convinced that it’s seeing the beginning of the end. Tablets dug up in Iraq from
3,000 B.C. say the same thing.”
“It’s not just me,” Massey answered. “A lot of people at NASO feel the same way.
Why else do you think they sent me along? They knew enough to arrive at the same
conclusions.”
Zambendorf turned back again and made a discarding motion. “Ideologists, all of
you. All of the world’s troubles have been caused by noble and righteous ideas
of how other people ought to live. I look after my own interests, and I allow
the world to look after its in whatever way it chooses. That’s my only ideology,
and it serves me well.”
Massey looked at him dubiously for a moment. “Really?” he said. “I wonder.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Zambendorf asked.
“Whose interests are you serving here—your own, or GSEC’s?”
“Is there any reason why the two shouldn’t coincide? In a good business
relationship, both parties benefit.”
“When they’re allowed to enter into it of their own free choice, sure. But you
weren’t even told what the deal was.”
“How do you know what I was or wasn’t told?” Zambendorf asked.
Massey snorted. “It was pretty obvious from the reactions to that stunt you
pulled just after liftout what you were and weren’t supposed to know. They’ve
been keeping you on a pretty tight rein since, I bet. How does it feel to be
simply another owned asset on the corporate balance sheet, for use when
expedient? So whose interests do you think will count first?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zambendorf maintained stiffly.
But Massey had a point, nevertheless, he conceded inwardly. With nothing to gain
from alienating GSEC needlessly, and being a strong believer in keeping open the
doors of opportunity whenever possible, Zambendorf had generally behaved himself
through most of the voyage and avoided further spectaculars. Now that the voyage
had ended, perhaps it was time he began reasserting himself, he decided.
“That’s not possible—not in the immediate future, anyway,” Caspar Lang said
across his desk in the executive offices in Globe I. “The personnel schedules
have already been worked out. Besides, you wouldn’t have any defined function at
this stage.”
“I want a trip down to the surface,” Zambendorf said again, firmly. “Parties
have started going down, and I want a slot on one of the shuttles. I didn’t come
eight hundred million miles to take snapshots through a porthole from up here.”
“Small scientific teams are being sent down to remote areas to investigate
surface conditions and collect samples,” Lang replied. “That’s all. You wouldn’t
fit into something like that.”
“There’s a larger expedition being organized to go down sometime in the next few
days, to attempt a first contact with the Taloids once a suitable site has been
selected,” Zambendorf replied evenly.
Lang looked shaken. “How do you know about that?”
Zambendorf spread his hands and made a face in a way that said Lang should know
better than to ask. “It doesn’t matter . . . But the opportunity would be ideal.
It would be good publicity for me, and therefore also for GSEC.”
Lang emitted a long breath and shook his head. “It’s not my prerogative to
decide,” he said. Inwardly he was still seething at Zambendorf’s discovering and
revealing the mission’s true destination before it left Earth, which Lang felt
reflected on him personally.
“Come on, don’t give me that, Caspar,” Zambendorf said. “Even if that were true,
you could go talk to Leaherney. So fix something. I don’t care how . . . but
just fix it.”
Lang shook his head again. “I’m sorry, but there’s no way at present. Maybe
later . . . I’ll keep it in mind.”
Zambendorf looked at him for a few seconds longer, and then hoisted himself to
his feet with a sigh. “Well, I’m not going to get into an argument over it,” he
said. “Since it’s a publicity matter, I’ll leave it with my publicity manager to
handle. She’ll probably be giving you a call later.” With that, he turned for
the door.
Lang groaned beneath his breath. “It won’t make any difference,” he called after