They had been back aboard the Orion for almost a week.
“I don’t think there can be much doubt that the Taloids’ future is assured now,”
Massey said. “The rest of the Paduan alliance is falling apart. The Venetians
threw their king out yesterday, and the last I heard the one in Milan had
decided to climb down gracefully and sent Moses an invitation to visit the city.
He’s probably hoping to salvage what he can by proposing some system of joint
management.”
“So there’s no chance of Titan’s being turned into some kind of colony?” Vernon
said.
Massey shook his head. “No way that I can see. Any possibility of that has been
scuttled permanently. The Taloids will never accept second-class status now.
They’re the chosen ones. Their God has spoken to them and told them they’re as
good as anyone. Anybody who tries to tell them differently can go jump in a
methlake. They’ll trade with you, sure—their kind of know how for your kind of
know-how, but only as equal partners. If you’ve got any ideas of exploitation or
screwing anyone on the deal, forget it.”
Zambendorf swirled his sherry round in his glass and watched it for a second,
then looked up and nodded. “And the Western world is going to have to play it
that way because if it doesn’t Asia will. And what’s more, it won’t be much
longer before the Soviets arrive. Then everybody will be competing against
everybody to give the Taloids a better deal.”
The Orion would be leaving Titan in ten days since many of the mission
personnel—Massey and Vernon, for example—had pressing affairs to attend to back
home. All remaining material and equipment would be shipped to the surface and
used to expand Genoa Base One into a permanent installation, where a skeleton
crew of scientific researchers, Taloidologists, and other specialists would
remain behind under the command of Vantz’s deputy, Commander Craig, until the
arrival of the Japanese ship in five month’s time. They would probably rotate to
Earth at some later date with the Japanese, by which time the Orion would be
returning with more people and equipment. With the completion of the Soviet
vessel and the others that would come after it, a regular two-way traffic would
eventually evolve.
Massey picked up his glass again and passed it to Vernon for a refill. “I don’t
often say things like this, but I think we can all congratulate ourselves on a
job that worked out pretty well,” he said, looking about the room. “I have to
say that I’ll miss you all after we get back. It’s strange how things sometimes
work out, isn’t it—I came aboard determined to run you out of business, and here
I am coming out of it with a whole bunch of new friends.”
“Well, I’ll drink to a long continuation of it, Gerry,” Vernon said. “I’m amazed
at how everything turned out too.”
Massey accepted his glass and cast an eye curiously round the cabin again at the
others, who were being unusually quiet. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that
I’ll stay off your backs from now on,” he told them. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever
see quite eye to eye on some things, but I have to admit I’ve been forced to
reevaluate a lot of what I thought I was sure of. So it’s live and let live,
huh?” Despite the gallant face that he was doing his best to maintain, there was
an undertone of disappointment that he couldn’t quite conceal. He spread his
hands and concluded, with a grin and a sigh, “I just thought you’d like to
know.”
Nobody responded immediately. Zambendorf raised his head and looked from one to
another of his colleagues. “You don’t seem exactly overenthralled,” he remarked.
“We can speak freely in front of Gerry and Vernon now. Aren’t you looking
forward to going home again? Think of the TV spectaculars we’ll be able to put
together after this— with a much stronger science flavor than ever before which
will appeal to younger people . . . maybe a world tour. We could establish an
Institute of Astral Parapsychology, possibly, with Osmond as the