Read Online J.M. Dillard - War of Worlds: The Resurrection by J. M. Dillard - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: J. M. Dillard
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door, and raised her clenched fist to knock again, then decided she might as well start practicing the local customs. She turned the doorknob and pushed.
He was there all right, with his feet propped up on the desk, crunching on a granola bar. A small pony of lite beer sat on top of a stack of dusty, stained manila folders. One of the files lay open, its aging contents scattered randomly atop the desk. But Harrison was not studying the files; he was staring intently at a yellowed black-and-white photograph with curled-up ends. Suzanne got only a fleeting glimpse of his melancholic expression before it changed back to the good-humored mask.
She glanced disapprovingly at the granola bar and the beer. "I thought you had lunch with your fiancee."
He scrambled to sit up, nearly overturning the beer onto the files, and shoved the old photo into the top drawer, then closed the folder. "Well. .." He gave her another one of those boyish grins.
She passed over the remark, refusing to be embarrassed by him anymore. "I'm sorry," she said without making any effort to sound as if she meant it. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
"You didn't. What do you need?"
She emitted a short, frustrated sigh. Either he was so absentminded he'd forgotten, or he was having fun at her expense by pretending to forget. It was beginning to look like she would not be able to work with this man. "Direction. You never told me what I was supposed to be doing."
"Aah, right. Come in and sit down."
She sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair next to his desk and fixed her gaze on him.
He fidgeted a little nervously. "I suppose Ephram told you this project was pretty hush-hush."
"Not in so many words, but from the way everyone was acting, I assumed it was a classified government project."
"Not the government." He shook his head, ruefully amused. "I don't think the government would appreciate what we're doing." Her mouth fell open at that; he rushed to reassure her. "Sorry, bad joke. We sometimes work with the government; now isn't one of those times. I just meant we weren't getting a lot of cooperation from them. I'm sure you know how that can be."
She didn't. "I've worked on classified projects before. It's considered normal to brief the people involved. I can't help if I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing."
He paused awkwardly, as if searching for the right words. "Well, today I thought you could just get settled in . . . and then we'd talk about the project."
"I'm already settled in," she replied quickly. "Let's talk about the project."
He gazed out the window for an instant and cleared his throat. "Okay ... um, you already know Norton's role in all this—"
"To analyze radio transmissions from deep space," Suzanne answered, a bit impatiently. "Searching for intelligent life."
He looked at her with those penetrating blue eyes of his and nodded. "Problem is, there's a whole lot of space to cover. A bunch of wasted space, practically speaking, since the universe is maybe ten million billion trillion times as much empty space as it is stellar material. I need you to narrow our focus."
She frowned, unable to understand what he was driving at. "I'll bite. How am I supposed to do that?"
"Simple." His eyes widened innocently—a little too innocently, Suzanne decided. "By daydreaming."
Confused, she blinked at him. "By daydreaming ... ? You want to run that by me again?"
"Daydream about other worlds." He meshed his fingers, put his hands behind his neck, and leaned back comfortably in his chair. "About the life-forms they might support. Give me probables, possibles. Give me what-ifs."
She stared disbelievingly at him for a full half-minute before she found her voice. "Excuse me, Dr. Blackwood, but I know when my leg is being pulled. You can't be serious—"
"What's so unbelievable about it? You give me a what-if life-form, and I can design a model atmosphere that can support it. Then Norton can limit his intercepts to star systems containing
He was there all right, with his feet propped up on the desk, crunching on a granola bar. A small pony of lite beer sat on top of a stack of dusty, stained manila folders. One of the files lay open, its aging contents scattered randomly atop the desk. But Harrison was not studying the files; he was staring intently at a yellowed black-and-white photograph with curled-up ends. Suzanne got only a fleeting glimpse of his melancholic expression before it changed back to the good-humored mask.
She glanced disapprovingly at the granola bar and the beer. "I thought you had lunch with your fiancee."
He scrambled to sit up, nearly overturning the beer onto the files, and shoved the old photo into the top drawer, then closed the folder. "Well. .." He gave her another one of those boyish grins.
She passed over the remark, refusing to be embarrassed by him anymore. "I'm sorry," she said without making any effort to sound as if she meant it. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
"You didn't. What do you need?"
She emitted a short, frustrated sigh. Either he was so absentminded he'd forgotten, or he was having fun at her expense by pretending to forget. It was beginning to look like she would not be able to work with this man. "Direction. You never told me what I was supposed to be doing."
"Aah, right. Come in and sit down."
She sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair next to his desk and fixed her gaze on him.
He fidgeted a little nervously. "I suppose Ephram told you this project was pretty hush-hush."
"Not in so many words, but from the way everyone was acting, I assumed it was a classified government project."
"Not the government." He shook his head, ruefully amused. "I don't think the government would appreciate what we're doing." Her mouth fell open at that; he rushed to reassure her. "Sorry, bad joke. We sometimes work with the government; now isn't one of those times. I just meant we weren't getting a lot of cooperation from them. I'm sure you know how that can be."
She didn't. "I've worked on classified projects before. It's considered normal to brief the people involved. I can't help if I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing."
He paused awkwardly, as if searching for the right words. "Well, today I thought you could just get settled in . . . and then we'd talk about the project."
"I'm already settled in," she replied quickly. "Let's talk about the project."
He gazed out the window for an instant and cleared his throat. "Okay ... um, you already know Norton's role in all this—"
"To analyze radio transmissions from deep space," Suzanne answered, a bit impatiently. "Searching for intelligent life."
He looked at her with those penetrating blue eyes of his and nodded. "Problem is, there's a whole lot of space to cover. A bunch of wasted space, practically speaking, since the universe is maybe ten million billion trillion times as much empty space as it is stellar material. I need you to narrow our focus."
She frowned, unable to understand what he was driving at. "I'll bite. How am I supposed to do that?"
"Simple." His eyes widened innocently—a little too innocently, Suzanne decided. "By daydreaming."
Confused, she blinked at him. "By daydreaming ... ? You want to run that by me again?"
"Daydream about other worlds." He meshed his fingers, put his hands behind his neck, and leaned back comfortably in his chair. "About the life-forms they might support. Give me probables, possibles. Give me what-ifs."
She stared disbelievingly at him for a full half-minute before she found her voice. "Excuse me, Dr. Blackwood, but I know when my leg is being pulled. You can't be serious—"
"What's so unbelievable about it? You give me a what-if life-form, and I can design a model atmosphere that can support it. Then Norton can limit his intercepts to star systems containing
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