“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.”