CHAPTER ELEVEN

Hunt was still in his cabin a little over an hour later, poring over an English translation of a Ganymean introductory text on the properties of i-space. In the realm beyond the transition boundary represented by the aperture of an entry port, the usual relationships of time and space were reversed: instead of three spatial dimensions and a unidirectional dimension of time, there existed three time dimensions in which it was possible to move freely, and a single spatial direction along which movement could only be one-way. Hunt was still struggling to visualize what that might mean when VISAR informed him that the TWA shuttle from the West Coast had docked. Shortly afterward, Gina called to say that she was aboard the Vishnu. VISAR presented her as a head and shoulders superposed into Hunt’s visual system against the background of the cabin.

“Welcome aboard,” Hunt greeted. “I see you’ve got your Thurien communicator.”

“It’s incredible. Ma Bell’s going to have to learn some new tricks.”

“I didn’t hear from you, so I assumed everything was going smoothly,” Hunt said. In fact, Mitzi, Caldwell’s secretary, had checked discreetly to make sure that Gina was booked on the flight.

“It was a busy couple of days, but it went just like you said. You didn’t warn me that this would be like walking into a kaleidoscope.”

“You get used to things like that with the Thuriens.”

“Who else did you manage to get along, finally?”

“Chris Danchekker, as hoped. And we’ve got two others: Duncan Watt, my deputy from Houston that I mentioned; and the other is one of Chris’s lab people, a girl called Sandy Holmes. She was with us on Ganymede.”

“It didn’t work out too badly after all, then?”

“Not badly at all, considering the time we had. But we can talk about all that when you get here.”

“So where shall I meet you?”

“There’s a lounge with a bar here, where the Terrans’ quarters are. I’ll see you there after you’ve gotten straightened out.”

“How do I get there?”

“VISAR will take care of it.”

“Fine.” The face vanished.

Hunt spent a few more minutes grappling with Ganymean notions of dimensionality, then left the cabin and went along to the mess area. A good crowd had collected since he passed through with Danchekker and the others. He threaded his way through to the bar and ordered a Scotch. The bartender’s name tag told him that the facility was provided by the Best Western hotels group.

“Tell me, Nick, how does your company come to have a bar installed in an alien starship?” Hunt asked as he watched the drink being poured.

“Oh, they figured there’ll be a pretty regular traffic building up, I guess. Probably not too much volume right now, but the publicity’s good.”

“How did they get the franchise?”

“Just asked for it, as far as I know.”

Even with his knowledge of Ganymeans, Hunt was surprised. “As easy as that? Wasn’t there a big scramble with the competitors?”

“Not really. I don’t think anyone else thought of it.”

Hunt moved away, shaking his head. Snatches of conversation from around him caught his ear as he moved through the throng with his drink.

“Think how many people from Earth will be there, say, a year from now. I tell you it’ll be a gold mine… ”

“Ja. Unt der tourists, also dey vill be going. Ve haff plans… ”

“They just need to be told about Jesus.”

“Just checkin’ out the scene there, I guess. Shit, it’s gotta be better’n Cleveland… ”

Hunt found an empty table near a far corner and sat idly watching the company. He wondered how many more of them had also come to be there on no better authority or without any higher dispensation than juist having asked. If that was a foretaste of things to come, then a large part of the meddlesome systems of rules and restrictions by which one half of the world made it its business to approve, regulate, license, and control how the other half lived could collapse in shambles or be laughed out of existence, he reflected.

It was funny, he thought as he watched, how many of the people talked too fast among themselves as they strove to act normally while suppressing what was probably the greatest excitement most of them had ever experienced. Appearances were so important to Terrans. Ganymeans had no defensive compulsion about maintaining images, and readily said how they felt about things. Their origins had given them no concept of domination by appearances, or any instinct for intimidation.

On one of the walls was a large display screen showing a view from the Vishnu of the flock of shuttles, transporters, and observer craft hanging in space around it, with Earth partly illuminated as a crescent in the background. They seemed to be drawing back, which suggested that the departure of the Thurien vessel was not far away.

“VISAR, how long now before we shove off?” Hunt inquired.

“A little under two hours.”

Gina appeared in the doorway shortly afterward. Although it seemed slightly absurd and melodramatic, Hunt hoped she would play along with the act of running into him casually, as an old acquaintance. Some of the people whom Hunt had already identified in the room were among the last he would have wanted forming the notion that she was there at UNSA’s instigation. To his relief, although he could tell from the glance she threw in his direction that she had seen him, she moved away toward the bar and ordered herself a drink.

He rested an elbow on the back of the seat next to him and stared at the mural display screen. A TWA shuttle, probably the one that Gina had arrived on, was puffing away, nudged by brief, intermittent pulses of its auxiliary thrusters. Its red-and-white design stood out vividly against the depthless black.

Then a man in a dark suit stopped on his way past Hunt’s table, holding a glass in each hand. Hunt looked up inquiringly.

“Excuse, please. Is not the Dr. Hunt who goes to Ganymede, yes?” He sounded Eastern European.

“That’s right,” Hunt said.

“I hear through the grapetree that you go to Jevlen for UNSA, and recognize you from picture.”

“News travels fast,” Hunt commented.

The stranger bowed slightly. “Permit to introduce. My name is Alexis Grobyanin, from Volgograd Institute. Psychologist.” He nodded to indicate a mixed group by the far wall. “We are sent by UN to advise Ganymeans on administering Jevlenese. Russians have much experience in handling troubleshooters.”

“I got to know some Russians when the Pseudowar happened. Mikolai Sobroskin was one. Ever come across him?”

“Oh, yes. He is foreign minister now.”

“That’s him.”

“You will be basing there in PAC?” Grobyanin asked.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“We, too. So maybe we see you there later. Excuse now. I must join my friends together.”

“See you around,” Hunt said, nodding. He leaned back again as the Russian moved away, smiling faintly as he recalled why Sobroskin had said Hunt would never have been a success in Russia. “You have too many good ideas,” Sobroskin had said. “You know what you used to get there for a good idea? At least five years.”

Then another voice sounded suddenly from nearby, turning heads in the vicinity. “Vic!” It was Gina’s. “What on earth are you doing here?” Hunt had to force himself to hold a straight face until he had gone through the motions of looking up and about.

“I could say the same about you-except that ‘earth’ is hardly appropriate.”

“You show up in the most unexpected places.”

“Who are you with?” Hunt asked loudly as she came across to his table.

“Just me,” she answered, letting her voice fall to a more natural level. “I’m on a free-lance job. It’s unreal… How about you?”

“Oh, I don’t get any spare time to go gallivanting around. Regular UNSA assignment.” Hunt extended a hand to indicate the far side of the table. “Sit down and tell me all about it. When did you come on board?”