regard his job as much as an intellectual exercise and a challenge in
problem-solving as anything else, and had always struck Massey as something of
an enigma. “So how do you fit into this, Pat?” Massey asked. “Is this where you
get your chance to give us some real news for a change?”
Whittaker’s eyes twinkled briefly as he nodded. “It sounds as if it could be,
doesn’t it.”
Things that were different were supposed to constitute news, Whittaker had often
said. But miracle-workers, disaster-imminent scares, nonexistent Soviet
super-weapons, economic ruin always just around the comer, and all the other
media-manufactured myths that kept millions glued to screens in order to sell
products were no longer different. Therefore they weren’t news. But turning a
contrived sensation round and boomeranging it by reporting the intended
deception straight for once—that could be very different.
“Well, if Pat did manage to pull something spectacular out of it, it might
persuade other GSECs to stay out of NASO’s business in future,” Vernon remarked.
“That’s what I want,” Conlon said, nodding emphatically.
Whittaker spread his hands and made a face. “Well, I mean . . . using a NASO
mission to try and legitimatize this kind of nonsense? Do you think the
directors at GSEC believe in it?”
Massey shrugged. “How do I know? Nothing would surprise me these days, Pat. I
hope you guys at GCN don’t rely too much on them for advertising revenues
though.”
“Aw, what the hell?” Whittaker said. “Someone’s got to do something to put a
stop to this nonsense before it goes any further.”
There wasn’t a lot more to be said. Conlon looked from Vernon to Massey and
asked simply, “Well?”
They looked at each other, but neither of them had pressing questions. “What do
you think?” Massey asked at last. Vernon raised his eyebrows, hunched his
shoulders, and opened his arms in a way that said there could be only one
answer. Massey nodded slowly, tugged at his beard and thought to himself for a
few moments longer, and then looked back at Conlon. “I guess we’ll buy it, Walt.
You’ve just got yourself a deal.”
Conlon looked pleased. “Good. The Orion’s scheduled for liftout from Earth orbit
three months from now. I’ll have NASO’s confirmation of the offer, including
remuneration, wired through within forty-eight hours. We’ll have the other
details and specifics worked out for you both in about a week. There’ll be a
training and familiarization course at the NASO Personnel Development Center in
North Carolina for all the non-NASO people going on the mission, so leave the
last -three weeks or so clear when you make your arrangements for leave of
absence from the university, et cetera.”
Whittaker sat up in his chair, rubbed his hands together, and picked up his
empty wineglass from the side table next to him. “I think this calls for a
refill,” he said. “Same again for everyone?”
“I’ll get them,” Massey said.
Whittaker watched as Massey collected the glasses and took them over to the open
liquor cabinet. “Did you see Zambendorf on the Ed Jackson Show last night?”
“Uh-huh,” Massey grunted over his shoulder.
“Quite a performance,” Whittaker said.
“Oh, Zambendorf’s a good showman—let’s not make any mistake about that,” Massey
answered. “And if he’d only be content to come up with a straight act, he’d make
a first-rate stage magician. But I can’t go along with this business about
claiming to be genuine. A lot of people are taken in by it and spend too much of
their time and money looking for fairyland when they could be getting something
worthwhile out of life. It’s a tragic squandering of human potential and
talent.”
“The thing with the color and the number was pretty straightforward, I thought,”
Whittaker said.
“Simple probability matches, weren’t they?” Conlon said, looking at Vernon.
Vernon nodded. Whittaker looked at him inquiringly.
“With an audience that size, enough people would think of yellow to make the
demonstration look impressive—or any other color you care to name, come to
that,” Vernon explained. “Zambendorf didn’t have to be thinking of anything. The
audience only assumed he was because he said he was.”
“How about the number?” Whittaker asked. “That couldn’t have worked the same