Page 94 - Psychoceramics and the Test of Fire

The Vorax

not indelible, was imprinted deeply enough to remain legible after
much defacement.
I couldn’t help smiling. “Avery Goodman?” He nodded, not even
trying to size me up. “I’m Armin A. Legge, American representative
of the provincial government of Ambergistan. I wonder if you could
spare a few minutes to speak with me. I would have called to set up
an appointment, but your number seems to be unlisted.”
Disconnected would be closer to the truth.
“Sure, come on in—if you don’t mind the clutter: I haven’t tidied
things up today; the weekend, you know.” The place didn’t look like
it ever saw anything but weekends. He took my business card,
glanced at it cursorily and dropped it in an ashtray resembling, to a
legally blind decorator, a silver salver.
I found a chair, making his immediately subsequent search for
another a bit more challenging. But I had his complete attention for
the moment; very soon it would return to creatures of a rather
different order so I had to talk fast.
“Let me get right to the point, Dr. Goodman.” His highest degree
fell short of that level, but a little flattery couldn’t hurt, if only to
demonstrate my potential for naiveté. “Ambergistan, as you might
have seen in the international press, has one of the most blighted
ecosystems in the world. Rains have fallen only where they could do
the most damage, crops have failed—even those demanded by the
IMF to repay debt on failed infrastructure projects. The per capita
income has fallen below one dollar and the central government,
dominated by, shall we say, an unsympathetic ethnic group, will not
commit any of its own dwindling resources to our part of the
country. A dispassionate observer would say that things could not get
a whole lot worse. In short, we—that is, the people of this benighted
land—are desperate. It has come to our notice that you, alone of all
people working in your field, might be able to help. Can you?”
Goodman’s face, first having fallen at my litany of catastrophe,
then rose like a big round loaf of bread. “Perhaps I can, sir. Perhaps I
can. But my resources are limited—and it sounds as if yours are,
too.”
I waved aside this trivial objection. “Please don’t concern yourself
about that, Doctor. Ambergistan has maintained a reserve account in
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