None of that mattered. What was important was that Verick would want to know Grieg’s decision. Who would get the job on the control system-Verick, or Sero Phrost’s consortium of Infernal companies that wanted the contract?
The real question was a Settler system versus a Spacer system. The Settlers offered an automated system that would be under direct human control, while the Spacers, the Infernals, were, of course, offering a robot-controlled unit. There were political, philosophical, and engineering reasons on both sides of the argument. He had them listed out on a piece of paper, neat columns of pros and cons, full of the kind of intricate argument that Spacers delighted in.
On impulse, Grieg grabbed up a pen and ran an “X” across the whole page. He wrote in a new question, the only question, along one margin of the page. Which system would be best for the people of Inferno? The Control Center would be running the planet for the next fifty years, restabilizing the climate, bringing the whole creaky frailty of the ecosystem back under control. Grieg had made his decision a day or so before, but he had not revealed it yet. Not until he saw Verick and Phrost again. There was always the chance that one or the other could do something that would change his mind, that something would shift the equation. Give Verick another chance. Not that the corrupt old paranoid deserved it. But Grieg was interested in hardware, not personalities.
The annunciator chimed, and Grieg went to the door to let Verick in.
“Tierlaw! Do come in. Thanks for being so patient. “ He offered his hand to the Settler and shook it with the slightly too-vigorous enthusiasm of a politician.
“Oh, not at all, Governor,” Verick said. “There’s a Settler saying that you have to stay up very late if you want to see the dawn. There are rewards for waiting.”
“Yes, yes, absolutely,” Grieg said as he guided his guest to a chair and sat down opposite him. “Now then, let’s get down to business. What is your control system going to do for me?”
In the depths, in the darkness, Ottley Bissal waited, struggling to be patient, resisting the urge to get out, to run, to hurry from the shadows toward the light.
His hiding place was pitch-black, absolutely devoid of light. He had known that it would be so, his briefers had made that clear. But he had not realized just how profound darkness could be-how dark true blackness was. It preyed at him, chewed at him, caught at him right in the gut.
He was scared, fear-sweat dripping off him, his imagination running wild.
Would he be able to do it? When the go signal came, would he be able to step from this hiding place and do what he had come to do?
Or suppose the go signal did not come? Suppose there was silence, or instructions to abort? What if his coconspirators determined that the moment was not right, that the danger was too great? What would he do then?
Ottley Bissal knew the answer.
He would carry out his mission, no matter what orders came.
Things between Verick and Grieg were not nearly as jovial by the end of the meeting. It was all Grieg could do to keep his temper under control. Verick’s behavior hadn’t surprised Grieg, but that did not make it any less infuriating. He fought down the impulse to throw the man out, cancel his bid, and throw the job to Phrost immediately.
But was Phrost any better? And what did Verick’s tactics have to do with the one question that mattered-Which system would be best for the people of Inferno?
“You have heard what I have to say,” Grieg said. “I have told you what I will tell the planet in two days time.”
“It does not make me happy,” Verick said.
“My decision is binding,” Grieg said, his voice flat and hard. “ And now, I must say good night to you. ”
“Very well,” Verick said, jamming his hands into his pockets, balling his hands into fists. “I will say no more about it,” he said, and headed, not for the outer door, but for the inner door that led back into the Residence. The door failed to open at his approach, and he pulled his hands out of his pockets and grabbed at the handle.
Grieg sighed. Typical Settler. Determined to do things the hard way. Grieg pushed a button on his desk, and the door slid open.
Verick stomped out, the door shut itself again. and that was that. Thank the stars all his meetings were not that unpleasant.
One last meeting, he told himself with a sigh, and it’s going to be just as damned tricky. No favors or rumors or backstairs gossip, no minor issue he could trade and dicker on, no preliminary meeting that was nothing more than pleasantries. No, this one might be worse than the one with Verick. This one went to the core of his most vital policies.
The door opened, and the last two petitioners of the night came in, precisely on time.
Grieg got up from his desk, stepped around it, and ushered the two of them in. “Come in, come in,” he said, forcing a cheerful smile onto his face. “The three of us have a lot to talk about. ”
