Baxter held out his hands, then dropped them. "Yes."
"And you are in top physical shape?"
Baxter nodded again. "But, Colonel — "
The colonel held up a hand. "Captain, you will be surprised how fast we can check you out in the XK-17 — "
"Colonel!" Baxter was startled by the loudness of his own voice. "Colonel, there must be at least five pilots I can name who are checked out on the Python, and who are on the base right now."
General Stayer gave a curt wave of his hand at the Colonel. "Let's cut through the crap. Baxter, you're it. None of those pilots are trained in public relations. You are."
"What about whatsisface? The astronaut in the Senate?"
Stayer shook his head. "Too old, his tickets aren't up to date, and we can't locate him. He's somewhere in Canada right now, fishing." The general leaned forward and pointed a finger at Baxter's throat. "You are the closest thing to a flying diplomat that we can get off the ground within the next twenty-four hours, because the Python is the only vehicle ready to go right now."
The Secretary of Defense moved his head a fraction of an inch, signaling his desire to speak. "If I may, General?"
"Of course, Mr. Secretary."
The secretary, a blown-dry glory in four-hundred-dollar pin stripes, let his gaze wander around the room as he talked. "Captain Baxter, I realize you are being asked to perform a difficult task, but we have little choice. The…"he waved a hand up in the air "… aliens, or whatever they are, made a broadband contact. In other words, their invitation was extended to whomsoever can make it up there. The Russians, of course, will get there, but—" he held up a finger, "it will take them at least three days to get off the ground. Am I making myself clear?"
Baxter folded his hands over his belly and nodded. "Yes, Mr. Secretary."
The secretary nodded. "Good. While you are there, you will be in constant touch with the Department of State, and with the White House. There will always be someone with whom you can consult on any matter."
Baxter nodded and smiled. "This is what I mean, Mr. Secretary. If all I'm supposed to do is carry a radio for the State Department, why not use another—qualified—pilot? I don't see what particular use my training in public relations will be."
The secretary nodded. "You must know the value in eyeball-to-eyeball negotiations, Captain. When you deal with groups and committees on behalf of the Air Force, do you telephone or appear in person?"
Baxter nodded, noting the chains being locked in place. "And what am I supposed to attempt to accomplish?"
"Your meaning?"
"Mr. Secretary, the only purpose of public relations, or diplomacy for that matter, is to get people to do things that they would normally not do. If everyone did what we wanted, there would be no need for PR types or diplomats. Now, just what is it that I am supposed to get them to do?"
The secretary frowned. "I don't know."
"You don't know!"
"Captain, if these beings are what they say they are —inhabitants of Earth from over seventy million years ago —it is possible that they are thinking of reclaiming the planet for themselves. In such a case, discourage them." The secretary raised his eyebrows and held out his hands. "However, they may be from another solar system and bent on conquering Earth. Then, perhaps, in either case, it may prove beneficial to have them on our side. They are obviously more advanced… but, then again, it might be better to sic them on the Russians." The secretary dropped his hands into his lap. "All I can say, Baxter, is look out for the interests of your country, and the interests of your planet and the human race, while you're at it."
An hour later, as two technicians stood waiting to help him into his pressure suit, Baxter remembered that he had forgotten to telephone Boxman about the Boxman Spring account. He sat down on a cold metal bench and untied his shoes. Security on the base was locked up tighter than a million uninflated dollars, and no calls allowed. Deb! I can't call her! She'll kill me! He removed his red and yellow Argyle sock and held it in his hand. It had a hole in it. I guess it's just going to be one of those days.
Lothas studied the circle of eight faces seated around the polished black table in the half-light of the governor's conference compartment, aft of the control center. Deayl brushed a clawed hand over his muzzle, then let the hand drop to the surface of the table. "Lothas, it is still my mind that we wait no longer. The hue-muns are divided, and they have nothing that can protect them against the Power. We can brush them aside."
Lothas examined the other faces. "How many of you have this mind?" Four clawed hands went forward toward the center of the table. "The mind that counsels us to wait, then, still prevails."
Deayl put two fists on the table and turned to the ones who had not voted with him. "After seventy million cycles traveling from and to our home, we are to sit here polishing our claws? We are so close!"
Lothas noted that two who had voted with him were wavering. The desire to go home was strong, and Deayl's argument appealed to that desire. The desire twisted with no less strength in Lothas, but he held out his hands. "Our knowledge of the hue-muns is but pieces —what they are, and what they can do. The hue-muns' knowledge of us is even less —what we are, and what we can do." He lowered his hands to the table. "We must also grant that the sense of right we feel in our cause is shared by the hue-muns in their cause. They grew to dominate and control Nitola, much as we did. By what we acknowledge to be the right—"
"No!" Deayl crossed his wrists. All could hear the angry swishing of his tail across the deck. "We do not know that. What if the hue-muns are from another planet? What if they invaded our home planet, and now simply stand to defend their conquest?"
Lothas nodded. "The hue-muns must have like suspicions about us, Deayl. After all, they are on the planet; we are the ones in space ships." He brought his hands together. "We have much to learn about each other, if we are to avoid error." Lothas looked around the table and stopped on Deayl. "Do you wish another vote?"
Deayl leaned against his back rest. "No. Not at the present."
Medp entered the compartment, bowed toward those seated at the table, then turned toward Lothas. "We have just been told that the hue-muns' representative has been launched. Other hue-muns, speaking the Russian, have said that the true representative will be launched in three days, and that we should refuse to see the other."
Lothas looked at the table top, then raised his glance and looked at Deayl. "We do have much to learn. Deayl, I will leave to you the task of instructing our visitor in what we can do. If hue-muns understand the Power, they will understand our power."
"Yes, Lothas."
Lothas stood and bowed toward the ones seated at the table. The others stood and bowed in return. Lothas turned toward the control center and entered, Medp at his side. "Medp, do you have contact with the representative?"
"Yes. He is called Captaincarlbaxter."
Lothas nodded. "Is everything in readiness?"
"Yes. It will take him approximately a tenth of a cycle to come into safe power range."
Lothas tucked his tail between the seat and backrest of a chair before a monitor and sat down. He lifted his head and looked at Medp. "Deayl will sway some minds before the council sits again."
Medp nodded and pointed at the monitor. Nitola hung blue-white in the blackness of space. "The feeling is very strong, Lothas. All of us can see, and… we have been away for a very long time."
Lothas turned toward the monitor, studied once more the beautiful planet, then nodded. "Have you assembled enough information to comprehend this squabble and division among the hue-muns?"
Medp shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "We can see a little. We have determined from their transmissions, and our sensor surveys support this, that there are over four billion hue-muns belonging to the various tribes."