Lunar Ellipse: Interview

Mr. Lincoln arranges to meet Gibbs and Gabriel midafternoonish in the Rose Garden Cafe at the Walrus & Carpenter Inn near Edison. The cafe walls are covered with murals of low-number playing cards of all suits painting roses a variety of colours. Painted rose trellises rise to the ceiling, and painted roses wreath the sky-and-clouds painted tray ceiling. Although the restaurant is indoors, the chairs and tables resemble garden furniture, complete with citronella lanterns and an occasional pristine croquet ball. Neat, white-painted trellises and potted plants--especially numerous varieties of roses--abound, screening the tables and filling the air with their perfume. Napery, drapery, upholstery, various decorative items, and tea-ware in Royal Doulton's unmistakeable Old Country Roses pattern abound (regrettably). Dark-haired waitresses in blue-and-white Alice costume bustle quietly about. The cafe specialises in (mad) tea fare, but meals are also available.

Mr. Lincoln is a comically squat, roundish gentleman with a wildly unruly shock of curly ginger hair and bright blue eyes. He nearly bounces out of his seat as the Australians approach. He looks entirely in keeping with the surroundings.

"Mr. O'Neill, Mr. Rhys Williams, how kind of you to take time from your busy schedules. Please, do have a seat."

Gabriel, purely through the use of his body posture, makes it painfully clear that the whimsical decorative theme of this restaurant is not at all to his taste.

Gibbs, on the other hand, seems to find it... confusing.

"Where are the walruses?" he asks Gabriel under his breath as they enter.

Gibbs brightens, though, when he sees Mr. Lincoln. Perhaps he finds the man sufficiently walrus-like. He offers a bearlike handshake and a toothy, jovial grin. "The pleasure is ours. Always up for a spot of tea and conversation," he says as he settles into a chair.

After Gibbs has made his greeting, Gabriel will also dutifully shake hands with Mr. Lincoln and mutter some variation on "Pleased to meet you, no trouble at all I'm sure."

Mr. Lincoln waves his hand, and an Alice-waitress magically appears with a rose-patterned menu. "The pleasure is all mine, gentlemen." After everyone has ordered--and Mr. Lincoln has far heartier taste in tea-fare than the refined and delicate Miss Hawkwood--small talk ensues. Pleasantries about the weather, mostly, though Gibbs is congratulated on the success of _Tea in the Sahara_, and Gabriel on his latest patent.

After the tea arrives and is poured, Lincoln gets down to business, though in a decidedly pleasant manner.

"I'm given to understand that you were both courted by the Department D'Aerospace Francaise. Extraordinary! I--well, the entire Empire, I should imagine--am greatly pleased to hear that you--" and his gesture clearly includes Gabriel as well as Gibbs "--have decided to join forces with the British team. Could you tell me about what influenced your decision? Your thought process, as it were?"

"Well, normally I'm all for international collaboration on my expeditions," Gibbs replies, "as well you know if you've read my books. But given the, er, the nature of the present challenge, we decided in the end it would be most.... What was the word you used, Gabe? Politic? Most politic to stick with the home team, as it were. What with it being a competition and all. Wouldn't want the good citizens of the realm thinking we were turning our backs on them."

Gibbs rubs his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "And between you and me -- maybe because they *are* the home team -- I think we felt a certain... affinity... for the members of the British team. Mind you, them French were quite hospitable and would not be bad folks at all to be locked in a sardine tin in space with, but I suspect we'll have no problems at all getting on with our British team, ain't that right, Gabriel?" There's an amused gleam in his eye.

When the news of Mr. Edison's death is broken to the British team, Sophie suggests rather forcefully to Mr. Knox-Fairfield that a complete review of security measures is in order.

Afterwards, she would like to speak with Mr. O'Neil and Mr. Rhys-Williams privately.

After the meeting with Knox-Fairfield, the three intrepid adventurers meet in the parlour of Miss Hawkwood's suite.

"Gentlemen," she says, "I think we all know Mr.Edison was murdered, regardless of what the autopsy report is going to say. Now it's just possible that his death was a coincidence, but I don't believe it was so. I believe he was the second murder victim on the British team, after my brother. I intend to find out who it is, preferably before there are any more deaths."

Gabriel looks faintly skeptical, his eyebrows half-raised above the rims of his glasses.

Gibbs, on the other hand, looks surprised but not the least bit skeptical.

Sophie wrings her handkerchief nervously. "I had thought it was someone with a specific grievance against my brother, but perhaps it's someone playing dirty pool with the entire British team. In which case, both of you, and especially you, Mr. Rhys-Williams, must consider yourselves possible targets of our assassin."

At this, Gabriel's jaw drops. The normally unflappable albino has been, as it were, flapped. "Come now, Miss Hawkwood, surely you aren't serious! Murder? It was my understanding that your brother died in a propellant- related accident--which, while unfortuante, is hardly unusual in our line of work. And Mr. Edison was the victim of a brutal robbery, again not an uncommon event in the streets of this benighted city...." He looks to Gibbs for agreement. "I don't mean to make light of the situation, but really Miss Hawkwood--murder??"

Gibbs looks from Gabriel to Sophie and back again, frowning, as though he's not yet quite sure which explanation seems more plausible to him. "Well, Miss Hawkwood," he says after a moment, "I've got two fists and a gun, and they've all three gotten me out of plenty of tight spots in my day."

Gabriel slapps his hand against his forehead and groans quietly.

"If it is an assassin we're dealing with, you just stick close to me and he won't have a chance at you. And a'course I've always got Gabe's back."

"Thank you, Mr. O'Neil. It means a great deal to me, after I got you involved in all this."

"Yes, Gibbs, as always I find it immensely comforting to know that my back has been gotten..." Gabriel rolls his eyes.

Sophie turns her attention to Gabriel. "Mr. Rhys-Williams, I can assure you that my brother's death was not accidental. I worked with him closely for many years, and I know his laboratory habits intimately. I've heard the explanations put forth for how it happened and they don't wash. If something were to happen to Mr. O'Neil, wouldn't you know at once whether it was accident or murder?"

Thinking better of his initial impulse, Gabriel says nothing.

"So it is with me and Tom. It was not an accident."

"Very well, Miss Hawkwood--but if this is the case, why have you not gone to the police? I read nothing in the Times accounts of your brother's death that suggested the possibility of foul play."

A pair of spots of high color appeared on Sophie's cheeks. "Because I'd get the same bloody response from them I just got from you. Hysterical grieving woman, and don't tell me you weren't thinking it, Mr. Rhys-Williams. I may be grief-stricken, but I am neither stupid nor unobservant."

At this outburst, Gabriel takes an involuntary step backward. His face flushes a startlingly bright red. "I most certainly was thinking that, Miss Hawkwood. I would not lie to you. Women are far more emotional and passionate than men, and emotion can cloud one's judgement." Gabriel takes a deep breath, and looks Sophie in the eye. "However, I do not recall thinking that you were either stupid or unobservant. If I did not think you were a gifted scientist, Miss Hawkwood, I should not have chosen to join this team, and I should not have entertained even the slightest thought that you might be right about the present matter. Forgive me for looking at the matter of your brother's death in such a dispassionate way, but if there IS a murder here to be solved, then I felt it best to begin with a logical analysis of the situation.

"And why should anyone wish to interfere with the British Aeronautic Team in such a heinous manner? Surely not just for the purpose of undermining our attempt at the Ellipse!"

"There are people for whom a private audience with the Queen, £1000 and a peerage of the British Empire is not a trifle, Mr. Rhys-Williams. I am perhaps somewhat dispassionate about such matters because of my circumstances, but I know there are people who would kill for money and station. Or for the prestige of the victory for their team."

"Yes, of course they would. The point of the game is to win, after all, and this would be one way of winning. What I meant was, why target our team in particular? Do you suppose that this individual sees the British as their only true competition? Or that the British are merely first on a laundry list of teams to be sabatoged, with the one left standing at the end obviously our murderer?" The flush receding, Gabriel moves to the bellpull. "Shall I ring for some tea, while we discuss this further?"

There is a gentle knock at the door.

"Yes, please, and see to the door," Sophie says. Gabriel's calm evaluation of the situation seems to have done much to calm her.

Gabriel (appearing highly relieved that Sophie is not about to punch him in the face) will pull the bellpull once, then adjust his glasses and open the door.

It is Mr. Knox-Fairfield, the Project Director for the Lunar Ellipse. "Ah, how good to see you all here. Terrible about Mr. Edison, eh what?" He pauses, but doesn't really wait for an answer. "Came to offer you some...personal protection for the remainder of your time here in Singapore. The lads over at the aerospace base have offered their services. Entirely up to you, by which I mean each individual, whether you accept." He blinks rapidly several times, and looks around the room "I could do with a spot of tea. Anyone fancy a trip to the Walrus and Carpenter up the way? Lovely tea room."

"We were just ringing for some tea to be brought here, actually," Gibbs says before Gabriel can even make that unpleasant face he made last time they saw the inside of a Walrus and Carpenter.

Thank you so much, Gibbs.

[Gibbs]
"And if we're talking security arrangements, perhaps it's best if we're not overheard by every Alice in the shop."

"Er, yes, of course. Quite sensible." Knox-Fairfield also glances at Sophie, attempting to communicate in a glance that he is unsure as to the cause of her distress and whether or not he should attempt to do something about it.

Gibbs seems about to invite Knox-Fairfield to join them, but then pauses and looks at Sophie. It is her room, after all, he remembers belatedly.

As if to cover his faux-pas, he continues, "I can't speak for these two, but I think I can protect myself. In my line of work, I'm trained to be on the lookout for danger; and I'd hate to see one of the fellows from the base get hurt if something goes awry."

"Yes indeed, I pity the poor soul who tries to cause trouble for Gibbs. I still remember the shocked expression on the face of that Tuareg chieftain, just before..." Gabriel glances over at Sophie. "...before you gave him a talking to, Gibbs." Clearning his throat, he continues, "At any rate, I think I shall be satisfied with my present level of personal security as well, though I thank the gentlemen for their kind offer. I agree that perhaps any further discussion of this matter should be kept rather private."

"Mr. O'Neill, Mr. Rhys-Williams, the lads from the aerospace base--not to mention the local constabulary--are quite keen on providing a security escort for each member of our team and ground crew. Other teams are also making arrangements for the personal security of their Ellipsoids. Miss Hawkwood, may I prevail upon you to take the lead and accept an escort?"

Gabriel is prepared to be stubborn on this, as he resents any invasion of his personal privacy. However, if Gibbs and Sophie get on board, he will grudgingly acquiesce.

"Please do come in and join us for tea, Mr. Knox-Fairfield," Sophie says. Her handkerchief, edged in grey lace, is out, and she has clearly been dabbing her eyes.

"Your offer is very kind. I will take it under consideration. Has there been any additional news from the Singapore police?"

[Gabriel]
"[Yes], do tell us, Mr. Knox-Fairfield, has any further information come to light on the circumstances surrounding the death of Mr. Edison?"

"The detectives are playing this one very close to the vest, I'm afraid. Certainly you've heard rumours--my particular favourite is the one that reports that the Martians did it. Martians! Hah! But no, I'm afraid I've no information to pass along at the moment, though you may rest asured that as soon as something comes to light I shall inform you."

Presumably at some point there will be a response to Gabriel's bellpull. As he is still standing near the open door, he will order tea for four, then close the door and sit down in one of Sophie's available chairs, remove his glasses, and rub his eyes. "I presume, then, that this heightened security amongst all the Ellipsoid teams implies a suspicion that Mr. Edison's death may be part of a larger scheme to unhinge the Ellipse? Have we any other evidence of tampering to support this?" He glances in Sophie's direction (at least, where he last remembers Sophie standing, as he can't see at all without the glasses,) hoping to communicate that they keep their suspicions about her brother under wraps with Mr. Knox-Fairfield for the moment.

Knox-Fairfield looks a bit uncomfortable at such a direct question, spending rather longer than necessary fiddling with the tea things. Finally, he sets aside his untasted tea. "Mind you, none of this is offical, and if anything goes beyond this room I shall be very cross indeed." He looks at each Ellipsoid in turn, waiting for a sign of comprehension. Finally, he launches into the subject at hand.

"It is my personal belief that someone--and I've no idea who--may be meddling with the British space programme, possibly since its inception. Unfortunately, I only came aboard, as it were, in an official capacity for the Lunar Ellipse, which has kept me quite busy. I've been able to pursue my own investigation in fits and starts, and at this point, I am fairly certain that there is a mole at Edison Technical Laboratories. I also find it interesting that at least one other Great Power has also experienced extraordinary difficulty with its Lunar Ellipse programme. I have unconfirmed information that the Russians have attempted manned spaceflight twice in the past year, and have twice experienced drastic failures."

"So you are saying then that this individual is NOT specifically targeting the British Ellipsoid team, but rather whoever seems to be pulling ahead in the space race?" Gabriel asks. "I hate to seem to restate the obvious, but this seems rather critical. It would be one thing for us to suspect someone wishes the British team ill, but quite another to imagine an international conspiracy which stretches across two continents. There have been no suspcious incidents we're aware of with the French?"

"I hardly think that the Russians could be considered ahead of us, the French, the Prussians, or the Dutch," Knox-Fairfield says, with genuine amusement. "But I do wonder if there is some sort of worldwide neo-Luddite conspiracy that is only now beginning to show itself."

Gabriel sighs, as he so often does when confronted with slower-working minds than his own. "Yes, that was precisely the point I was making. A conspiracy targeting the Russians before anyone else in this game seems rather ludicrous. A conspiracy targeting both the British AND the Russians, without touching any of the spacefaring nations geographically in-between, seems highly unlikely. Ergo, either the Prussians, French, and Dutch have been tampered with and aren't aware of it, or they know they have been but are not saying anything publically, OR there is some key reason why we and the Russians are the primary targets. The answer to this connundrum would be a good start on finding our culprits. That would be the first question I would want answered, were I masterminding such an investigation."

Sophie has taken this time to recover herself completely and put her lace-edged hankie away. She nods very seriously, cocks her head slightly, and looks at Gabriel. If she wore spectacles, as she might for close work in the laboratory, she would be looking over them at him.

Gabriel is unaware of this, as he himself is unable to see anything other than bright, hazy shapes without his glasses. These are presently lying in his lap, and he reaches for his teacup very slowly and deliberately.

"We shall certainly keep this information in confidence, Mr. Knox-Fairfield. I hardly think we have anything to gain by having it bruited about that we suspect such a mole. As for protection, while I appreciate the good efforts of our lads, and would no doubt feel safer in their company, I think it would be best if any protection I had were of a lower profile than the members of the Singapore constabulary or the lads from the base."

Her expression brightens momentarily, as if she's had a particularly clever idea, and she turns to her other companion. "Mr. O'Neil. Perhaps you would agree to accompany me on any jaunts I may need to take about the city. Certainly a fellow of your reputation would be a significant discouragement to any assassin who might take it into his head to victimize me."

Gabriel makes a snorting sound. "Sorry, bit of tea went down the wrong way."

Gibbs very helpfully claps Gabriel on the back a couple of times, then nods to Sophie. "I'd be happy to, Miss Hawkwood." He flashes a grin.

Of the presumed murder of her brother, Sophie has said nothing.

Gabriel waits to see what other information Knox-Fairfield will feel inclined to drop.

"I do wish you would reconsider my offer of personal protection, but we are free Englishmen--and women--and may do as we like, eh what?"

"I do see your point, Mr. Knox-Fairfield; rest assured I have no plans to travel anywhere unescorted before the launch. I will make every effort to stick close to Gibbs, here, and should I need to travel without him I will certainly request assistance from our volunteers." He peers in the direction that he remembers Gibbs standing when he took off his glasses; if Gibbs has moved, then of course he is staring at nothing. "Gibbs, mate, I think it best if you also don't go gadding about alone, despite your--ahem-- formidable powers of self-defense. Safety in numbers and all that."

The wheels of Gibbs' mind have been turning, visibly -- if Gabriel could see Gibbs, he might well wonder whether he ought to oil them -- so Gibbs is slightly slower than usual to respond. "Oh. Yeah. I'll be careful, mate, don't you worry 'bout me," he says. "Well-lit pubs with mates, good. Dark alleys alone, bad. I think I've got it."

Then Gibbs turns to Knox-Fairfield with a puzzling-out sort of expression on his face. "If you don't mind my asking, Mr. K, what first made you suspect there might be a mole at Edison? You make it sound like you had your suspicions even before Edison's -- er, I mean, Mr. Edison's -- untimely demise."

"At first, there were a few small...ambiguous events. As you well know, it is not uncommon for laboratory accidents to occur, the causes of which may seem perfectly innocent at the time. Key documents going missing for a few days, then turning up again. Certain persons acting nervous when discovered in an empty room in which they had no legitimate business..." Mr. Knox-Fairfield looks around the room carefully, as if expecting someone to jump out from behind the curtains. Finally, he leans forward, and in a conspiratorial whisper, continues. "I have taken it upon myelf to employ a certain Madame Alexandra...perhaps you have heard of her, Miss Hawkwood? She is quite expert at divining the truth of people's intentions, and she has revealed to me that there is at least one person at Edison Technical Laboratories with nefarious motives."

"Madame Alexandra, yes. I've heard of her," Sophie says.

[Gabriel]
"Oh, for the love of.... I'm sorry, Mr. Knox-Fairfield, but are you saying you have employed a so-called 'psychic'?"

Knox Fairfield bristles at that. "I assure you, Madame Alexandra is no two-penny charlatan! She is an upstanding member of the Theosophical Society."

Gabriel has put his glasses back on, and a look of total incredulity has crept across his normally staid features. "We are men of science, Mr. Knox-Fairfield--" he glances at Sohpie--"men and women of science, I should say. Surely we need not turn to the carnival sideshow for recourse in a matter of such seriousness." Gabriel winces slightly, as if the phrase "carnival sideshow" held particular distaste for him.

[K-F]
"Mr. Rhys-Williams, I assure you that I, too, am a man of science. You may not be aware of this, but the Russians have done a considerable amount of research on the powers of the mind. Her Majesty's government is likewise engaged in scientific research on the subject. This is a very serious situation, and I will leave no stone unturned in my search for the truth!"

Sophie looks to Gibbs to see how he's taking this new development.

"Well, you know," Gibbs says slowly, "the abos believe that every living thing and every significant act leaves behind spirit-vibrations in the place it happened." But after a glance at Gabriel, he quickly amends, "But, ah, I don't suppose this Madame Alexandra is an abo, is she?"

[K-F]
"Hardly, Mr. O'Neill. She is an Englishwoman of good family. Still, perhaps these abos that you mention are less distracted by the technology of the modern world, and therefore more open to the spiritual planes."

"Gentlemen," says Sophie, a trifle louder than normal.

"I believe the topic under discussion was the unfortunate death of Mr. Edison, not the qualifications of Madame Alexandra." Sophie's mouth quirks slightly, as if she might have more to say about that, but she lets the moment pass.

"Quite right," Knox-Faifield says forcefully, casting a grateful glance at Sophie. "Thank you, Miss Hawkwood."

"We have some suspicions, more or less supported, of a mole in the programme. We have some suspicions of the same in the Russian programme. Do we have anything else? The French? The Japanese-American team? Maybe the Dutch? Perhaps we should broaden our enquiries with all the teams present."

"I believe that the lady has an excellent idea. The Russians have been very close-mouthed," Knox-Fairfield muses. "Their translators are the best-armed linguists I have ever laid eyes on. However, I expect that the Dutch, and perhaps the Americans, will be forthcoming. And haven't you met a member of the French team, Mr. O'Neill? Their American expatriate? Do you think she would discuss the subject with you?"

"Miss Fi--... er, Mrs. Armitage? Well, she might, at that," Gibbs replies. "She seems friendly enough. And if they suspect meddling as well, I'm sure they'll be as anxious to get to the bottom of it as we are. Yes, I should invite her to tea to talk it over, scientist to scientist...."

Gabriel seems to be nearing the point of apoplexy at this...

"Excellent!" Knox-Fairfield is clearly quite relieved. "Miss Hawkwood, would kindly approach the Japanese-American team? I beleive that the Japanese calculation engineers, Miss Fujiwara, speaks English. And will you approach the Dutch Interplanetary, Mr. Rhys-Williams? Mr. van Hoogelraar is very much in Mr. O'Neill's line of work; I'm sure you'll have plenty to discuss. I shall see if headway may be made with the Dutch government team and the Prussians. I am afraid the Russians are a lost cause. Pity, that."

"I should be glad to do so, Mr. Knox-Fairfield," Sophie replies.

"I--they--he--oh, all right. Unless Gibbs would prefer to talk to his Dutch counterpart while I talk to Mrs. Armitage..." (It's like Gabriel channelling Gabrielle, from Xena: "I do the scientist chats!") "I doubt they will tell us anything of value, but I shall do my utmost."

Gibbs appears to weigh the matter for a moment; and Gabriel, who knows him well, can clearly discern the values on each side of the balance: Fellow Adventurer.... Woman.... Fellow Adventurer.... Woman. "I think," he says after a moment, "that in this particular case I'd be better suited for speaking with Mrs. Armitage. That Hoogelraar fellow and I would probably get so distracted swapping stories that we wouldn't get anything useful out of the conversation. And anyway, Mrs. Armitage... we've already got a rapport, and all." He flashes a cocky smile.

[Knox-Fairfield makes his excuses and leaves to do whatever it is he does in his spare time.]

After Knox-Fairfield's departure, Sophie turns back to Gabriel.

"All right, you know and I know that Madam Alexandra is likely to be a con artist rather than a self-deluded adviser. Do you think she's telling him what he wants to hear or actually using her crooked little noggin for worthwhile purposes? Or do you think it's possible she's been suborned to tell him that for some reason."

"My experience with such people has been that they are usually out for their own interests--meaning money. If Madam Alexandra is being paid a substantial sum by Knox-Fairfield, she is most likely telling him whatever she thinks will keep her on the payroll the longest. Probably a lot of 'the crystal ball is murky, come back later' sort of claptrap. However, if she is also being paid by someone to feed specific misinformation to Knox- Fairfield, well..." One can almost hear Gabriel's mind ticking. "You say you know this person, Miss Hawkwood--what can you tell us of her past endeavors?"

Sophie takes a sip of her tea. The lads have the sense that if something stronger were available, she'd take that. "This is making me bloody paranoid."

Gibbs withdraws a well-used silver flask from his pocket and offers it to Sophie. "This might help," he says.

"Thank you, Mr. O'Neil." Sophie takes the flask and pours a little from it into a spare teacup before returning it to Gibbs. The first sip of it makes her eyes widen, and she gives a rather ungenteel cough. Then her expression hardens and she tosses the rest of it back in a single gulp. The teacup lands on the table again, not so hard as to shatter it.

Gibbs seems to be stifling an appreciative smile.

"Madame Alexandra is a native of my shire of middle age. She serves as an adviser and agony aunt to well-bred ladies who have an excess of money and a deficit of sense. Among her many claims are that she knows who the Whitechapel killer is, and that she speaks with the Grand Empress of the Martians regularly." Sophie doesn't quite roll her eyes, but there's a certain impatience in her expression.

"I doubt a telegram to England would get any results in a timely fashion, unfortunately."

"Well now, that's... interesting," Gibbs opines, sounding as though he actually does mean 'interesting' rather than, say, 'preposterous' as Gabriel or Sophie might.

The day following the murder of Mr. Edison, Hannah receives a sealed note at her hotel:

Dear Mrs. Armitage:

Congratulations once again to you and Mr. Armitage on your marriage. I wish you much happiness and good fortune as you embark on that lifelong adventure.

Unfortunately, the sad tidings of Mr. Edison's demise have put something of a damper on the festive mood and moreover have raised some concerns among the British team about the safety of other Ellipse scientists. I would be most gratified if you would be willing to take tea with me at your earliest convenience to discuss these concerns. As I wouldn't dream of separating you from your husband during these precious few days remaining before your departure, the invitation of course extends to him as well.

I do hope you will consider joining me.

Sincerely,
H. G. O'Neil

Below his signature is the address of his hotel.

Gibbs receives the note following in reply, written in a mathematically precise if not especially elegant hand:

Dear Mr. O'Neil:

Thank you very much for your kind felicitations.

Richard and I will be pleased to meet you for tea tomorrow at four, at [name of small French-style bistro not far away]. I have told my sponsors about these plans.

We agree that the Ellipse is not safe. We expect to be accompanied to this meeting by armed attendants. You are of course welcome to do as we do.

I look forward to seeing you.

Sincerely,
Hannah Fisher Armitage

Gibbs arrives at the bistro promptly at 4pm. He arrives alone, without guards; but a slight asymmetrical bulge under his jacket suggests he himself may be armed.

Hannah carries a leather purse. Its contents are rather heavy, to judge from the way it hangs from her wrist. She and Richard are accompanied by an unassuming man of medium height who takes a table nearby with a fine view of the entire establishment.

He greets the Armitages in a decidedly more somber tone than he employed at the reception of a few nights ago. "I am glad to see you are taking precautions," he says quietly as they take seats and he surveys their entourage.

"You too," Hannah answers shortly, as her husband seats her. "Now, if you're half as busy as I am you're a very busy man indeed, Mr. O'Neil, so let's keep this short. What's going on?"

Once Hannah is seated, Gibbs takes a seat as well. He rubs the back of his neck as he gathers his thoughts, then leans in and says in a low voice, "Well, it's like this. We -- by which I mean, some of us on the British team -- are concerned that the, er, recent attack" -- he pauses and glances around quickly to make sure no one seems to be taking undue interest in their conversation -- "might be part of a larger plot. Not necessarily just against the British team, either; we've heard rumors of 'accidents' in other space programmes that start to look a bit more suspicious in light of recent events. You, ah, haven't noticed any suspicious activity 'round your way, have you?"

Hannah looks at him as if he'd grown an extra limb. "Take that a bit at a time," she said. "An American's dead. Someone not connected with the Ellipse at all, too. No evidence whatever that his work was disturbed -- no hints that I've heard, anyway. And somehow this all adds up to a plot against the British team? You're going to have to be a little clearer, Mr. O'Neil."

Gibbs looks puzzled for a moment, then grins. "Well, you know, Miss... er, Mrs. Armitage, some of our team were affiliated with the Edison Labs -- but I suppose that's true of a lot of the teams, now, isn't it? But I guess we thought of him as one of our own, what with his having his lab up at York and all."

Hannah makes an indeterminate sound, her eyes still fixed on him.

He hesitates, as if deciding how to continue or how much more to say, but quickly settles on the straightforward approach. "You probably heard about the explosion last year at the British Lunar Ellipse Works. The man it took out was one of Edison's. It may well have been nothing more than an unfortunate accident, one of the risks we take for science, but...." He shakes his head. "When you add up a lot of little accidents, they start to look less accidental. There've been other things, too, things going temporarily missing and such, that could just be regular scientist absent-mindedness or something more. And then there are the rumors of trouble in other countries' programmes. But we're just not sure, which is why we're asking around. If someone is setting out to sabotage our space programmes...." He trails off with a shrug.

Hannah mulls it over, exchanging a long look with Richard. "Here's what I can tell you," she says at last, rather less combatively than before. "We French aren't causing any problems, and we aren't having any that I know of. I haven't heard anything suspicious, either, though I will say I've had too much to do lately to be listening real hard. From what you say -- and I'm sure you've already thought of this -- it sounds an awful lot like somebody had it in for Mr. Edison specifically. In which case, awful as it is to say, maybe this ends it. We can hope, anyway."

Gibbs nods slowly. "I hope you're right. This is a dangerous enough business as it is, without outside interference. I'm glad to hear your team hasn't suffered any undue mishaps -- but do be careful, though, just in case."

He pushes back his chair slightly in preparation to depart. "Thank you so much for your time, Mrs. Armitage, Mr. Armitage" -- he nods to each of them -- "and for the information. If we learn of anything else that might point to a further threat, we will of course let you know."

He smiles, then, big and friendly. "And best of luck to you."