freezing,” An Linh went on. “It would make a spectacular documentary.”
He nodded and murmured, “I see.”
“The public relations value to Vanguard Industries would be enormous. I could make an arrangement with an organization like Worldnews to distribute the documentary to its outlets all around the globe.”
Nillson steepled his fingers again and pursed his lips, as though giving her request deep thought.
A human waiter appeared at the far door to the room, pushing a rolling cart bearing dishes covered by silver domes.
Straightening in his chair, Nillson asked, “You do like French cuisine?”
“Oh, yes. Certainly.” The aromas were delicate and delicious. An Linh closed her eyes for an instant and saw herself a little girl again in her mother’s kitchen.
The waiter placed the dishes before them, poured a light Beaujolais into the tulip wineglasses, then left as silently as a wraith.
Nillson held his glass to the light, then said, “You’ll have to spend a lot of your time on such a project, I suppose.”
An Linh tried to clamp down on the rush of eager expectation that flooded through her. “Several weeks, at least.”
“And bring in a camera crew from outside.”
She thought a moment, then answered, “We could use our own company crew, but if you want the absolute best kind of work, a professional documentary team would be best, yes, I agree.”
Of course you agree, Nillson said silently. That’s what you’re after, obviously. An outside camera crew; probably her boyfriend from Worldnews. She’s already told him that the astronaut’s been revived, no doubt of that. It will be like inviting a team of espionage agents into the laboratory. Still, what better way to fend off spies than to invite them into your parlor and let them think they are seeing everything? But I mustn’t appear to give in too easily. She’s clever enough to see through that.
“If I agree to what you want,” he said slowly, picking up a salad fork and toying with it, “what will you do for me?”
“I don’t understand….”
Nillson smiled at her again. “It’s very simple, An Linh. A life for a life.”
She sat in this preciously appointed private dining room, staring at one of the richest and most powerful men in the world, and hoped desperately that he would not say what she knew he was going to say.
Enjoying the uncertainty in her eyes, Nillson said, “I’m not trying to seduce you, although you are a very beautiful young woman. Surely you’re aware of the effect you have on men.”
An Linh made herself smile.
“I…need”—the word twisted Nillson’s face into a pained scowl—“a woman to bear a son for me.”
She felt her mouth gape with shock.
Nillson held up a long, bony-knuckled hand. “It’s not what you think. I want a host mother to carry a fertilized zygote which I will provide.”
An Linh began to breathe again. “A host mother. Mrs. Nillson does not want to be bothered with an unsightly pregnancy.”
“Mrs. Nillson has nothing to do with this, other than providing an ovum.”
Forcing herself to be calm, An Linh asked, “But I thought that Vanguard had developed artificial wombs for cases where…”
His white brows knit again. “I will not trust my son to a glorified test tube. I want a human mother to carry him to term.”
“I see.”
“Naturally, I will see to it that you are taken care of extremely well.”
“And if I refuse? What then? Do I get fired?”
“No! Of course not.” He gestured with the hand that held the fork. “I’m rather clumsy about these things. I didn’t mean to suggest that I expect payment in return for helping your priest.”
“Then?…”
“Allow me to take you to dinner now and then. Perhaps we could go sailing together. I’m really a very pleasant fellow, despite what you may have heard.”
“And your wife?”
His lips pulled back in a smile, but his eyes went hard. “My wife has nothing to do with this. She leads her life
He nodded and murmured, “I see.”
“The public relations value to Vanguard Industries would be enormous. I could make an arrangement with an organization like Worldnews to distribute the documentary to its outlets all around the globe.”
Nillson steepled his fingers again and pursed his lips, as though giving her request deep thought.
A human waiter appeared at the far door to the room, pushing a rolling cart bearing dishes covered by silver domes.
Straightening in his chair, Nillson asked, “You do like French cuisine?”
“Oh, yes. Certainly.” The aromas were delicate and delicious. An Linh closed her eyes for an instant and saw herself a little girl again in her mother’s kitchen.
The waiter placed the dishes before them, poured a light Beaujolais into the tulip wineglasses, then left as silently as a wraith.
Nillson held his glass to the light, then said, “You’ll have to spend a lot of your time on such a project, I suppose.”
An Linh tried to clamp down on the rush of eager expectation that flooded through her. “Several weeks, at least.”
“And bring in a camera crew from outside.”
She thought a moment, then answered, “We could use our own company crew, but if you want the absolute best kind of work, a professional documentary team would be best, yes, I agree.”
Of course you agree, Nillson said silently. That’s what you’re after, obviously. An outside camera crew; probably her boyfriend from Worldnews. She’s already told him that the astronaut’s been revived, no doubt of that. It will be like inviting a team of espionage agents into the laboratory. Still, what better way to fend off spies than to invite them into your parlor and let them think they are seeing everything? But I mustn’t appear to give in too easily. She’s clever enough to see through that.
“If I agree to what you want,” he said slowly, picking up a salad fork and toying with it, “what will you do for me?”
“I don’t understand….”
Nillson smiled at her again. “It’s very simple, An Linh. A life for a life.”
She sat in this preciously appointed private dining room, staring at one of the richest and most powerful men in the world, and hoped desperately that he would not say what she knew he was going to say.
Enjoying the uncertainty in her eyes, Nillson said, “I’m not trying to seduce you, although you are a very beautiful young woman. Surely you’re aware of the effect you have on men.”
An Linh made herself smile.
“I…need”—the word twisted Nillson’s face into a pained scowl—“a woman to bear a son for me.”
She felt her mouth gape with shock.
Nillson held up a long, bony-knuckled hand. “It’s not what you think. I want a host mother to carry a fertilized zygote which I will provide.”
An Linh began to breathe again. “A host mother. Mrs. Nillson does not want to be bothered with an unsightly pregnancy.”
“Mrs. Nillson has nothing to do with this, other than providing an ovum.”
Forcing herself to be calm, An Linh asked, “But I thought that Vanguard had developed artificial wombs for cases where…”
His white brows knit again. “I will not trust my son to a glorified test tube. I want a human mother to carry him to term.”
“I see.”
“Naturally, I will see to it that you are taken care of extremely well.”
“And if I refuse? What then? Do I get fired?”
“No! Of course not.” He gestured with the hand that held the fork. “I’m rather clumsy about these things. I didn’t mean to suggest that I expect payment in return for helping your priest.”
“Then?…”
“Allow me to take you to dinner now and then. Perhaps we could go sailing together. I’m really a very pleasant fellow, despite what you may have heard.”
“And your wife?”
His lips pulled back in a smile, but his eyes went hard. “My wife has nothing to do with this. She leads her life
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