“Academician! Would you kindly sit down?”
Bomeer halted in mid-stride and regarded his companion. With a bemused snort, he crossed to one of the chairs opposite the sofa and fell heavily into it.
“You’re right, Wynne,” he said, checking the time yet again. “My apologies,” Bomeer reached for a glass on the same serving tray where he’d placed the blocker, but a soft chiming from the door stopped him. He spoke tersely at the comm. “Identify.” The screen glowed immediately, an external camera showing a tall, slim man standing outside the suite.
“Is that him?” Wynne asked, leaning forward to study the screen more closely.
“Yes.” Both men rose, and Bomeer crossed quickly to the entranceway. “I’ll say this for Earthers, they’re punctual,” he said to the other academician under his breath, then, louder: “Admit.”
The newcomer was tall, Bomeer realized as soon as the door slid aside; surprisingly so. The external security camera had not given a true feeling for the man’s sheer size any more than it had given a clear look at the intricacies of his face. Although hidden by a thick beard, his features appeared mostly North American or European; but Bomeer could detect a hint of Asian stock somewhere in the man’s background. He wore a neat but casual outfit dominated by shades of brown that closely matched the color of his hair and beard. His jacket, Bomeer noted, was a finely brushed leather. Not waiting to be invited in, he strode purposefully into the room as soon as the door had completely cleared the frame.
“On behalf of myself and my fellow academician,” Bomeer said to the man’s back, “I’m honored you have agreed to—”
The man spun about, the angry glare of his dark eyes immediately silencing the academician, and drew a quick finger across his throat in a cutting motion. He just as abruptly turned away again and walked to the seating area in the center of the room. Ignoring Wynne completely, he hurriedly scanned his surroundings and reached into the pocket of his jacket, producing a thin cylinder—it looked to Bomeer like a pen or stylus—and twisted the top once, clockwise, and clipped it to the jacket’s narrow lapel. The tip of the object blinked softly, steadily. He turned to face Bomeer, the leather of his jacket creaking subtly as he clasped his hands casually behind him, and allowed a polite smile.
“All right, then. You were saying?” His deeply resonant voice was deceptively calm and out of place with the rugged image he presented.
Bomeer pursed his lips a moment and forced down the annoyance he felt at his visitor—dismissing his manners as peculiar, but normal perhaps, to Earthers. Clasping his own hands behind his back, Bomeer stepped down to the seating area and stood facing the newcomer. The two men stared at each other for several seconds, neither making an effort to extend a hand in greeting to the other. Bomeer’s neck began to stiffen as he stared up at the giant of a man, and he immediately regretted trying to imitate his actions.
“Your blocker was not necessary,” Bomeer said finally, indicating the blinking object clipped to the Earther’s jacket. “We’ve already seen fit to take all practical caution.”
“Is that so?” The man’s hand flashed into his coat and, before the two academicians realized what was happening, held a pin laser leveled at Bomeer’s face. “It wouldn’t be easy to kill you with this, Mr. Bomeer, but I could blind you in two seconds.” He punctuated his remark by flicking the weapon back and forth several times mere centimeters from Bomeer’s eyes. An unpleasantly sadistic smile crept across his features as he added, “Of course, with my foot planted firmly on your chest and fifteen or twenty seconds to work, I could slice open your throat.” He lowered the laser and waved it at Bomeer’s neck, whispering softly on each pass, “Zip. Zip. Zip.”
Bomeer stood frozen and felt sweat trickle down his neck, back; his armpits burned, and at the same time an incongruous wave of cold swept over him. He moved his lips several times to speak, but no sound came out. He glanced pleadingly to Wynne, still standing at the sofa, but realized that the older academician was even more terrified by what was happening than he was. The standoff continued a few agonizing moments longer before the bearded man laughed aloud and turned away, smoothly replacing the laser into his coat, and sat nonchalantly in one of the chairs opposite the sofa.
“Perhaps a review of what you feel to be ‘practical caution’ is in order, Mr. Bomeer?”
Bomeer tugged at his tunic, nervously trying to regain his composure, and sat on one side of the sofa. He regarded Wynne, still standing speechless, and managed to relieve his own anxiety somewhat by concentrating on just how much more afraid Wynne was than he. He cleared his throat once, then again.
“Wynne, please be seated,” he said, using every bit of will he possessed to make each word sound calm, steady. He watched the visitor carefully as Wynne sat, trying to take the measure of this stranger from Earth, and at the same time trying to utilize every additional second of silence to further calm himself.
“As I started to say,” he went on, feeling more of his confidence returning, “I’m pleased that you’ve asked to meet with us this afternoon. This is Plantir Wynne, Director Emeritus of the Imperial Academy of Science.” He nodded at Wynne, who sat looking even less comfortable than he had before the Earther had arrived. Wynne extended a quivering hand.
The bearded man regarded Wynne with disdain, and even Bomeer had to admit, if only to himself, just how pitiful his colleague appeared. “Please refer to me as ‘Johnson’ in this and any other transactions we may have,” he said, reaching to shake hands finally.
“I must be frank,” Bomeer went on, anxious to get this meeting started—and ended. “I was a bit surprised to receive your message several days ago. However, I’m not sure exactly what it is we have to discuss.”
“Johnson” stared at him, half smiling through his beard. “It’s very simple. You wish to stop this plan to save the Sun. The entire ‘Academy of Science,’ as you call it, has been on record as opposing the project from the beginning, but the two of you have been the most vocal in your disagreement, am I correct?”
And just how much else do you know? Bomeer wondered to himself. “I have been loyal to the Emperor all my life,” he said, “but I’ve not kept secret my feelings that this project will severely undermine the Empire, potentially bankrupting it. I have gained few friends among the Imperial Court for my beliefs, but to keep silent about my feelings would be a disservice.”
“I see.” Johnson nodded thoughtfully, then turned sharply to Wynne. “And you? Do you mimic every thought of your colleague, or do you actually have a voice of your own?”
Wynne seemed to have regained some of his composure and raised an eyebrow to the Earthman. “The Emperor has been a good leader for many years,” he said without hesitation, surprising Bomeer with the unexpected confidence in his voice. “But this plan will destroy the very fabric of the Empire.”
“I see,” Johnson repeated. Rising from his chair, he approached the window and stared solemnly out over the lunar landscape for a moment before turning to face the two once more. “I, and those I represent, could not possibly care less about the so-called ‘fabric of the Empire.’ ” For the first time since entering the suite, the Earthman allowed genuine emotion to show in his voice—whether intentionally or not, Bomeer couldn’t be certain.
“We do not care for your Empire,” he went on, the disgust plain in his voice. “Your goals are not ours. Your values, your government, your very way of life is abhorrent to those of us here who strive to cleanse ourselves of your influence.”
“You’ve damn well accepted the benefits of membership in the Hundred Worlds, though, haven’t you?” Bomeer countered, feeling his own anger beginning to rise. “The powersat network. Medical and agricultural research. Somewhat hypocritical of you pure, clean Earthers, eh?”