She’d ordered a shipment sent over to the Jenkins, along with some lightbenders, including a capital unit that could be used to conceal their lander. None of that, however, would arrive for weeks. So it would be left, for the time being, to Jack Markover’s imagination. She knew Markover, and could think of no one she’d rather have in the present position.
Collingdale had already talked individually with his team members, of course. But this was the first time they’d all been together. She was pleased to see that he refused to use the term Goompahs.
That had raised the question of a proper reference. Had it been visible from Earth, Lookout would have been located in Draco. But Draconians would never do. They were close to the Dumbbell Nebula but that didn’t help much either. In the end, knowing she had no control over the matter, hearing the media going on endlessly about Goompahs, she put it aside. It was already too late.
Collingdale finished his preliminary remarks, which consisted mostly of an orientation and welcome aboard. He invited them to get ready to depart, but asked the linguists to stay a moment. They were, to Hutch’s mind, the heart and soul of the operation. And she was pleased to see a substantial level of enthusiasm.
Judy Sternberg would be their director. Judy was an Israeli, a specialist in the intersection between language and culture, and a born leader. He introduced her, and she said all the right things. Proud to be working with them. An opportunity to make a major contribution. She knew they’d perform admirably.
Judy was no taller than Hutch, but she had presence. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she concluded, “we are going to rescue the Goompahs. But first we are going to become Goompahs.”
So much for getting rid of the terminology. She wished Jack Markover had come up with something else on those initial transmissions.
Collingdale thanked Judy and shook her hand. “While we’re en route to Lookout,” he told the linguists, “we are going to break into their language. We are going to master it. And when we get there we are going to warn the natives what’s coming. We’ll help them evacuate their cities and head for the hills.” He allowed himself a smile at the expression. “And we are going to help them. If it comes to it, we may be with them. We’ll do what is necessary to save their rear ends.”
One of them raised a hand. Hutch recognized him from the manifest as Valentino Scarpello, from Venice. “How,” he asked, “are we going to do this? Why would they believe us?”
Valentino had a dazzling smile and leading-man features. Half the women in the group were already drooling in his direction.
“By the time we arrive on the scene,” Collingdale said, “the cloud will be hanging over their heads. I don’t think it’ll be hard to persuade anyone.”
That brought applause. Someone had hung on the bulkhead a picture of a Goompah, with its saucer eyes and large vacuous smile. They were pets, and the Academy people, and maybe the whole world, were adopting them.
“It might be,” he added, “that we won’t need to hide behind the disguises. Hutch back there—Hutch, would you stand a moment please? — Hutch is doing what she can to get us past the Protocol. It’s possible that, by the time we get to Lookout, we’ll be able to walk in, say hello, and suggest that everybody just get out of town. But however that plays out, we will not stand by and watch them die.”
More applause.
“Thank you.” He exuded confidence.
When the linguists had gone up the ramp to the al-Jahani, she took Collingdale and Judy aside. “I appreciate your spirit,” she said. “But nobody stays on the ground when the omega gets there.” She looked both in the eye. “We are not going to lose anyone out there. You guys understand that?”
“I was speaking metaphorically,” said Collingdale. “We’ll take care of them.” He looked at Judy for confirmation and Judy gazed at Hutch.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “We won’t let anything like that happen.”
Then they were shaking hands. Good-bye. Good luck. See you in a couple of years. Hugs all around.
She was thinking about Thrillseekers, Inc., and the Church of Revelation, and Island Specialties. Yesterday there’d been four more, a clothing retailer who wanted to bring back some of the natives to use as models for a new line of Goompah fashions (“—and we’d save the lives of the models, don’t forget that—”) which, incidentally, looked not very much like the originals; a representative from the media giants, who were demanding an opportunity to record the destruction; a games marketer who wanted to develop a game that would be called Omega; and an executive from Karman-Highsmith who wanted to send a crew to get location shots for a sim that was already in the works. Major people involved.
Collingdale lingered while Judy boarded. Then he looked down into her eyes. “Wish you were coming?”
“No,” she said. “I’ve gotten too old for this sort of thing.”
WHILE WAITING FOR departure, she checked in with ops and got the latest status report from the Jenkins. It was a week old, of course, the time needed for hyperlight traffic to reach her from Lookout. That was another mistake, allowing the name Lookout to get around. It had become a joke for late night comedians, as well as a predictor of disaster. She saw now that they should have gotten on top of that right away. Should have given the sun a name, something like Chayla, and then they could have called the world Chayla III. And the inhabitants would have become Chaylans. All very dignified. But it was too late for that. It was her fault, but a smart Academy public relations section would have picked up on it right away.
There was nothing new from the Jenkins. They were still debating how best to go down and look around. She didn’t envy Jack, who had some tough decisions in front of him. The ops officer pressed his earphones and signaled her to wait. He listened, nodded, and looked up. “Commissioner on the circuit for you, ma’am.”
That was a surprise. “I’ll take it in the conference room,” she said.
He was seated on the deck of a yacht, a captain’s cap pulled low over his eyes. “Just thought I’d check in,” he said. “How are we doing?”
“Fine. I see you didn’t quite make Geneva.”
He smiled innocently. “Will the al-Jahani get away on schedule?”
“Yes, sir. They’re packed and ready to go.” She paused. “Why?”
“Why do I want to know about the al-Jahani?”
“Why run me through the parade?”
“I thought it would be a good idea if you learned why there’s a Protocol.”
She sat down. “You made your point.”
“Good. Hutch, it’s not just the Goompahs. We’re talking about a precedent. If we break it at Lookout, wherever we find anyone we’ll be baptizing, selling motorized carts, and dragging critters back to perform in circuses. You understand?”
“You really think that would happen?”
“It’s hard to see how it wouldn’t. I take it you told them no deal.”
“All except the media. They’re getting limited access. But not on the ground. How’d you know?”
“I’ve already heard rumblings of formal protests. Good. I’m proud of you.”
She’d always thought of Asquith as a man who’d avoid a fight at any cost. “What chance do you think they have, Michael? The protests.”
“Zero to poor. Unless you give the game away.”
SHE JUST MISSED a flight to Reagan and, rather than wait three hours, she caught one to Atlanta, and then took the glide train to D.C. Just south of Richmond they ran into a snowstorm, the first in that area in ten years or more. It got progressively heavier as the train moved north.
It was late evening by the time she reached home, descending onto the landing pad through a blizzard. Tor was waiting on the porch.