The Doctor chuckled. 'Still, don't be too harsh on the poor fellow. He's been stuck up here on the Hill for months without much in the way of female companionship.'

'Well he isn't getting any companionship from me. Anyway, it's not really me he's interested in. It's just my turbo-charged brain when I'm under the influence of the oil.'

'Yes, it does seem to be your idiot savant aspect that thrills him.'

'Idiot savant? Thanks a lot.'

'Silly expression, forgive me,' said the Doctor. 'Now that I've rescued you from the good Professor I have a job for you.'

'More calculations?'

'No, not calculations. A mission.'

'Good. I was starting to get bored. I could do with a mission. What do you want me to do?'

'Actually, it's more like a diplomatic mission. I need you to make friends with someone.'

Ace paused and shot the Doctor a suspicious look. 'Who?'

'Cosmic Ray Morita.'

'Oh no.'

'Ace, please.'

'You should have heard what he said about my outfit last night. He was drunk out of his mind.'39.

'Well, there you go. Today he'll be sober, hung over and penitent. He'll be receptive to your overtures.'

'I won't be making any overtures. I'm not going anywhere near that big fat. . . '

'You like the records he plays.'

'But I don't like him him.'

'Nonetheless,' said the Doctor firmly. 'I need you to go to him and get to know him. Make friends and let him start talking to you. And pay careful attention to what he says.'

'Why should I? Why can't you do it?'

'I have my own mission. I need to talk to Edward Teller.'

Ace felt a brief, disquieting chill, as though the sun had gone behind a cloud.

'The bloke who was arguing with Oppy? Mr Inflammable Atmosphere?'

'Yes Mr Inflammable Atmosphere. I need to convince him his calculations are wrong.'

'Thank gawd for that,' said Ace, feeling a tremendous rush of relief. 'You have no idea how worried I've been ever since last night. It's been in the back of my mind all day. The idea that the bomb they're building could blow up the entire world. Ridiculous idea, really. It was silly of me to even worry about it.'

The Doctor looked at her, saying nothing.

Ace felt the smile fading from her face. 'I mean,' she said. 'They did detonate it and it didn't blow up the entire world.' The Doctor still said nothing.

Ace kept talking, hoping he might say something, something rea.s.suring. 'And now, I mean now you're going to Teller to explain to him that he's got it all wrong. So everything's all right, isn't it?'

The Doctor didn't reply.

'Doctor please, you're scaring me.'

'Then help me lay those fears to rest,' said the Doctor. 'Go and talk to Ray Morita.'

Ray Morita's building resembled the WAC barracks in its basic plan, being a low rectangular dwelling two stories high, shaped like a stretched shoe box.

But there were certain crucial differences between the two buildings. Ace's had a raw, unfinished look, with tarpaper walls, and was surrounded by an unsightly cl.u.s.ter of telephone poles. It was deemed an adequate dwelling place for the Women's Auxiliary Corps, who represented nothing more than a source of menial clerical labour on the Hill. More important personnel, eggheads like Ray Morita, got a building with beautifully finished wooden walls, surrounded by the pleasant shadows of oak trees.

Ace reflected on this bitterly as she made her way to the centrally placed entrance of Ray's building. This was reached by a low wooden staircase. Above 40the staircase was a pleasant open balcony area where the two halves of the building converged and the privileged scientists could, presumably, loll and catch the sun. Above that, on the roof, were two symmetrically placed rectangular chimneys that no doubt kept the place warm and cosy throughout the long desert winter.

At the Oppenheimers' party, Ace had noted that the primitive record players in this period could only play music for about three minutes at a time. Then you had to reload the stone-age device. Therefore the music thundering from within Ray's apartment some jaunty loping jazz could only have been set in motion mere moments earlier.

So she knew he was in there.

Ace knocked until the music came to an end and paused in the sudden silence. Then she realised that this was the opposite of a successful strategy and hastily began knocking on the door again. Too late. A new piece of jazz commenced blasting from inside, absolute proof that Cosmic Ray was lurking within the apartment.

Ace cursed and increased the volume and frequency of her knocking. The music from inside grew, if anything, louder. Her knuckles were starting to hurt and Ace was considering stopping and waiting for this record in turn to end when the door suddenly opened in a surge of sour body odour and surly, outraged growling. 'Bringing me down, man! All that knocking's bringing me '

Cosmic Ray stood staring at Ace. 'Down,' he said, then fell silent, a look of amusing poleaxed astonishment on his face. Ray was still wearing his red beret, but now he was wearing it with a baggy undershirt and capacious striped briefs. He had sneakers on his feet but no socks. He stared at Ace.

'Can I come in?' she said.

Ray stood aside wordlessly, his face still vacant with surprise, and let her walk into the apartment. The place was nice, a s.p.a.cious, light and airy three-room flat with a lot of light from the window falling on wooden floors. There were rugs thrown here and there, bright Indian patterns, and the minimum of furniture. There was a bathroom, a bedroom and a generously sized living room. Most of the living room was given over to a record player and boxes of records, though in one corner s.p.a.ce had been made for a large, bulbous metallic refrigerator that was almost big enough to step into. There were also at least a dozen potted plants, all of which, to Ace's surprise, were thriving, as plump and shiny in their green way as their owner. Plump Cosmic Ray, shiny with sweat, abruptly moved past Ace and scurried quickly across the room to a small table with several potted plants and a framed portrait on it.

He turned to face her as he did something on the table, fumbling behind his back. 'I know you. I met you that night at the Oppenheimers'. That night 41they had the party.'

'That was last night, Ray.'

'That's right, that's right. I saw you there last night. So what,' he said, 'so what, so what brings you here. . . '

Ace had been pondering what kind of story she could tell him. It would have to be pretty good to explain her presence here. It was all very well for the Doctor to instruct her to go and strike up a friendship with the man. But it wasn't so easy in practice. She decided to lay everything off on the Doctor.

'The Doctor sent me.'

'Sent you? The Doctor? The little guy?'

'Yes.'

'Moved pretty good for an older cat. When he was cutting a rug last night.

When he was, like you know, dancing, man.'

Ray suddenly seemed to realise he was standing there in his underwear.

'Excuse me a sec.' He darted into the bathroom and closed the door. There were gratifyingly frantic sounds as he washed.

Ace took advantage of his absence to snoop around the place and, specifically, to go over to the table and have a look at whatever it was he had tried so clumsily to conceal. A portrait frame of carved green jade, containing the photograph of a very beautiful woman with elegant oriental features. A flourish of handwriting bisected the photograph, just overlapping the woman's high cheekbones and slanting almond eyes. The writing, in a flowing feminine calligraphy in indigo ink, read, 'To Ray. With a world of love, Silk.'

Why hadn't Ray wanted her to see this? The woman certainly had a luminous beauty, and something in her eyes, lingering just short of utter depravity, hinted at a pa.s.sionate nature. Ace suddenly wondered if this was the great love of Ray's life and if she was locked up in a detainment camp somewhere because she was a half, or a quarter, or one-sixteenth j.a.panese.

Ray emerged a few minutes later, clean and scrubbed, wearing a silk bathrobe with a lotus emblazoned on it. He went over and perched in a leather armchair beside the one Ace had chosen. The unpleasant smell of sweat, which at least had had the claim to being a natural smell, had now been replaced by the overwhelming synthetic reek of some cheap cologne that could have doubled as bug repellant. Unfortunately, Ray had drenched himself in it.

He had also trimmed his goatee, so Ace decided she at least had to give him points for trying. She found herself almost liking the big clumsy man. And then she remembered the terrible things he'd said about her cowgirl outfit.

Thank G.o.d she'd managed to dress in something slightly more suitable today.

Her jeans and black cotton shirt might still have seemed odd for the period, but at least they didn't make her look like part of a travelling freak show.42.

'So this Doctor who sent you here, you're sort of his human calculating machine.'

'At least that's a nicer way of putting it than idiot savant.'

'Did he send you over here because he wants you to help me with my equations?'

'No,' said Ace. Then quickly, so as to change the subject. 'You've got a green thumb.'

'Green thumb?' he asked, and Ace indicated the flourishing plants. Their fat shiny leaves jutted from painted pots that looked like the work of native craftspeople. 'Oh, I got the knack growing muta,' said Ray.

'Muta?'

'Yep. That's how I learned to make plants thrive and now I've got the gift.

Plants just love me now man.'

'What is muta?'

'You know, gauge, man. . . Muggles. . . Pot, baby, pot.'

'You mean dope.'

'That's right baby, that's right.'

'Do you have any?' said Ace, purely in a spirit of scientific enquiry.

'No man, no. Shhhh!' Ray lifted a fat finger to his fat lips and glanced around as if someone might be listening. 'Don't even say that. If Major Butcher got any notion I was growing or buying or using using loco weed he'd have my a.s.s shipped out of here and back to a prison camp so fast, baby, the breeze would part your hair, wartime necessity or no wartime necessity. I'm lucky I'm not behind bars right now.' loco weed he'd have my a.s.s shipped out of here and back to a prison camp so fast, baby, the breeze would part your hair, wartime necessity or no wartime necessity. I'm lucky I'm not behind bars right now.'

'I know. It must be terrible about your family.'

'My family?' Cosmic Ray looked at her blankly.

'Being locked up in some horrible camp just because their parents or grand-parents were j.a.panese.'

Ray's face suffused with gloomy rage. He shook his head. 'That's so terrible man. So terrible. These people are good loyal Americans and just because they look j.a.panese they're put behind bars.' He fell silent, then looked almost shyly at Ace as though to a.s.sess her reaction to his outburst. His rage had seemed entirely genuine, but suddenly Ace wasn't so sure.

'I don't know about you, baby,' said Ray quickly, as though sensing her unease. 'But I need a beer.' He turned to the refrigerator and opened it.

Ace was expecting a light to come on, but the interior of the fridge remained resolutely dark. Cool air wafted from its shadowy silent depths.

Silent. Ace realised that the refrigerator was making no noise at all. 'Is it on?' she said.

'Oh yeah, it's on all right.' Ray smiled as he came back with two rather inviting looking bottles of beer. The cool green bottles were frosted with dew. 'But 43it's silent, baby. Peltier effect. I rigged it up myself. Converted a conventional one.' He slammed the door behind him with his foot and brought the bottles back to the armchairs. 'We couldn't have refrigerator compressor noise in the same room as the music music, could we baby? And speaking of music. . . ' He had no sooner sat down beside Ace, both of them with beers in their hands, than he bobbed back up again and moved nervously towards the record player.

'Ray?'

'Yes, baby.'

'Call me Ace.'

'Ace baby.'

'Don't you think we could open the beers before we put on a record?' The cold bottle of beer in her hand had made Ace realise what a long hot day it had been and how thirsty she was. But the cool inviting gla.s.s neck of the bottle was sealed with a metal cap and Ace had already abraded a finger trying to twist it off with her bare hands. Ray darted into the bedroom and came back with a bottle opener. 'They call it a church key,' he chuckled as he clumsily but effectively popped the lids on their beer bottles. Ace politely waited for him to take the first sip, but Ray was blundering off doing something with a tobacco tin. He shook it, a look of satisfaction on his face. The tin made a curious rustling sound. For a moment Ace thought he'd been kidding about not having any dope, but then Cosmic Ray snapped it open, revealing a heap of odd-looking dry brown thorns. Ray saw her staring and said, 'Needles, baby.'

'What kind of needles?'

'Cactus. For the record player baby.' He went over to the machine and lifted its tone arm, replacing the needle in the same painstaking fashion he had used at the Oppenheimers' the previous night.

'Does it have to be cactus needles?'

'Metal needles destroy the record, man. Only cactus needles are safe. Here I am, out here in the middle of the desert and can I get cactus needles? You've got no idea how hard these things are to find.'

'You've got hundreds of them.'

'I could run out at any time, baby, any time.' Cosmic Ray finished replacing the needle, reverently discarding the old one into a plant pot, as though it was a brave soldier who had served honourably, then bent his considerable bulk over a box of records. 'Now, hep cat, what can I play for you?'

There was a loud hammering at the door. Ray sighed and straightened up, rolling his eyes in exasperation. 'Oh man, what a drag. Who's knocking now?

Excuse me.' He left Ace drinking beer in the sitting room and disappeared for a moment. She heard the knocking cease and the door open, followed by a swift conversation in low, muttering voices. Ace found herself straining to make out 44what was being said, but from where she was sitting it was impossible. She needed to be at the living room door, adjacent to the corridor that led between bathroom and bedroom, through to the front door. Ace rose from her chair and took a step towards the doorway. At that moment the front door closed.

Ace hastily sat down again as Ray came back into the room holding a large square envelope. He was staring at the envelope, lost in thought.

When he saw Ace, he made a ludicrous attempt to conceal the envelope, then became aware how ludicrous it was and simply went and set it down in one of the boxes of records. Ace suddenly realised why the size and shape of the envelope looked familiar. 'What's the new record?'

Ray almost jumped out of his skin. 'What do you mean, man?' Ace smiled.

'Oh, that,' said Ray. 'Sure. It was just some record I ordered. I've been waiting for it to arrive.'

'Why don't you play it for us?'

'Aw man, I need to clean it first and that's a drag. Let me play you this instead.' He took a cardboard alb.u.m of records out of another box and selected a black disc. 'The Duke again, from his best band of all time, from the finest period ever committed to sh.e.l.lac, July '42 to December '44.' Ace wondered if he would ever get around to playing the record or if he was going to list every member of the band first. But Ray's soliloquy was interrupted by a peremptory hammering at the door.

'What now man?' Ray carefully placed the record on the turntable then shuffled wearily towards the door. He was back hardly a second later, walking backwards into the room with his hands held up tensely above his head. Major Butcher followed him into the room.