Michaelmas

Nine

“Wake up, Mr Michaelmas,” Domino soon said. “They’re holding a plane for you.”

Michaelmas sat up, his eyes wide. “What’s the situation?”

“Getulio Frontiere is flying Norwood back to Star Control via Cite d’Afrique in a UNAC plane. You’ve spoken to him, and he’s happy to take you along. They’ll leave as soon as you can get there. I have checked you out of the hotel; a bellboy will be here in five minutes, and a car will meet you at the door. The time now is twelve forty-eight.”

“All right. All right.” Michaelmas nodded his head vigorously and pushed himself to his feet. He pulled at his shirt and settled his trousers. He rubbed his face and moved across the room to where his shoes were lying. “Everything’s set up?”

“Frontiere told you he was delighted. It’s a great pleasure to be able to add your programme to the one being prepared by Douglas Campion.”

Michaelmas sat down and began unlacing his shoes. “Campion?” he said, his head lifting.

“It seems that early this afternoon Campion approached Frontiere for a Norwood special interview. Frontiere equivocated, but agreed after visiting here. Presumably it’ll be done on the basis Frontiere tried to suggest to you,”

“Ah, the young man is rising rapidly.”

“By default of his elders.”

“The traditional route. It’s good for us; hot breath on your heels is what keeps you on your toes.” Michaelmas put on the shoes and bent to methodically tease the laces just tight enough, eyelet by eyelet.

“Maybe. But there’s now a longish chain of coincidences. It’s become significant to me that Limberg’s medical corporation has recently made itself a major stockholder in the Euro Voire-Mondial communications company. It’s part of a perfectly typical portfolio; a little shrewder than most, but unexceptionable. The holdings in EVM represent steady investment over several months, and Medlimb Pty doesn’t visibly concern itself at all with EVM’s day-to-day affairs, any more than Limberg drinks extra coffee just because he owns a Colombian finca. But Gervaise is on staff employment with EVM. They’re your recent contractor. And now EVM has signed for this interview of Campion’s.”

Michaelmas tied each lace and tested the knots. “Well, he’s completed his job with his American affiliation.”

“There’s nothing wrong with anything he’s done. But you should know Clementine Gervaise has been assigned as his director. She and an EVM crewman are also on board the plane. The Norwood interview will be conducted en route. Additional shots, and interviews if needed, will be obtained at Star Control this afternoon, and the programme will air at nine p.m. tonight, US Eastern Time.”

“Ah.” Michaelmas stood up. “Well, I can see how Getulio would like that.” The programme would bracket the United States exactly, from evening snack-time in the East to the second or third drink or stick of the day in the West. An audience with something on its tongue is less resistant to insinuation. “How big is this plane?”

“Well, you won’t quite be sitting in each other’s laps, if that’s what you mean.”

“Let me just make sure I’ve got everything out of the bathroom and into the bag before the bellman arrives.”

“There’s another thing about Gervaise.”

“What?”

“She was in a car crash here the year before last. Her husband was killed and she was critically injured. She was out of public view for eleven months. She resumed her career only half a year ago. During the interval, she was at the Limberg Sanatorium. Extensive orthopaedic and cosmetic surgery is said to have been performed. If so, then like most restorative surgery in such cases, the optimum approach is to produce a close return to function and an acceptable appearance. It’s not always possible to make the patient appear the same as before the trauma. There are also consequences to the personality — sometimes socially desirable, sometimes not. In Gervaise’s case there was a need for extensive simultaneous psychotherapy, she says freely. Broadcasting trade journals have remarked that she has many of the mannerisms of the familiar Clementine Gervaise, and her old friends declare that she is essentially the same person behind her somewhat changed face. But her energy and decisiveness have greatly increased. Her career has shown a definite uptrend since her return. She is given much of the credit for EVM’s recent acceleration towards major status. There’s talk she’ll soon be offered a top management position. And several people in broadcasting have made arrangements to be rushed to Berne should they ever have a serious accident.”

Michaelmas stood shaking his head. “Do you suppose I should do the same?”

“O King! Live forever!” Domino said drily. “Here comes the bellman.”

When the elevator reached the lobby, Michaelmas closed his eyes for a moment. Then he opened them and smiled his way out into the world.

He sat in the car with his head down. Domino said to him : “Peking has just done something encouraging.”

“What might that be?”

“It was proposed to the Central Committee by Member Chiang that they form an ad hoc consortium of Asian and African nations, along the lines of the old Third World concept. The object would be to vote the UN into directing UNAC to restructure the flight crew. Thousandman Shih would be shifted from command to the close-approach module to membership in an overall command committee consisting of himself plus Norwood and Papashvilly. This would be presented to UNAC as the most diplomatic way out of its dilemma.”

“Oh my God.”

“The proposal was voted down. Chairman .Sing pointed out what happened the last time the Third World gambit was attempted. He also questioned Member Chiang on what he thought Thousandman Shih should do in the event Colonel Norwood proved not up to his duties in flight. Should Shih join with Major Papashvilly in removing the American from the command committee? How should the news back to earth be worded? Should Shih sign the message above or under Papashvilly? Did not Member Chiang, on reconsideration, feel things were best left for the present to mend themselves as they might?”

Michaelmas grinned. Sing was young for his post, but he was a hard case. When Mao died and left that famous administrative mess, it had created a good school for shrewdness, even if it had been slow in producing results. A day would come when Sing was older; that ought to be allowed for. But later. Later. For the time being, China represented a bright spot on his map. If Sing felt obliged by tradition to rub a little against his borders with India and the USSR, and counterpoise Taiwan’s and Hong Kong’s industry to Japan’s, well, it was equally true that all continents maintained a certain level of volcanic activity as they slid their leading edges along the earth’s mantle. Nevertheless, cities were built and flourished upon those coasts.

He was feeling halfway pleased by all that when Domino said: “Mr Michaelmas, something bad has happened.”

He raised his head abruptly and looked out beyond the windows of the ear. They were proceeding uneventfully toward the airport.

“What?”

“Here is a short feature that’s just been released by the syndication department of EVM.”

Michaelmas rubbed his face and the back of his neck; the heel of his hand massaged surreptitiously behind his right ear. “Proceed,” he said unwillingly, and Domino went to the audio track of a canned topical vignette for sale to stations that lacked feature departments of their own.

“Ask the World,” said a smooth, featureless, voice-over voice. “Today’s viewer question comes from Madame Hertha Wieth of Ulm. She asks: ”What are the major character differences between astronauts and cosmonauts?“ For her provocative and interesting question, Frau Wieth, a mother of four lovely children and the devoted wife of Stationary Engineer Augustus Friedrich Wieth, will receive a complimentary shopping discount card, good for one full calendar year, from the Stroessel Department Stores, serving Ulm and nearby communities honorably for the past twenty years. Stroessel’s invites the world’s custom. And now, for the reply to our viewer’s question, Ask the World turns to Professor Henri Jacquard of the Ecole Psychologique, Marseilles. Professor Jacquard:”

“Merci. Madame Wieth’s question implies a penetrating observation. There are significant psychological differences between the space fliers of the United States of North America and those of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. For example, let us compare Colonel Walter Norwood to Major Pavel Papashvilly.”

Domino said : “Now this is over stock portraits of the two. Then it goes to documentary footage of Norwood walking to church, Norwood addressing a college graduating class, Norwood riding a tour bicycle through a park, Papashvilly ski racing, Papashvilly diving from a high tower, Papashvilly standing in a hospital and talking enthusiastically to a group of amputees, Papashvilly flying a single-place jet, Papashvilly driving at a sports-car track. Bridgehampton; that’s some of your footage, there.”

“Well, at least we’re making money. Go on.”

“Colonel Norwood,” Professor Jacquard said, like most other American astronauts, is a stable person of impeccable middle-class background. He is essentially a youthful professional engineer whose superior physical reflexes have directed him to take active roles as a participant in carefully planned and thoughtfully structured engineering studies. He is an energetic but prudent researcher, inclined by temperament as well as extensive training to proceed always one step at a time. His recent mishap was clearly no fault of his own, and a thousand-to-one misfortune. His invariable technique is to follow a reliable plan which he is always ready to revise appropriately upon discovery of new facts and after sufficient consultation with authoritative superiors. In sum, Colonel Norwood, very like many of his “good buddies” fellow astronauts, is a startlingly European man, belying any provincial notion that North American males are all thinly disguised cowboys.

“On the other side of the coin is the cosmonaut programme of the Soviet Union. In the days of independent flight, Soviet space efforts were marked by unexpected changes of schedule, by significant fast-priority overhauls and in some cases major engineering transformations of supposedly finalized equipment. The Soviet Union remains the only nation which has suffered fatalities as a direct result of flight in space. Some of these were ascribable to equipment failure. Other unplanned mission events, if one is to judge from numerous incidents of exuberant behaviour while in flight, may well be laid to a certain boisterousness, which is not to say recklessness, on the part of cosmonauts over the years. There are those who say that taken as a whole, the Soviet cosmonautics programme was characteristically uncertain of its engineering and insufficiently strict in selecting flight personnel. It is of course an oversimplification to ascribe such qualities to Major Papashvilly simply because he comes to his position as a result of nomination by the Soviet cosmonaut command. But it could not be denied that the Soviet Union would naturally bring forward the individual who seemed most fitted to their standards.”

“Elan,” Professor Jacquard Summed up, “is often a praiseworthy quality. In fact, there are times when nothing else will suffice to gain the day.”

Domino said: “This is over shots now of horsemen jumping pasture fences in the Georgian mountains.”

“From his racial background, Major Papashvilly finds himself hereditarily equipped to concentrate all his powers on a single do-or-die moment,” Jacquard said. “Should such a moment arise, an individual of this type may very well succeed despite sober mathematical odds. One must be fair, however, and point out that individuals of Major Papashvilly’s type are frequently marked by the presence of one or more minor injuries at all times. In some cases, persons who suffer many small discomfitting accidents as a result of their life-styles are said in the educated world to have an ”accident-prone character“. I hope, Madame Wieth, that I have answered your question in a satisfactory manner.”

“Thank you, Professor Henri Jacquard, of the Ecole Psychologique, Marseilles, replying to the question by Madame Hertha Wieth, of Ulm. Tomorrow’s question on Ask the World is ”How does one recognize one’s ideal mate?“ and will be answered by Miss Giselle Montez of the American Warbirds entertainment.”

Michaelmas rubbed his eyes. “EVM is originating this?”

“Yes.”

“Gervaise have anything to do with it?”

“No. There’s a routine memo from the programming director: ”Want astro item today. How about this from my question backfile?“ And there’s a routine memo from an assistant, bucking the top memo down to the assignment desk and adding, ”How about that Jacquard person for this?“ The rest of the process was equally natural. They did rush it out, of course, but you would if you wanted to be topical.”

“It’s the slant that bothers me.”

“Yes.”

“You think they’re tiptoeing up on an anti-Pavel campaign in the media.”

“I had that thought when I reviewed it, yes. Now I am examining Major Papashvilly’s surroundings very carefully. I have found what I believe to be at least one instance of tampering.”

“You have.” Michaelmas sat perfectly still, his hands dangling between his knees, his face stupid. Only his eyes looked alive, and they were focused on God knows what.

“Yes. He’s in his apartment; they want him somewhere out of the public eye. I have been conducting routine surveillance, as instructed. I am in full contact with his building environmental controls and all his input and output connections. Everything appears to be operating routinely. Which now means I must check everything. I am doing so, piece by piece. A control component in his nearest elevator is fraudulent. It appears normal, and functions normally. It responds normally to routine commands. But it’s larger than the normal part; I can detect a temperature variation in its area, because it slightly obstructs normal airflow. I’ve managed to get the building systems to run a little extra current through it, and I find its resistance significantly higher than specification.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. But the extra portions, whatever they are, do not broadcast, and are not wired into anything I can locate. I think it is a wireless-operated device of some kind, designed to be activated ok signal from some source which cannot be directly located until it goes on the air. Since I don’t know the component, I have no means of blocking that signal, whatever it is and whatever it might make that component do.”

“And so?”

“Now I’m testing everything at or near the Star Control complex that has to do with safety, beginning with things that might affect Major Papashvilly. I—ah, yes, here’s another. Last week, a routine change was made in the power-supply divider of his personal car. The old one had reached the end of its guarantee period. But the new one never came from dealer or jobber stock. It’s in there, because the car has drawn power several times since the change was logged. But I have rechecked every inventory record at every point between the car and the manufacturer’s work order for producing spares, and the count is off. Papashvilly has something in his vehicle that looks like a correct spare and acts like a correct spare, or Star Control’s personnel garagemen would have noticed. But it was never manufactured at any known point, and I don’t know what else it might be able to do besides ration electrons. So that’s two, and I’m still checking.”

“All because EVM says Russkis are headbreakers.”

“And because Cikoumas et Cie recently opened a Cité d’Afrique branch. The managing director is Konstantinos Cikoumas, a younger brother, who is very energetic in signing wholesale date contracts, and who also has spent his time vigorously making friendships and acquaintances, to say nothing of casual contacts. In his few African months, so close to Star Control, Kosta Cikoumas has become personally known to thousands, and is seen everywhere. He is, you should know, a supplier to Star Control’s various restaurants and its staff cafeterias. His trucks run back and forth, and his employees are up and down the elevators frequently with their boxes and bales. That’s what started me looking, really. I would never have found these things otherwise — Oh, damn, here’s something odd about a fire-door mechanism! These people are resourceful. None of these differences feel large enough to be visible on routine inspection. Every one of them is passive until it’s needed, and I would guess that the extra features probably burn after use. Every one of them is in position to affect a life-threatening situation. God damn. They almost smoked all of this past me.”

“But you put two and two together.”

“That’s right. I’m developing intuition. Satisfied?”

“Pleased.”

“Well, it may give you extra joy to know that I’ve decided you’re not crazy after all.”

“Oh, have you been thinking that?”

“From Day One,” Domino said.

“From last night?”

“No. From Day One. Well, now—how about this? Cikoumas et Cie has never purchased any electronic components, or anything from which modern electronics can be manufactured, that I can’t account for. Not in Europe, not in Africa. Nothing. So where do they get them?”

“Suppose it’s not Cikoumas.”

“Please,” Domino said. “It has to be Cikoumas. My intuitions are never wrong.”

“What are you doing to protect Papashvilly now?” Michaelmas asked after a pause.

“I have failed the circuits on his apartment door. He is locked in, and trouble is locked out. Should he discover this, I will modify any call he makes to Building Maintenance. I will open that door only to people I’m sure are okay, and I will extend similar methods to cover them and him.”

“That can only be a short-term measure.”

“Granted. We’ll have to crack this soon. But it’s a measure, and I’ve taken it. What else can I do?”

Michaelmas sat and watched the car progress toward the airport. What else could he do?

The interior of the UNAC executive aircraft featured two short rows of double seats, a rear lounge, and a private cabin forward. It was all done in muted blues and silver tones, with the UN flag and the UNAC crest in sculpted silver metal on the lounge partition above the bar. Michaelmas came up the lowered stairs with a gateman carrying his bag, and as soon as he was aboard the cabin attendant swung the door shut. The engines whined up. “Welcome aboard, Mr Michaelmas,” the attendant said. “Signor Frontiere is waiting for you in the office.”

“Thank you.” Michaelmas glanced up the aisle. The seats were about half full of various people, many of whom he recognized as UNAC press relations staff. Norwood, Campion, a pair of aides, and Clementine Gervaise were chatting easily in the lounge. Michaelmas stepped quickly through the cabin door. Frontiere looked up from a seat in one corner. The room was laid out like a small parlour, for easy conversation. “It’s nice to have you with us, Laurent,” he said, waving toward an adjacent seat. “Please. As soon as you fasten your belt, we can be away.”

“Yes, of course.” He settled in, and the brakes came off almost at the same instant. The plane taxied briskly away from the gate pad, swung sharply on to the runway, and plunged into its takeoff roll. Michaelmas peered interestedly through the side window, watching parked aircraft and service vehicles flash by beyond the almost perfectly non-reflecting dull black wing, until he felt the thump of the landing gear retracting and saw the last few checker-painted outbuildings at the end of the runway drifting backward below him. The plane climbed steeply away from Berne, arcing over the tops of the mountains. Michaelmas exhaled softly and leaned back. He arranged

Domino’s terminal against his thigh. “Well, Getulio! I see Douglas Campion is well established on board.”

“Ah, yes, he is being entertained in the lounge. He will be shooting an interview with Norwood here, and I of course will have to be present. But I thought, for the first few minutes of our journey…” He reached into an ice bucket fixed beside him, chose two chilled glasses, and poured Lambrusco. “It does no harm, and it may be of value.” He lifted his glass to Michaelmas. “A domani.”

So now we’re supposed to be friends again. Well, we are —of course we are. Michaelmas raised his glass. “Alle ragazze.”

“Alla vittoria.”

They smiled at each other. “You understand I must give this Campion precedence ?”

“And why not? He came to you with a firm offer after I had equivocated.”

“Do you know him?”

“I met him last night for the first time. His reputation is good.”

“His experience is light. But he did quite well at the press conference. And he has this star, Gervaise, for a director. Also, EVM does very good production; I am told your sequence from the sanatorium was very much up to your standards. They have a brand-new Macht Dirigent computer and an ultramodern editing programme that only CBS and Funkbeobachter also have as yet. Their managers have not been afraid to spend money, and they appear wise. It makes good points for the young man.” Frontiere smiled. “And it gives me some assurance of quality.”

“And you have assurances from him?”

Frontiere’s upper lip was fleetingly nipped between his teeth. He nodded, his eyes downcast. Oh, yes, Michaelmas thought, Getulio Frontiere does not bring me in here, and apologize for what is about to be done, unless something firm has been promised his client.

“Campion has a viable proposition,” Frontiere said. “Even though Colonel Norwood may have appeared healthy and alert at the sanatorium, after such a radical accident extensive tests must be performed. And even after that, who can promise no subtle injuries might be waiting to emerge under mission stress? But this is a difficult thing to explain to the public without seeming to demean Norwood. I should explain to you, Laurent,” Frontiere said gently, “that it was Campion who pointed this out to me. He feels it is his duty to interview Norwood with dignity, but in a thorough manner so that this aspect of the situation emerges in Norwood’s own responses. He is concerned, he says, that public pressure not force a situation where both Norwood and this weighty mission might be jeopardized. It is only for this reason that this rising young little-known newsman wishes to make the first in-depth exclusive interview with the resurrected hero. He is very civic-minded, your colleague.”

Michaelmas frowned. “You’re instructing Norwood to act in conformity with this line?”

Frontiere shook his head. “How can I do that? Issue an instruction to manage the news? If someone protested, or even remembered it afterwards, what would all our careers be worth? No,” Frontiere said, “we simply trust to Campion’s ability to uncover his truth for himself.” He sipped the wine. “This is very good,” he murmured.

“I remember we would have it with crayfish,” Michaelmas concurred, “on the Viti sea terrace, and watch the girls in little motorboats going out to the yacht parties.”

“In the days when we were younger.”

Michaelmas wondered how thoroughly Campion had thought his action through. It was very delicate, for someone nurturing himself toward prominence, to be quite so much of a volunteer. Word got out quickly; the beginnings of careers were when appraisals were swapped most freely.

To be courtly was one thing; to be considered fast and loose was another.

But it was late to be thinking in terms of advice for Campion. And what sort of advice did he have for Getulio Frontiere on this sad occasion? Choose another career in your youth?

“Well, Getulio, I think you’re still some years from turning into a toothless old man with his hands between his knees.”

“And you. I see the teeth,” Frontiere said, surprising Michaelmas a little. “I have Papashvilly ready and waiting for you at Star Control. You have a crew already hired for the interview, I suppose? Good, they will be met and made comfortable pending your arrival, if necessary. Sakal and others will interrupt all but the most urgent business to speak to you at your convenience. I only regret there will not be time on this flight for you to more than begin with Norwood after Campion is done.”

“I can always get whatever I need from him at Star Control. You’ve been very courteous and thoughtful, Getulio. And now I’ll just amuse myself back there and let you get on with your responsibilities.”

All protocol satisfied, he undid his seatbelt and rose to his feet. Frontiere rose with him, shaking his hand like an American. Interesting. It was interesting. They were a little afraid of him. And well they ought to be: a person in his position could do immense things. But he had never thought his awareness of it could be discerned. He had spent his career perfecting a manner of an entirely different kind.

He smiled at Getulio again and stepped out of the compartment, turning to move up the aisle toward the back of the plane. And yet of course one does not construct an exterior unless one is aware the interior is perhaps a little too true. Here were Norwood, Campion, and Clementine coming toward him from the lounge. Clementine leaned to speak over the shoulder of a seat, and a technician with hand-held apparatus rose and joined them. They all passed him in the narrow aisle. “Nice to meet you again,” Campion said, closed his jaw, and was gone toward the cabin. “Hey, there,” Norwood said. Clementine smiled. “Perhaps later?” she murmured as she passed. They had all been watching the cabin door without seeming to. Waiting on him. Only the technician walked by him without glancing, silently, with the toes-down step of a performer on high wires, his grace automatic, his skills coming to life within him, his face consequently reflecting nothing not his own. Of them all, he was the most pure.

Michaelmas went up toward the lounge, holding the terminal in one hand to keep it from bouncing against things. He nodded and chatted as the young press aides renewed or established acquaintances and saw to it he had a comfortable seat and a cup of coffee. After a few minutes they apparently saw he wanted to be alone, and went away one by one. He sat looking out the window at the mountains far below, and the blue sky and the Mediterranean coast beginning to resolve itself as far as Toulon. Then the Pyrenees emerged like a row of knuckles far beyond as the plane reached maximum altitude and split the air just north of Corsica. Try as he might, he had not been able to see anyone’s handiwork in her face.

“Mr Michaelmas,” Domino said in his ear.

“Uh-huh.”

“Viola Hanrassy has postponed her state chairman meeting. Her information officer receipted the Cikoumas package fifteen minutes ago.”

Michaelmas’s lips thinned. “What’s she doing?”

“Too soon to tell. Her secretary called her Washington manager at home and instructed him to be at the US Always office there directly for possible phone calls. He lives in College Park and should be there in twenty minutes.

His local time is seven twenty-three am. That’s all I have on it so far.”

“Anything else pertinent?”

“I’m still working on Papashvilly’s defence. He’s surrounded by implanted devices! And I have something else you’ll have to hear shortly. Wait two.”

“What’s the Watson obit status?”

He waited.

“Domino —”

“We’ve had no luck, Mr Michaelmas.”

He straightened in the seat. “What do you mean?”

“I… can’t place it.”

“You can’t place an obituary for Melvin Watson.” He searched his mind for a convincer. “By Laurent Michaelmas.”

“I’m—sorry.” The voice in his skull was soft. “You know, it really isn’t very probable someone would want to sponsor an obituary. I asked in a great many places. Did you know the principal human reason for seeking corporate employment is awareness of death? And the principal motivation for decision-making is its denial?” Domino paused. “After reaching that determination, I stopped looking for sponsors and approached a number of the media. They might have underwritten the time themselves, if it had been some other subject. One or two appeared to consider it, but they couldn’t find a slot open on their time schedules.”

“Yes,” Michaelmas gradually said. And of course, for the media it wasn’t just a case of three unsold minutes and two minutes of house promo spots. It was making room for the piece by cancelling five minutes that had already been sold. It wasn’t very reasonable to expect someone to go through that degree of complication. “Watson’s frequent sponsors wouldn’t go for it ?”

“Well, it’s very late in the fiscal year, Mr Michaelmas. All the time-buying budgets are very close to bottom.”

“What about Watson’s network?”

“They’re having a few words read by the anchorman on the regular news shows. Many of the networks are doing that, of course.”

Michaelmas looked out the window and bounced his palms on the ends of his armrests. “What will five minutes' time cost us?”

“That’s not something you should ever do for any reason,” Domino said quickly. “You’re a seller, never a buyer—”

“How comforting to have an incorruptible business manager.”

“—and in any case the time isn’t available.”

Michaelmas shook his head, neck bent. “Damn it, isn’t there anything?”

“We can get time on a local channel in Mrs Watson’s community. At least she and his children will be able to see what you thought of him.”

He settled back in the seat, his eyes closing against the glare while the plane dipped the offside wing, banked left, and took up a place on the MARS-D’AF route running southeastward from Marseilles.

“No. It wasn’t written for them.” Good Lord! It was one thing to have them see it build to that last shot when they could know it was making Horse real to the outside world. It was entirely different to have such a thing done essentially in private. “Forget it. Thank you for trying.” He rubbed his face.

“I am sorry,” Domino said. “It was a good piece of work.”

“Well, one does these things, of course, in the knowledge that good work is appreciated and good workers are honoured in memory.” Michaelmas turned toward the nearest UNAC aide. “I wonder if there’s another cup of coffee,” he said. The aide got immediately to his feet, happy to be of help.

Time passed briefly. “Mr Michaelmas,” Domino said.

“Yes?”

“I have that new item I was working on.”

“All right,” he said listlessly.

“An EVM crew in the United States is interviewing Will Gately. His remarks will be edited into the footage Campion is getting now.”

“Has Gately gotten to his office already?”

“He’s jogging to work. His morning exercise. The crew is tracking him through Rock Greek Road. But he has had a phone call at home from Viola Hanrassy.”

Michaelmas’s lips pinched. “Is he another one of hers?”

“No. It seems unnecessary. She simply addressed him as Mr Secretary and asked him if he’d be in his office later this morning. She said she appreciated his feeling of patriotic pride in Norwood’s return, and hoped he’d have time to take a longer call from her later. I think it’s fair to assume she plans to tell him something about astronautics.”

Michaelmas sucked his teeth. “Does she, do you think?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Michaelmas sat up a little straighter. “Are you?” His fingertips drummed on the armrests. “Her moves today look like it, don’t they? Well—never mind that for now. What’s Willy saying to the press?”

“Here’s what he said a few minutes ago.” There was a slight change in the sound quality, and Michaelmas could hear soft-shod footfalls and regular breathing as the man loped along the cinder path. He kept himself in shape; he was a wiry, flat-bellied biomechanism. His tireless search for a foolproof industrial management job had ended only in a government appointment, but it had not impaired his ability to count cadence. He chuffed along as if daring John Henry to ever whup him down.

“Mr Secretary,” the EVM string interviewer said, “what’s your reaction to the news Colonel Norwood will soon be visiting the United States?”

“Be nice to see him, of course. The President’ll have a dinner for him. Maybe squeeze in .. parade or two. Be nice. I have to wonder though. Every day he’s here, that’s a day he can’t train.” The sound of muffled footsteps changed momentarily to a drumming—Gately had apparently crossed a wooden footbridge over one of the ravines — and then resumed.

The interviewer had to be in a car roughly paralleling the jogging path. It was impossible to imagine him and his camera operator running along beside Gately. “Sir, what do you mean by your reference to training? Do you have information that Colonel Norwood’s been given a specific assignment?”

“He has an assignment, doesn’t he? He’s command pilot of the Outer Planets expedition. Ought to have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Let me make sure we understand,” the interviewer said. “Is it your expectation that Colonel Norwood will resume his duties with the expeditionary team?”

“He damn well could, couldn’t he? He’s sharp. He’s the best. Looked bright as a button this morning, didn’t he?”

“Well, let me ask this: Has the UNAC informed you Colonel Norwood is being reinstated ?”

A bit of wild sound drifted by—a passing car, birds twittering, brook water rilling over stones. Michaelmas guessed the technicians were letting Gately’s facial expression carry the first syllables of his response. “—they’ve informed me! Why should they inform me?”

“Are you saying, sir, that you’re upset at UNAC’s autonomy?”

The furious pumping picked up speed. The man was nearly in a full-out sprint. The long legs would be scissoring; the shoulders would be thrusting forward, one-two, one-two, in the sodden sweatshirt, freckles standing out boldly against the stretched pallor over his cheekbones, the eyes slitted with concentration.

“This administration… is committed… to the UN… charter. President Westrum… is behind… UNAC… all the way. That’s our set… policy. UNAC has… no frontiers. My job… is to run… just enough… test pilot training… for US servicemen… and qualified civilians. Then UNAC takes… what it wants…”

Michaelmas frowned. It was no particular secret that Theron Westrum had given Gately his appointment for purely political reasons. It had gained him some support -or rather, mitigated some nonsupport - in Southern California, Georgia, and Texas, where they hoped to take more of their aerospace down to the bank every Friday night. It was also no particular secret that Gately would rather have had the job from almost anyone else not of Westrum’s party or colour. But as long as Gately continued to talk anti-UNAC roundabout while lacking even the first idea of how to undermine Westrum’s policies, it was a marriage made in heaven.

Why was Domino displaying this? It was a competently done segment, useful and necessary for balance against everything Campion was marshalling on UNAC’s side of things. Set in the sort of context, the segment would have almost minimal effect on the audience but was a demonstrable attempt at fairness.

And once again, why was Campion playing UNAC’s game? He was tough, proficient, and young. Junk moves were for clapped-out farts with little else to do and not much time left to regret it.

The stringer’s voice in the background had lost its On the Air edge and become that of a man putting a tag memo on the end of a piece of raw footage. “Well, okay, you saw him wave us off and head on for his office. He’s just not going to get in any deeper right this minute. But that’s a very angry man. One wrong word from the Russkis or UNAC or even Westrum might tip him over. I think I ought to hang around his office for a while in case he blurts something.”

“Uh, DC, good idea,” said the flat, faraway voice of EVM’s editorial director, using intercom bandwidth to save money. “We share your hunch. Look out for something from US Always. They’ve been pretty quiet so far. Matter of fact, I think what we’ll do now is go tickle her up and see what she thinks. Stand by for an advisory on that. And thank you for this shot; nice going. Paris out.” The air went dead.

“That was five minutes ago,” Domino said. “Then EVM contacted US Always for an interview with Hanrassy. Her information people said she wanted to wait a while in case of further developments, but she’d be available by nine, Central US time. That’s two hours and forty-seven minutes from now.”

“A clear pattern seems to be emerging,” Michaelmas said equably.

“Damn right. But that’s not the pattern I’m showing you.”

“Oh?”

“Here. This is ten minutes ago. Campion’s interview technique has been to calmly move from point to point of the Norwood story, collecting answers which will be edited for sequence and time. Norwood is doing the normal amount of lip-licking, and from time to time he looks sideward to Frontiere. There’s no question that any editing programme worthy of the name could turn him into a semi-invalid gamely concealing his doubts. On the other hand, it could cut all that and make him sharp as the end of a pin.”

“Colonel Norwood,” Campion’s voice said, “I’d like to follow up on that for just a moment. Now, you’ve just told us your flight was essentially routine until just before the explosion. But obviously you had some warning. Even an astronaut’s reflexes need a little time to get him into escape mode. Could you expand on that a little? What sort of warning did you have, and how much before the explosion did it come ?”

Frontiere’s voice broke in. “I think perhaps that is not something you should go into at this time, Mr Campion.”

“Why not?”

“It is simply something we ought not to discuss at this time.”

“I’d have to know more about that before I decided to drop the question.”

“Mr Campion, with all respect, I must insist. Now, please back up your recording and erase that question.”

There was a brief silence. Campion came in speaking slowly. “Or else our arrangement is at an end?”

Frontiere paused. “I wish you had not brought our discussion to such a juncture.”

Campion abruptly said : “Some day you’ll have to explain this to me. All right. Okay, crew, let’s roll it back to where I asked Walt about his flight path and the last word of his answer was ”sea“, I figure a reaction shot of me, and then I frame my next question and the out-take is completely tracked over, right? That seem good to you, Clementine? Okay, Luis, we rolling back?”

Clementine’s voice came in on the director trade. “Roll to ”eee“. Synch. Head Campion. Roll. And.”

“That’s it,” Domino said.

“That’s what?” Michaelmas said. “Frontiere hasn’t chosen to let in Campion on the telemetry sender story. Can you blame him?”

“Not my point. The unit they’re using does not simply feed the director’s tracking tape. It also sends direct to the EVM editing computer in Paris. No erasure took place there. The segment is already edited into the rough cut of the final broadcast. Including Norwood’s sudden side glance to Frontiere, Frontiere’s upset manner, and all.”

Michaelmas turned his head sharply toward the window, hiding his expression in the sky. Far ahead on the right forward quarter he could see Cap Bon sliding very slowly toward the wingtip, and Tunis a white speck stabbing at his eyes in the early afternoon sun.

“He’s young. It’s possible he doesn’t fully understand the equipment. Perhaps he thinks he did erase. It’s not necessary for… for any of them to know the exact nature of the equipment.”

“Possibly. But Campion’s contract with EVM specifies copy for simultaneous editing. He relinquished pre-editorial rights. In return for minimizing their production lag, he retains fact rights; he can use the same material as the basis for his own editions of byline book, cartridge, disc, or any other single-user package form known or to be developed during the term of copyright. And I assure you he went over every clause with EVM. He has a head for business.”

“You’re absolutely sure?”

“I went over it right behind him. I like to keep up with what sort of contracts are being written in our field.”

“So there’s no doubt he was deliberately lying to Getulio.”

“None at all, Mr Michaelmas. I’d say Campion’s intention all along was to provoke something like this. He’s a newsman. He smelled it out that UNAC was hiding something. He went fishing for it, and found it. When the programme runs tonight, the world will know UNAC is attempting to conceal something about the shuttle accident. And of course they’ll know the name of enterprising Douglas Campion.”

Michaelmas put his left fist inside his cupped right hand and stared sightlessly. He patted his knuckles into his palm.

“Did EVM come to him?”

“No. They were his last shot. He shopped around the US networks first. But all he’d tell anyone before signing a contract was that he thought he could get a Norwood exclusive and that he wanted to retain most of the ancillary rights. The responses he got were pretty low compared to his asking price. Then EVM picked him up. Gervaise filed an advisory to Paris. She said they’d had a conversation, and he was a good bet.”

“What time was that?”

“Twelve-twenty. She’d dropped you at your hotel and apparently went straight back to hers to check out. He was waiting in the hotel, hoping she’d talk to him. He’d left a message about it for her at the desk. Obviously she and he talked. She called Paris, and then EVM’s legal people called him to thrash out the contract. Everything on record is just straight business regarding quote an interview with Walter Norwood endquote.”

“There was no prior agreement on slant?”

“Why should there be one? Gervaise vouched for him, and she’s respected. They take what he gives them, splice in supporting matter as it comes, and the slant develops itself. It’s a hot subject, a good crew on it, as of a few minutes ago, no doubt in the world that they’re on to something that could become notorious as hell. It’s a world-class performance - a sure Pulitzer for Campion plus a dozen industry awards for the crew. It’s a Nobel Laureate contender for EVM. A likely winner if the year stays slow for news.”

“Well,” Michaelmas said, “I suppose a man could lie to his contact for all that.”

He had once seen a Chinese acrobat stack straight chairs one atop the other, balancing the rear two legs of each chair atop the backrest of the one below. The bottom chair had rested on four overturned water tumblers. The acrobat had built the stack chair by chair, while standing on each topmost chair. When the stack was twelve chairs high, the acrobat did a one-hand stand on the back of the topmost chair while rotating hoops at his ankles and free wrist. Michaelmas thought of the acrobat now, seeing him with the face of Douglas Campion.