“Welcome aboard,” Hunt greeted. “I see you’ve got your Thurien communicator.”
“It’s incredible. Ma Bell’s going to have to learn some new tricks.”
“I didn’t hear from you, so I assumed everything was going smoothly,” Hunt said. In fact, Mitzi, Caldwell’s secretary, had checked discreetly to make sure that Gina was booked on the flight.
“It was a busy couple of days, but it went just like you said. You didn’t warn me that this would be like walking into a kaleidoscope.”
“You get used to things like that with the Thuriens.”
“Who else did you manage to get along, finally?”
“Chris Danchekker, as hoped. And we’ve got two others: Duncan Watt, my deputy from Houston that I mentioned; and the other is one of Chris’s lab people, a girl called Sandy Holmes. She was with us on Ganymede.”
“It didn’t work out too badly after all, then?”
“Not badly at all, considering the time we had. But we can talk about all that when you get here.”
“So where shall I meet you?”
“There’s a lounge with a bar here, where the Terrans’ quarters are. I’ll see you there after you’ve gotten straightened out.”
“How do I get there?”
“VISAR will take care of it.”
“Fine.” The face vanished.
Hunt spent a few more minutes grappling with Ganymean notions of dimensionality, then left the cabin and went along to the mess area. A good crowd had collected since he passed through with Danchekker and the others. He threaded his way through to the bar and ordered a Scotch. The bartender’s name tag told him that the facility was provided by the Best Western hotels group.
“Tell me, Nick, how does your company come to have a bar installed in an alien starship?” Hunt asked as he watched the drink being poured.
“Oh, they figured there’ll be a pretty regular traffic building up, I guess. Probably not too much volume right now, but the publicity’s good.”
“How did they get the franchise?”
“Just asked for it, as far as I know.”
Even with his knowledge of Ganymeans, Hunt was surprised. “As easy as that? Wasn’t there a big scramble with the competitors?”
“Not really. I don’t think anyone else thought of it.”
Hunt moved away, shaking his head. Snatches of conversation from around him caught his ear as he moved through the throng with his drink.
“Think how many people from Earth will be there, say, a year from now. I tell you it’ll be a gold mine. . .
‘ja. Unt der tourists, also dey vill be going. Ve haff plans . . .
“They just need to be told about Jesus.”
“Just checkin’ out the scene there, I guess. Shit, it’s gotta be better’n Cleveland . .
Hunt found an empty table near a far corner and sat idly watching the company. He wondered how many more of them had also come to be there on no better authority or without any higher dispensation than j mist having asked. If that was a foretaste of things to come, then a large part of the meddlesome systems of rules and restrictions by which one half of the world made it its business to approve, regulate, license, and control how the other half lived could collapse in shambles or be laughed out of existence, he reflected.
It was funny, he thought as he watched, how many of the people talked too fast among themselves as they strove to act normally while suppressing what was probably the greatest excitement most of them had ever experienced. Appearances were so important to Terrans. Ganymeans had no defensive compulsion about maintaining images, and readily said how they felt about things. Their origins had given them no concept of domination by appearances, or any instinct for intimidation.
On one of the walls was a large display screen showing a view from the Vishnu of the flock of shuttles, transporters, and observer craft hanging in space around it, with Earth partly illuminated as a crescent in the background. They seemed to be drawing back, which suggested that the departure of the Thurien vessel was not far away.
“VISAR, how long now before we shove off?” Hunt inquired.