"Gregg never fails us. Look, if you hear more from this guy, which I've a feeling you will, hold him off until I've thought of how to handle it, would you?"
"Will do. How's everything else there? Has cousin Mildred driven Chris nuts yet?"
"Pretty good. We had another object materialize. I've sent through a report. Actually, you'd be surprised. Mildred is turning out to be a great hit with the Thuriens. She's possibly the best ambassador we could have picked to send. Chris doesn't quite believe it either. But he isn't complaining."
"Wow! Sounds fascinating. I can't wait for you to tell me all about it. But right now I have to go. I'll watch out for your name on the Oscar list."
"Don't hold your breath. Talk to you again soon, Mitzi. Say hi to Gregg. Take care."
Hunt leaned back in his chair and stared for a minute or two at the wall screen, which was showing some results of VISAR's decoherence analyses superposed on a background of an alien undersea scene somewhere. Danchekker, who had been at his desk earlier, had gone out of the office while Hunt was talking, leaving him on his own for the moment. On impulse, he activated VISAR again.
"Do you have a number for Arty Strang at Premier Productions?"
"Of course."
"What's the time there?"
"Almost three in the afternoon, Tuesday."
"See if you can raise him for me, would you?"
Perhaps what they had in mind was some kind of science documentary, Hunt reflected. Hosting something like that would be appealingly different from the regular workaday routine, he had to admit. Even if he did say so himself, he thought he could do a much better job than many of the overrated celebrity names whose efforts he had witnessed. And given some say in the content and presentation-which his position in UNSA would surely give him some leverage to negotiate-it could go a long way toward correcting some of the deluge of nonsense that the world had been drowning in.
A window appeared, framing the upper view of a heavy-set man in his mid-to-late thirties, perhaps, with a pink complexion and collar-length blond hair, wearing a bright yellow jacket with a red shirt collar turned over the lapel, and sunglasses. Hunt shifted his field of view to bring the wall around as background. "Dr. Hunt!" The face creased into a rubbery smile.
"No less."
"Fantastic!"
"My office at Goddard says you were trying to contact me."
"That's right." Strang's image peered out questioningly for a moment. "Just to make sure I've got this straight. Right now, as we speak, you're talking to me from some other star out there, that right?"
"The Thuriens' home star, twenty light-years away," Hunt confirmed.
"Unbelievable! You know, they used to tell us that could never happen. I never believed it. They said that about too many things, and now they happen every day and nobody even notices. But it was all there in the old movies from way back. Did you ever see one called Starward Imperative? Kevin Bayland at his best, before he went into all the weirdo stuff. That was where Martha Earle first got noticed."
"I can't say I did…" Hunt waited for a moment, then hazarded, "I, ah, was told you had some kind of proposition in mind."
"This is you, I suppose? Not one of these doubles of yours that comes zipping in and out of other universes or whatever?"
"What?…" Hunt brought a hand up to his brow. How did one handle this kind of thing? "I'm not sure I-"
The pudgy features contorted into a grin again. "Just a joke. But it's more than a joke really. That's what we want to make the movie about."
"What is?"
"You! Your story. I mean, come on, don't you know you're a big name these days? Regular on the shows; pieces in all the mags. And all to do with the kind of stuff that everybody's interested in and kids are wild about: The mummy on the Moon; real starships and aliens; people inside a computer. And now this latest!… It's a natural that's screaming out to be made. It beats me why nobody's done it yet. It'll be the blockbuster of years."
"Well, that's an interesting thought, I suppose…"
"Trust me. I know the business. It's got all the potential. But to really make it fly, we're gonna give that something-extra zip, know what I mean? We want you in it, playing yourself."
Hunt shook his head as if to clear it. Strang raised a hand in the manner of forestalling an interruption.
"We've got the angles figured. Some of those Jev lines about our guys having all that military out there at Ganymede when the Ganymeans show up are dynamite. And it's already put together. All we have to do is weave it in." He was talking about the faked surveillance accounts that the Jevlenese had fed to the Thuriens. This was already getting insane. "We've got a couple of writers working on some action scenes that make them into great paranoids to begin with-but only until they come around to realizing that we're only defending ourselves and underneath it Earth guys are really okay. Then the act comes together. It needs more sex too. We want to give you a real dazzler as a partner, to work in some good hot scenes. Somebody like Kelly Heyne, maybe. Does that sound good? She plays Danchekker. We make it a female role. The balance is perfect, and the opportunities for-"
Hunt shook his head. "No. I'm flattered and all that, but I don't think it's my kind of line."
Strang showed both palms in a conciliatory gesture. "Okay, well I kinda figured that might be the case. But we'd still be interested in having you on board as an advisory consultant. I mean, we want to make sure we get everything right, right?"
Hunt almost choked. "Really… Thanks again, but I do have more than enough to do here as it is."
"What kind of money do they pay you?" Strang inquired.
"Enough to get by."
"Whatever it is, we'll double it."
"You don't seem to understand, I don't need it. I wouldn't have the time to make use of it," Hunt said.
Strang had to stop and think about that one. His script evidently didn't allow for such a possibility. "What do you mean? How can anyone not need it?" he asked finally. "It's what it's all about, isn't it?"
"Is it? What what's all about?"
Strang seemed momentarily at a loss, as if he were being asked to explain the obvious. He made a face and threw up his hands briefly. "Everything… The works. The ball of wax. I mean, it's the thing that get's you what you want, right?"
"No, Arty, you've got it backward. The only use it has is for buying junk I don't need. Not having to waste time making it gets me what I want."
"I don't getcha. What kind of sense is that supposed to make?"
Hunt made as if to reply, then changed his mind and shook his head wearily. "Forget it," he replied. "It could be just being out here for a while. Maybe I'm starting to think like an alien."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mildred joined Hunt and Danchekker at breakfast in the Waldorf. The others of the group hadn't put in an appearance yet. She was quite pleased with the way she had been keeping to her resolution of finding her own way around and not being a burden to Christian by distracting him from his work. At the same time, there was no reason to ostracize herself from the others socially.
"I hear you've got your machine out there working-MP2, or whatever you call it… Thank you so much. Oh, it looks delicious! What kind of bread is that?" Her last words were directed at the young Thurien girl who had brought her dishes to the table. Although serving robots and platters that floated in the air like the one at Frenua Showm's house were universal, there was no shortage of volunteers wanting to perform services for the Terrans. Apparently, waiting personally on one's guests was an old Thurien custom that denoted high honors, and that was gratifying. But more to the point in the present circumstances, it was a way of meeting the aliens from Earth that so much had been heard about. Notions of any implied role or status were lost on Thuriens.
"It's called deldran, made from a sweet grain with fruit pieces, lightly toasted. The jams are for spreading on it. Very nice to start the day."