The Two Worlds by James P. Hogan

carried his crown of silver hair with a haughty uprightness that always made Heller think of him as the last of the true blue-blooded European aristocrats. His dress was always impeccable and formal, even at Bruno where practically everyone else had soon taken to more casual wear, and he gave the impression somehow of looking on the rest of the human race with something approaching disdain, as if condescending to mix with them only as an imposition of duty. Heller was never able to feel quite at ease in his presence, and she had spent too much time in Paris and on other European assignments to attribute it simply to cultural differences.

    "Well, I was on my way to check the mail," she said. "If the discussion can wait for an hour or so, I could see you back here. We'll go through it over a drink maybe, or use one of the offices. Was it anything important?"

    "A few questions of procedure and some definitions that need clarifying under one or two headings." Sverenssen's voice had fallen from its public-address mode of a moment earlier, and as he spoke he moved around as if to shield their conversation from the rest of the room. He was looking at her with a curious expression—an intrigued detachment that was strangely intimate and distant at the same time. It made her feel like a kitchen wench being looked over by a medieval lord-of-the-manor. "I was thinking of something perhaps a little more comfortable later," he said, his tone now ominously confidential. "Possibly over dinner, if I might have the honor."

    "I'm not sure when I'll be having dinner tonight," she replied, telling herself that she was getting it all wrong. "It might be late."

    "A more companionable hour, wouldn't you agree," Sverenssen murmured pointedly.

    It was getting to her again. His words implied that the honor would be his, but his manner left no doubt that she should consider it hers. "I thought you said that you needed to talk before the agenda gets typed," she said.

    "We could clear that matter up in an hour as you suggest. That would make dinner a far more relaxing and enjoyable occasion . . . later."

    Heller had to swallow hard to maintain her composure. He was propositioning her. Such things happened and that was life, but the way this was happening wasn't real. "I think you must have misjudged something," she told him curtly. "If you have business to discuss, I'll talk to you in an hour. Now would you excuse me please?" If he left it at that, it would all soon be forgotten.

    He didn't. Instead he moved a pace closer, causing her to back away a step instinctively. "You are an extremely intelligent and ambitious, as well as an attractive, woman, Karen," he said quietly, dropping his former pose. "The world has so many opportunities to offer these days—especially to those who succeed in making friends among its more influential circles. I could do a lot for you that you would find extremely helpful, you know."

    His presumption was too much. "You're making a mistake," Heller breathed harshly, striving to keep her voice at a level that would not attract attention. "Please don't compound it any further."

    Sverenssen was unperturbed, as if the routine were familiar and mildly boring. "Think it over," he urged, and with that turned casually and rejoined the group he had left. He'd paid his dollar and bought a ticket. It was no more than that. The fury that Heller had been suppressing boiled up inside as she walked out of the room, managing with some effort to keep her pace normal.

    Norman Pacey was waiting for her when she reached the U.S. delegate's offices a few minutes later. He seemed to be having trouble in containing his excitement over something. "News!" he exclaimed without preamble as she entered. Then his expression changed abruptly. "Hey, you're looking pretty mad about something. Anything up?"

    "It's nothing. What's happened."

    "Malliusk was here a little while ago." Gregor Malliusk was the Russian Director of Astronomy at