "I've had plenty of practice. I get along fine, thanks, and I always have."
Theo shifted uncomfortably, his broad torso hampered by the narrow seat, and decided wisely to abandon this pretense at conversation.
In the scratched and battered briefcase between his legs rested the paper he was to read at the conference. It was a summation of all his years of research and thought, worked on and sweated over during the past three weeks until he had pared it down to eleven double-spaced typed pages. More a predictive document than a list of facts and figures, he had given it the title "Back to the Precambrian," a reference to the time on earth, more than 2.5 billion years ago, when the atmosphere was composed of hydrogen, methane, and ammonia and no free oxygen, a time to which he believed the earth was returning. The scenario was his own, and it was chilling.
Theo dozed while Cheryl stayed awake and smoked more than was good for her.
She felt confused and vulnerable. To say the least it had been a shock when her father turned up unannounced at Scripps less than a week ago. The shock turned into bewilderment when he produced two airline tickets. She couldn't actually remember accepting his invitation (had there been an invitation?) or even having time to regret it. Events had taken charge.
As fate or circumstance or whatever would have it, she had ten days before the Melville sailed on its next research voyage, this time to Guadalupe Island off Mexico. There had been no obstacle, no reason why she shouldn't go. And so here she was.
Traveling with the spin of the earth, they saw dusk come upon them with the dramatic abruptness of a thundercloud. After passing over the northernmost tip of Scotland, the aircraft began to lose altitude in preparation for the long descent into European airspace. To one fitfully dozing passenger the muffled shriek of engines sounded like the howl of a greedy machine sucking the breath from his lungs.
Chase was the recipient of a beaming smile from the stewardess as he stepped from the Euro airbus--blatant enough for Nick Power to remark as they went down the gangway, "Didn't I tell you, Gav? We can't go wrong. Check in at the hotel, a shower and change and into the bar. It's bound to be crawling with sexy young environmentalists just burning to release all that pent-up frustration!"
"What about the conference?"
"What conference?" Nick said.
They passed through Customs and joined a line of delegates awaiting transportation. To Chase's dismay they seemed a staid, almost dour bunch, and he counted himself lucky to have Nick for company, even though Nick's thoughts all ran on the same track.
It was his first visit to Geneva and his preconceptions that it would be clean, somewhat austere, and filled with the new all-purpose breed of European technocrat seemed depressingly close to the mark.
They were booked into the Inter-Continental, a fifteen-minute drive from Cointrin Airport, which conveniently enough was also the conference center. In the wide carpeted lobby a board with multicolored plexiglass letters gave the conference itinerary, with details and locations of the various speakers and their subjects.
Chase paused to scan the board, and his spirits sank. This was heavy stuff.
global environmental monitoring: Dr. J. N. Ryman
hazards of toxic waste: Prof. I. V. Okita
demographic patterns in the year 2000: Prof. T. D. Smith
the carbon dioxide conundrum: P. Straube
the Reykjavik imperative revised: Dr. P. L. Neuman
Now what the hell did that mean?
ozone--a vanishing problem?: Prof. C. Hewlett
where is science taking us?: Dr. E. B. Salem
Where indeed? The list was long and Chase didn't come to the name he was looking for until near the end.
microorganisms and climate: Prof. B. V. Stanovnik
Suitably noncommittal, Chase reckoned, for a paper from a Russian scientist. He saw that Stanovnik was down to speak on the Tuesday morning--three days from now. Perhaps he'd have the opportunity of having a word with him before then. Sir Fred had mentioned that he
spoke good English, which was fortunate. Chase didn't relish the idea of conversing via an interpreter, especially a Russian one.
The hotel--"Holiday Inn with Hiltonian pretensions," according to Nick--was teeming with people, and after unpacking and tidying up they headed straight for the main bar, which was rife with what Chase took to be the well-heeled intercontinental jet set, easily identified by their four-inch gold-tipped cigarettes, wraparound suntans, and bored expressions. They made an uneasy mixture alongside the conservatively suited conference delegates with plastic name tags on their lapels. The atmosphere was one of forced conviviality, with everyone busily consuming predinner drinks.
The contrast struck him at once, and amused him: two groups of people pursuing diametrically opposed goals thrust together, cheek by talcumed and cologned jowl.
On one side the rabid consumers, whose purpose--indeed, entire existence--was dedicated to gobbling up as much of the world's resources as was humanly possible in a single lifetime, without a single stray thought as to the consequences. On the other the committed ecologists and environmental scientists, appalled at the wanton squandering of those resources and passionately concerned about the capacity of the planet to cope with selfish, unbridled greed, and just as determined to conserve as much as they could for future generations.