"Don't let me stop you. Don't bring back any infections, hear?"
Livermore turned to leave, but the door opened before he reached it. A man stood there, looking at them without speaking. He entered, and the silence and the severe set of his features struck them silent as well. When the door had closed behind him he called their names in a deep voice, looking at each of them in turn as he spoke.
"Dr. Livermore, Leatha Crabb, Gust Crabb. I am here to see you. My name is Blalock."
It was clear that Livermore did not enjoy being addressed in this manner. "Call my secretary for an appointment. I'm busy now." He started to leave, but Blalock raised his hand, at the same time taking a thin wallet from his pocket.
"I would like to see you now, Doctor. This is my identification."
Livermore could not have left without pushing the man aside. He stopped and blinked at the golden badge.
"FBI. What on earth are you after here?"
"A killer." A stunned silence followed. "I can tell you now, though I would appreciate your not telling anyone else, that one of the technicians working here is an agent from the bureau. He makes regular reports to Washington about conditions on the project."
"Meddling and spying!" Livermore was angry.
"Not at all. The government has a large investment here and believes in protecting it — and in guarding the taxpayers' money. You have had a number of bottle failures here in the first weeks after implanting."
"Accidents, just accidents," Leatha said, then flushed and was silent when Blalock turned his cold, unsmiling gaze on her.
"Are they? We don't think so. There are four other New Towns in the United States, all of them with projects working along the same lines as yours. They have had bottle failures as well, but not in the numbers you have here."
"A few more in one place or another means nothing," Livermore said. "The law of averages covers minor differences."
"I'm sure it does. Minor differences, Doctor. But the rate of failure here is ten times higher than that of the other laboratories. For every bottle failure they have, you have ten. For their ten, you have a hundred. I am not here by accident. Since you are in charge of this project, I would like a letter from you giving me permission to go anywhere on the premises and to speak with anyone."
"My secretary will have gone by now. In the morning—"
"I have the letter here, typed on your stationery. It just needs your signature."
Livermore's anger was more forced than real. "I won't have this. Stealing my office supplies. I won't have it."
"Don't be rude, Doctor. Your stationery is printed by the Government Printing Office. They supplied it to me to make my job easier. Don't you make it harder."
There was a coldness in that you that stopped Livermore and sent him fumbling with his pen to sign the letter. Gust and Leatha looked on, not knowing what to do. Blalock folded the letter and put it back into his pocket.
"I'll want to talk to you all later," he said, and left. Livermore waited until he was gone, then went out as well, without a word.
"What an awful man," Leatha said.
"It doesn't matter how awful he is if what he said was right. Bottle sabotage — can that be?"
"Easily enough done."
"But why should it be done?" Gust asked. "That's the real question. It's so meaningless, so wanton. There's simply no reason."
"That's Blalock's worry, what he's getting paid for. Right now I've had a long day, and I'm hungry and more concerned with my dinner. You go ahead to the apartment and defrost something. I won't be a minute finishing up these tests."
He was angry. "The first blush is off our marriage, isn't it? You've completely forgotten that I asked you out to dinner in Old Town."
"It's not that. " Leatha said, then stopped, because it really was. Gust wasn't completely right; the work was so distracting, and then this Blalock person. She tidied up quickly without finishing the tests and took off her smock. Her dress was dark gray and no less severe. It was thin, too, designed for wear in the constant temperature of New Town.
"If it's cold outside, I should get a coat."
"Of course it's cold out. It's still March. I checked out a car earlier and put your heavy coat in it. Mine as well."
They went in silence to the elevator and down to the parking level. The bubble-dome car was at the ready ramp; the top swung up when he turned the handle. They put on their coats before they climbed in, and Gust turned on the heat as he started the car. The battery-powered electric engine hummed strongly as they headed for the exit, the doors opened automatically for them as the car approached. There was a brief wait in the lock while the inner door closed before the outer one opened; then they emerged on the sloping ramp that led up to Old Town.
It had been a long time since their last visit outside the New Town walls, and the difference was striking. The streets were patched and had an unkempt appearance, with dead grass and weeds protruding from the cracks. There were pieces of paper caught against the curbs, and when they passed an empty lot a cloud of dust swirled around them. Leatha sank deeper into her seat and shivered even though the heater was going full on. The buildings had a weathered and even a decayed look about them, the wooden buildings most of all, and the limbs of the gray trees were bare as skeletons in the fading daylight. Gust tried to read the street signs and lost his way once, but finally found a garish spotlit sign that read sharm's. Either they were early or business wasn't booming, because they could park right in front of the door. Leatha didn't wait but ran the few feet through the chill wind while Gust locked up the car. Inside, Sharm himself was waiting to greet them.
"Welcome, welcome," he said with bored professional exuberance. A tall, wide Negro, very black, wearing a brilliant kaftan and red fez. "I've got just the table for you, right at the ringside."
"That will be nice," Gust said.
Sharm's hospitality was easily understood; there was only one other couple in the restaurant. A heavy smell of cooking hung in the air, some of it not too fresh, and the tablecloth was a cartography of ancient stains only partially removed.
"Like a drink?" Sharm asked.
"I guess so. Any suggestions?"
"Bet your life. Bloody Mary with tequila, the house special. I'll fetch a jug."
They must have been premixed, because he was back a moment later with the tray and two menus tucked under his arm. He poured their drinks and then one for himself and pulled up a chair to join them. The atmosphere of Sharm's was nothing if not relaxed.
"Salud," he said, and they drank. Leatha puckered her lips and put her glass down quickly, but Gust liked the sharp bite of the drink.
"Great. Never tasted one before. How about the menu— any house specials there?"
"Everything's special. My wife is great at any kind of cult-food. Black-eyed peas and corn dodgers, kosher hot dogs and Boston baked beans, we got them all. Just take your pick. Music's starting now, and Aikane will be in to dance in about a half an hour. Drink up, folks, these are on the house."
"Very kind," Gust said, sipping his.
"Not at all. I want to pump your brain, Mr. Crabb, and I pay in advance. I saw you on 3V last week talking about New Town. Pretty fancy if I say so myself. What's the chances of opening a restaurant in your place?" He drained his glass and poured himself another one, topping up their glasses at the same time.
"That's not easy to say."
"What's easy? Living on the dole and maybe blowing your brains out from boredom, that's easy. Me, I got bigger plans. Everyone likes cultfood. Eldsters, reminds them of the old days; kids think it's real pit-blasting. But people here in Old Town don't eat out much, not that much loose pesos around. Got to go to where the change is. New Town. What're the odds?"