“I’m sure,” Ray said. “Would Ghorf mind saying that to a reporter? You see—er, you scent, the ambassador is in a bit of trouble back home, and it would help all of us if the folks on Earth knew what a help he’s been.”
“A human reporter?” Zhlah sniffed uncomfortably. “Well—Ghorf being busy, it isn’t convenient. Being his closest-following assistant, would I do?”
Ray smiled again. “Yes, you’ll do nicely.”
“You’re cutting this close,” Jones said. She checked her watch as Ray led her and her cameraman to the UN embassy’s front entrance. “The game starts in three hours. That barely gives us enough time to get back to Vrekle.”
“I know,” Ray said. He clutched his notepad in much the same way that an ancient tribesman might hold a magic talisman. “But we can’t leave Nyquist any time to react.”
They entered the lobby, where Delores sat working behind her desk. “Go away,” she said without looking up.
“We can’t do that,” Jones said. “I’m here to interview the ambassador. I’ve already had several kya testify about his activities, and I thought I’d give him a chance to comment.”
Delores glowered at Ray. “You’re behind this, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” he said. “Why don’t you let the ambassador know we’re here?”
Delores thought for a second, then flicked her thumb at a door. “You can wait for Mr. Nyquist in his office. Alone.”
Ray glanced at Jones and the cameraman, then gave in. He entered the office, took one of the ornate seats in front of the expansive oak desk, and waited.
Nyquist steamed into his office a half-hour later. “This had better be good, Bennett,” he said. “What have you got? Some kya complaining about UN policies?”
“Let me show you,” Ray said. He set his notepad on the desk and pushed the display tab. A holographic image appeared above the desk: Jones and Zhlah. “I’m surprised to hear you praise the ambassador,” Jones’s simulacrum said. “I’d understood he opposed giving Kya any help.”
“That being your UN’s policy, he has often seemed unreasonable,” Zhlah said. “But despite this he has given the Easthills Combine some advice which will not only make it easier for us to hire human scientists, but also to employ your agricultural techniques with a minimum of trouble. Knowing this, we feel most grateful to him. Thanks to Ambass—”
Nyquist reached out and stopped the playback. “What’s your game, Bennett?”
“You should listen to the entire interview,” Ray said. “Zhlah praises you to the skies. We’ve got a similar interview with Dean Zelk, too. You see, they know you’ve been secretly working against the UN’s interests, dropping veiled hints as to how they can get around UN restrictions—”
“That’s a lie!”
“Is it?” Ray asked. “They believe it. So does Jones. She’s worked up a full report, and she’s already submitted it to Earth—and because you won’t let her transmit the game, GSN has a lot of dead air to fill. You see the problem? Once the UN hears you’ve double-crossed them, you’ll be out of here faster than a cat at a dog show. I don’t want that any more than you do.”
Nyquist boggled. “You what?”
“I won’t deny that I used to think you were lower than a snake’s navel,” Ray said. “But when I realized how you’d been carefully slipping me advice on how to beat the restrictions, I saw I was wrong. And, let’s face it, you haven’t actually done anything to interfere with my business—just a lot of razzle-dazzle that makes you look like a UN flunky.”
“You’re blackmailing me,” Nyquist growled.
“Huh?” Ray did his best to look innocently puzzled. “No, sir, I’m protecting our interests. We both want to help the kya. But if you don’t reverse that UN decision and let Jones do her broadcast, they’ll air those interviews and—”
“I’ll call headquarters and explain that those interviews are false,” Nyquist said.
“Good idea,” Ray said. “But will you be able to convince them? We both know how the UN works. There’s bound to be some jackal who’d love to knife you in the back. Even a false report like this could give your enemies a chance to—”
“I get the point.” Nyquist ground his teeth, then banged his fist down on the desk’s intercom panel. “Delores. Tell that GSN woman she can do her show.” He punched the panel again as Ray turned off his notepad. “Get out of here, you reptant blackmailer!”
Ray smiled and took his notepad. “Keep up the good act, Mr. Ambassador.”
“It’s the biggest crowd we’ve ever had,” Zelk told Ray as the game began. Cheerleaders on the sidelines were throwing team-scented powders into the air while various clusters of kya rooted for their team. Out on the field, Elizabeth and seven kya were dragging a dingy, grass-stained bag toward a goal line, while a remote camera coasted above them. “Having almost twice as many spectators as usual, I’m overwhelmed.”
“Not all of them seem happy,” Ray said, spotting one group of kya. They carried large, papier-mache bones and mimed gnawing them. Ray didn’t need to be an anthropologist to understand what they thought of the human presence.
“Oh, belch,” Zelk said in annoyance. “Now everyone’s going to know there’s a split in the student body over human students.”
And the dean was concerned with appearances, Ray thought. “Get some students together,” he suggested, “and have them pass the word that what they’re really doing is taunting the other teams—threatening to eat them alive with a human player.”
“That’s the most disgusting thing I ever heard,” Zelk said.
Ray smiled. “No, it’s the most disgusting thing you ever heard the protesters say.”
Zelk’s muzzle wrinkled in appreciation. “Phrasing it like that, it could make them smell foolish. Taunting the other teams being rude, the sort of thing that can disrupt their playing, they’ll never live it down—and it will make them smell loyal to Vrekle, too, in a demented way. If you’ll excuse me?”
Ray smiled as she went away. Taking care of the protesters hadn’t been on the schedule, but it made a nice bonus to the day. Of course, the main event was yet to come—unless Nyquist had decided to tough it out.
After one of the breaks in the game Ray went to the open-air broadcast booth, where Jones and a retired bagdrag player were giving a commentary to the Earthside audience. “It’s the end of the fourth fifth,” Jones was saying, “With the score tied at six, six, and six, with one stench—foul, that is, against Flerk Polytechnic.”
“Dad’s ride,” the player said in his version of English, “end it leafs Vrekle plus Bnurx in a god position three drat the hag across their mutual coal line and scare two pints. Weal come left bat rafter a weird from your sponsor.”
One of the technicians made a chopping gesture. Jones took off her headset and gestured for Ray to come closer. “Not a bad game,” she said. “Lots of action, no long time-outs between plays, and with all that padding on her your girlfriend is a lot more photogenic than I expected.”
“Do you think it’s worth covering the rest of the season?” Ray asked.
“Big Mac will think so, if these ratings hold.” She nodded at the computer terminal on her table. “The autorating system says our viewership has been going up throughout the game. Staying here might not be such a bad idea,” she mused.