path to conquest (7 page)

In New York there were enough players to form three full teams, and Pete had helped draw up a genuine schedule for his old mates, using a computer at New York Hospital, where he worked now. The city papers even followed these new teams, printing box scores and standings in a comforting semblance of seasons past.

Pete had never doubted that the games would prove popular, but he
had
been surprised with
how
popular. Once the local minileague had been bom, natives and emigres had readily settled into new rooting allegiances, usually based on how many of their former favorites were on each team. By midsummer, a real pennant race had developed, and it wasn’t uncommon to have thirty or forty thousand people filling Yankee Stadium or Shea Stadium out in Queens, where games were alternately played.

But the weather had suddenly gone from the pleasant warmth of early September to a damp chill more like late November.

“It’s goddamned cold,” said a flinty, New England-accented voice behind Pete.

He turned to see Dr. Hannah Donnenfeld, a Boston Red Sox cap pulled over her wispy white hair. She wore the blue-and-white Yankees warm-up jacket Pete had given her after they’d worked to defeat the Visitors last time around. He pointed at the contrasting team insignias. “Having an identity crisis, Hannah?”

She gave him a smug smile. “Not a bit, young Doctor Forsythe. The hat I wear as a token of love—”

“And the jacket out of respect for me?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Not on your life. It just happens to be rather warm.”

They both laughed and Pete stood to greet the others with Hannah—Dr. George Stewart, Lauren’s father and Pete’s close friend and teacher; Sari James, the perky strawberry-blond biologist from Hannah’s Brook Cove Lab complex out on Long Island; and a tall, dark-haired man Pete had never seen before. The man had an arm around Sari’s shoulders, and reached out to shake Pete’s hand, also offering a charming smile.

“Neville More,” he said with a cultivated British accent. He looked about thirty-five, with fine-boned good looks. “Pleased to meet you, Dr. Forsythe.”

Pete tried to match More’s sophisticated charm, but the best he could muster was a boyish grin more country than Continental. “Please, just call me Pete. When somebody calls me Dr. Forsythe, 1 still look around for a guy in a white coat with a stethoscope.”

“Well then, Pete it is. You’re rather famous for your exploits, both on the baseball diamond and in the last war. It’s a great pleasure to meet a real hero.”

Pete blushed uncomfortably. “I never really thought of myself as a hero—”

“Liar,” Donnenfeld interrupted, lips curled in an impish half smile.

Pausing for a flare of feigned anger, Pete continued, “But if I
was
a hero, lots of other people were, too, including all present company.”

“Neville’s pretty famous, too,” said Sari, her freckled nose made red by the cold wind. There was pride in her tone.

The Englishman ducked his head modestly. “Oh, Sari exaggerates a bit.”

“I do not,” she pouted. “You’re only one of the world’s foremost experts on computers.”

Pete’s eyebrows lifted in interest. “Oh? Wait a minute.” He squinted and mumbled More’s name a few times. “Are you the Neville More who founded that company—what was it?” Sari looked annoyed. “Magicomp,” she said roughly. “Only the company that came up with a better way to beat the Von Neumann bottleneck.”

“The what?”

“The electronic flaw in everyday computers that slows down their data processing,” Sari explained. “Neville and Magicomp designed and built the most successful parallel-process-ing computer yet and revolutionary software to go with it.”

Pete turned sheepish under Sari’s lingering frown. “I remembered, I just didn’t remember the specifics.”

“I’m surprised my name would ring
that
much of a bell, Dr. Forsythe—uh, Pete. I’m flattered.” More flashed his perfect white teeth again.

“I read about you in the business section of the
Times
awhile back. I think Sari’s right to be impressed.”

The young woman stiffened. “I’m not impressed, Pete. You make me sound like a groupie. I just appreciate what Neville’s done in his field. Just like baseball fans appreciate what you did on that field,” she said, nodding toward the diamond where a team in home-white uniforms had come out to hit and throw in pregame warm-ups.

“Well, well, why doesn’t everybody sit down,” Pete said, trying to brush away the lingering discomfort he felt. “George, have you talked to Lauren lately?”

The tall black man splayed his legs into the aisle. “Yesterday. Why?”

“Oh, just that I haven’t been able to get her at home for the past couple of days.”

Dr. Stewart nodded. “Me neither. She called
me.
She’s been in heavy-duty meetings at the UN—something about oil supplies.” He shivered and turned his coat collar up. “Speaking of which, I sure hope this cold snap doesn’t mean we’re in for a long winter. What with everything being rationed, we’re sure to run out of oil and gas.”

“I can’t remember it ever being this cold this early,” Sari said, sitting very close to Neville More.

“You
can’t remember?” Hannah said, pretending to be scornful. “Why, child, that ain’t nothin’. My memory goes back a bit farther, and
I
can’t remember it ever being this cold this early. ”

“Ahh, I can see you ladies have never lived in England,” Neville said with a chuckle.

“What was the temperature this morning anyway?” asked Pete.

George Stewart shivered again. “Thirty-five—-and I’d bet it’s gone down since then.”

“Well, it could be worse,” Pete said philosophically. “At least
we
can wear gloves or put our hands in our pockets.” He gestured toward the players on the field, several of whom had their bare hands folded under their armpits for warmth. “They can’t.”

“Do you ever miss playing, Pete?” Neville asked.

“Not on days like this. In fact, one team is a couple of guys short, and they asked if I’d suit up. That’s one of the disadvantages of sitting down here where they can see me.” Hannah snorted. “Hah! Don’t tell me you weren’t the least bit tempted.”

“You didn’t see me take batting practice the other day. If you had, you wouldn’t have asked that question.”

Everyone laughed except Sari, whose attention had drifted, her eyes focusing both near and far at the same time. Neville noticed her distraction first.

“Something wrong, my dear?”

She scratched her neck in perplexity. “Either somebody in the upper deck has dandruff—and I’m talking humongous Hakes—or we’ve got ourselves snow flurries.”

George Stewart set his chin like a determined bulldog. “Hell, I don’t care
how
cold it is. It simply
can’t
snow in September. ”

“I don’t believe it,” Pete said mournfully, staring out the window of his apartment. “How the hell can it snow a foot in Manhattan on September third?”

Hannah Donnenfeld, Sari James, and Neville More were with Pete in his living room, enjoying snacks and drinks. “Looks like you’ve got yourselves three guests for the night, Peter,” Donnenfeld said.

Pete turned away from the window, started to draw the shade down, but decided against cutting off the view of the outside oddity. “I guess so. No problem—got plenty of room and plenty of food.”

“Do you have boots?” More asked.

“What?”

“Boots.”

“For sleeping or for cooking?”

More smiled. “Neither. For walking in the snow.”

“Sure, but are you sure you want to go out there?” “Well, I’ve spent most of my adult life living where it always rains, but never snows, and I for one would love to stroll in the snow. Besides, I hear a nice white blanket makes this city awfully pretty.”

“It does,” said Sari. “May I be your guide?”

“Why, certainly.” More put out his arm, and she linked hers through it. “Maybe we could even take in a show. I hear the Great White Way is pretty well lit these days.”

“Anybody care to join us?” asked Sari.

Pete and Hannah exchanged a look. Neither thought Sari really wanted them to tag along.

After waiting a barely polite moment, she shook her blond ponytail back over one shoulder. “No? Well, you old folks have a nice time watching the tube or whatever it is you feel like doing.” Sari tugged Neville in the direction of Pete’s ornate oak coat rack near the front door. “Pete, do you have an extra key?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s on a hook right near the intercom. You got it.”

Sari disengaged herself from Neville long enough for them to slip into their coats, then wrapped his arm around her again. “Well, don’t wait up, Mom and Dad. See you whenever. ‘Bye.”

The door thumped shut behind them. Pete ambled over to throw the dead bolt.

“Old folks indeed,” Donnenfeld sniffed from the couch. “She forgets that / have to wait for
her
when we jog on our beach at the Cove.”

Pete retrieved his coffee mug from the end table and took a sip. “She must’ve been referring to me, Hannah. Sure as hell couldn’t have meant you.”

“Want to play Trivial Pursuit?”

“Why should I? You always slaughter me. You’re a goddamned scientist, Hannah. You’ve got no business knowing so damned much about everything else.”

The old woman leaned forward to take a chocolate chip cookie, snatching it up as if it were about to escape. “I just happen to have vast and shallow knowledge of almost everything, Peter.”

“Bull. You even beat me on the sports questions. I
would
like to play a
form
of trivia, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’d like to know about Neville. When did you latch on to him?”

“Actually, he came to us,” said Hannah. “Says he’s been traveling around the country since the war started up again.” “Traveling around and doing what?”

“Helping science and defense teams shore up their computer systems. He says computers are going to be the key to winning this fight. I tend to agree with him there.”

Pete munched thoughtfully on a cookie. “Well, from what I can remember about him, he really
is
one of the top people in the field. But do you need help?”

“Places like Brook Cove Lab can always use another hand—especially a reputed all-star like Neville More.”

“I thought Mitchell Loomis was your computer hotshot.” “So did Mitchell,” Hannah said, like a mother thinking about her bright but troublesome child.

“How’s he taking the intrusion?”

“Mitchell pouts a lot these days.”

Pete nodded. “I can just see that pudgy baby face of his as More corrects him. Must be cute.”

“Cute enough to make you barf.”

“Sari certainly seems to have become attached to Neville. How long’s he been with you?”

“Oh, ’bout two weeks now,” said Hannah. “Yes, yes, Sari has taken a liking to Neville. And why not? He’s handsome, charming, witty, quite nearly a genius.”

Pete straightened in mock defensiveness. “
I’m
all those things.”

“Sorry, Pete, but he’s also got great hair. And Sari’s always gone for the slim types. So’ve I, come to think of it. If I were twenty years younger—”

“
Twenty?
Wanna try forty?”

“Don’t be rude, Peter,” Hannah clucked.

The snow fell in fine flakes now, dancing before streetlights like tiny sculptures of cut crystal, then slipping gracefully from the pools of brightness down to the ground. There was almost no traffic on Fifth Avenue, no noise other than the soft scuffing of boots in the granular snow. Couples strolled arm in arm and window-shopped at Bloomingdale’s and Saks. The windows of lower-priced stores were often empty these days as commonplace items grew scarce. But the finer shops still displayed their luxury wares. The war-drained economy meant few people could actually afford such things, but there was an odd sort of comfort in being able to see them, and perhaps dream of having them someday.

Sari snuggled close to Neville More as they walked. “1 love Manhattan when it’s like this,” she murmured. “Of course, it’s usually not
like
this until January.” She shrugged.

“It is nice,” he said. “Tranquil, unhurried. . .

“Was life ever really like that—tranquil and unhurried?” “You mean before the Visitors?”

She nodded.

“I suppose for some people,” he said. “Not for me, though. Somehow I was always too busy for that. I was always selling, developing, raising money to bring some new idea to life. Oh, don’t get me wrong—it was bloody exciting.”

“There’s a ‘but’ in your voice, Neville.”

He chuckled. “But excitement isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. How about you, Sari? What was your life like before the wars?”

She gave it a few seconds’ thought. “Well, Brook Cove might not be what
you’d
call exciting. None of those high-pressure deals necessary to keep you one step ahead of the creditors. The way Hannah Donnenfeld ran the lab, we didn’t even have to publish. We were just one big, sometimes argumentative family of oddballs and geniuses and social maladroits who all happened to love science. There was a
quiet
excitement in that, I guess. It wasn’t exactly tranquil and unhurried. I mean we all had self-imposed motivations pushing us forward in whatever we were working on. But it
was
pretty relaxed. God, it seems like so long ago, I can barely remember.” Sari rolled her eyes. “Geez, listen to me flapping ray gums here. You ask me a simple question and I just go on and—”

Neville leaned over and gently kissed her lips. It was a brief
kiss.

“Uh, you trying to tell me to shut up?”

“No, not at all,” he said. “When you talk, I leam more about you. And I’d like to learn as much as I can.”

“Talk is cheap,” Sari said, doing a Mae West impression. “I’ll take shutting up any day.”

They kissed again—softly at first, then gradually increasing their intensity, but still in a tranquil, unhurried way, as if they both had those words in mind. After a long time, they separated.

“Are you sure you’re not getting cold, Sari?”