“So how do we go about this?” asked Winnie.
Jack could see only one way. “I think,” he said, “if you read between the lines, we just go down and say hello. See how they react.”
Digger reread the message. “That’s not what I see between the lines.”
“What do you see?”
“The message literally says that we can ignore the Protocol. But she’d like us to use our imagination and find a better way.”
Jack liked to think of himself as the kindly old director. Patient, easygoing, willing to listen. And to an extent he was correct. But it wasn’t true that he had no temper; he was simply quite good at not letting people see it. This business with Hutch’s message, though, was exactly the sort of thing that drove him up the wall. Because she was laying out contradictory propositions. If she could think of a way to accomplish what she wanted without talking directly to the Goompahs, why didn’t she say so? Or, if she couldn’t, why not just tell him flat out to take care of things. “Do you know of a better way?” he asked.
“No,” said Digger.
Winnie looked out the viewport, peering down into the sunstreaked atmosphere, as though she could find an answer out there somewhere.
“Well,” said Jack, “barring any other ideas, I think what we do is go down and say hello. See how they react. Then we plant some pickups so we can start recording their conversations.” He swung around in his seat and looked at the transmission again.
“FIRST THING WE want to do,” said Jack, “is to create an avatar. One of us to say hello.”
“All right,” said Winnie. “You don’t think we’d do better to have someone just step out and wave?”
“Too dangerous. Let’s see what they do when they see the avatar.” He looked around. “We need pictures of somebody who looks friendly.”
Winnie studied each of them as if that was no easy task. “Who do you suggest?”
“One of the women,” said Digger. “They’ll be less threatening.”
Kellie was watching him carefully, her nose wrinkled, trying to restrain a smile. “I think you’d be our best bet, Dig.”
“Me? Why?”
But he knew. Nobody had to say it. Digger possessed a slight approximation to their size and shape. He was a bit overweight, and somewhat less than average height.
“I think that’ll work fine,” said Jack. “So we let them take a look at the avatar. It waves and says hello, and if things go well, we shut off the visuals and, Digger, you step out of the underbrush and continue the conversation. Make friends on the spot.”
“First ambassador from Earth,” said Winnie.
Digger sucked in his belly.
Kellie beamed at him. “I’m proud of you, Dig.” She circled him, measuring his dimensions. “We should give him a large shirt. Yellow, I think. Green leggings. Nice floppy hat. Get you looking a little bit like one of the locals.”
That hurt. “You think I look like a Goompah?”
“No.” Kellie laughed and gave him a hug. “You’re cuter than they are. And you have a great smile.” She paused and must have seen he was embarrassed. Her tone changed: “Digger, you’re easy to like.” She gripped his arm. “If they’ll respond to any of us, it’ll be you.”
Digger conceded. “Doesn’t fool me for a minute,” he grumbled. “And I don’t waddle, you know.”
Kellie embraced him again. Longer this time. “We know that, Dig.” Her eyes told him she meant it. Or, if he did waddle, it didn’t matter to her. Either way, he guessed it was all right.
They produced the appropriate clothing, floppy everything, and he put it on, a bright yellow shirt that felt as if it was made from sailcloth, and baggy green leggings and sandals three sizes too big. Most of it, Kellie informed him, was made from blankets. The sandals had belonged to the previous skipper. A woman’s red hat, origin unknown, came out of storage. Looked as if it had been with the ship for years.
When he was dressed they took pictures of him. “Why not make me look like a Goompah?” he suggested. “Why stop here?”
He half expected someone to remark that he already did. But Jack, reading his mind, only smiled. “Because eventually,” he said, “we’ll have to be able to talk to them. The avatar needs to look like you. Not them.”
They made up the visuals and jury-rigged a projector by removing the heart of one of the VRs and connecting it to the power cells from a laser cutter. In the same way, they constructed three audiovisual pickups. They were clumsy and bigger than they’d have preferred. But the things worked, and that was sufficient for the moment. “All set,” said Kellie, after they’d tested everything.
Below, it was early morning on the isthmus, a couple of hours before dawn. “Who wants to come?” asked Jack.
“I guess I’m going,” said Digger.
And Kellie would pilot. “Winnie,” he said, “you hold the fort.”
She shook Digger’s hand solemnly as he started toward the cargo bay. Good luck, Dig, the body language said. I’m with you, kid.
THE CARGO BAY also served as the launch area. Digger’s pulse picked up a few notches as they descended through the ship. He was telling himself to relax, don’t worry, we’re about to make history. Hello, Goompahs.
The lander was a sleek, teardrop craft. It had less capacity than the older, boxy vehicles, but it provided a smoother ride. They climbed in, and Kellie started the launch process.
Jack began dispensing advice. He was a good guy, but he was a bit too helpful. If we decide it’s okay for you to show yourself, don’t make any sudden moves. Try to smile. Nonverbals are different from culture to culture, but the Noks and the Angels both recognize smiles, so it can’t hurt. Unless, of course, things are different here.
He continued in that vein despite all Digger’s efforts to change the subject, until finally Dig simply asked him to stop. “You’re getting me rattled,” he complained.
“I’m sorry. Listen, Dig, everything’ll be okay.”
Digger sat there in his native finery, feeling both foolish and scared. The Goompahs looked friendly. But he’d read about the Angels on Paradise, how harmless they’d looked, how angelic, before they tore two members of the Contact Society to shreds.
“I’m fine, Jack,” he said. “I just wish I knew the language.”
They dropped through a cloudless sky. The ground was dark despite innumerable individual lights. But they were mere sparks in the night, like distant stars, a few in the cities, some on the isthmus road, and a handful along the docks and on anchored ships.
They had no way of concealing the lander, and though Kellie turned off all the lights, they were nonetheless descending through a cloudless moonlit sky. Kellie, up front in the pilot’s seat, held up five fingers to signify everything was okay. “All in it together,” she said.
Jack sat lost in thought. “I wonder,” he said, “if we could do this strictly through the use of avatars.”
“How do you mean, Jack?” asked Digger.
“Produce a native avatar and stick with it. We stay out of sight altogether.”
Digger thought about it. “Eventually,” he said, “it would have to talk to them.”
Jack made a pained sound. The avatar could not be made spontaneous. It could be programmed to deliver lines, but unless they knew how the Goompahs would react, there was no way to have it respond to them.
“Just as well,” Jack said. “You look so good it would be a pity not to put you out there.” Har-har.
Digger sat in his chair, thinking how this was the gutsiest thing he’d done in his life. Except maybe for the time in high school when he’d gotten his courage together and asked Veronica Keating for a date. Veronica had passed—thanks but I’m tied up for the next couple years—but he’d tried. Next time out of the barn he’d done better. With somebody else, of course.