“A little under two hours.”
Gina appeared in the doorway shortly afterward. Although it seemed slightly absurd and melodramatic, Hunt hoped she would play along with the act of running into him casually, as an old acquaintance. Some of the people whom Hunt had already identified in the room were among the last he would have wanted forming the notion that she was there at UNSA’s instigation. To his relief, although he could tell from the glance she threw in his direction that she had seen him, she moved away toward the bar and ordered herself a drink.
He rested an elbow on the back of the seat next to him and stared at the mural display screen. A TWA shuttle, probably the one that Gina had arrived on, was puffing away, nudged by brief, intermittent pulses of its auxiliary thrusters. Its red-and-white design stood out vividly against the depthless black.
Then a man in a dark suit stopped on his way past Hunt’s table, holding a glass in each hand. Hunt looked up inquiringly.
“Excuse, please. Is not the Dr. Hunt who goes to Ganymede, yes?” He sounded Eastern European.
“That’s right,” Hunt said.
“I hear through the grapetree that you go to Jevlen for UNSA, and recognize you from picture.”
“News travels fast,” Hunt commented.
The stranger bowed slightly. “Permit to introduce. My name is Alexis Grobyanin, from Volgograd Institute. Psychologist.” He nodded to indicate a mixed group by the far wall. “We are sent by UN to advise Ganymeans on administering Jevlenese. Russians have much experience in handling troubleshooters.”
“I got to know some Russians when the Pseudowar happened. Mikolai Sobroskin was one. Ever come across him?”
“Oh, yes. He is foreign minister now.”
‘‘That’s him.”
“You will be basing there in PAC?” Grobyanin asked.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“We, too. So maybe we see you there later. Excuse now. I must join my friends together.”
“See you around,” Hunt said, nodding. He leaned back again as the Russian moved away, smiling faintly as he recalled why Sobroskin had said Hunt would never have been a success in Russia. “You have too many good ideas,” Sobroskin had said. “You know what you used to get there for a good idea? At least five years.”
Then another voice sounded suddenly from nearby, turning heads in the vicinity. “Vic!” It was Gina’s. “What on earth are you doing here?” Hunt had to force himself to hold a straight face until he had gone through the motions of looking up and about.
“I could say the same about you—except that ‘earth’ is hardly appropriate.”
“You show up in the most unexpected places.”
“Who are you with?” Hunt asked loudly as she came across to his table.
“Just me,” she answered, letting her voice fall to a more natural level. “I’m on a free-lance job. It’s unreal. . . How about you?”
“Oh, I don’t get any spare time to go gallivanting around. Regular UNSA assignment Hunt extended a hand to indicate the far side of the table. “Sit down and tell me all about it. When did you come on board?”
“Less than half an hour ago. I shuttled up from Vandenberg.”
Gina settled herself in the chair opposite, and smiled warmly, just like an old friend. “It’s an interesting bunch we’ve got here,” she said, waving her hand.
“How do you mean?” Hunt asked.
“Did you know there’s a bunch of kids here, going on a summer vacation from a school in Florida?”
“I didn’t know they were from Florida.”
“And there’s a marketing group from Disney World, going to check out the tourism. Some Russians to help sort out the Jevienese.”
“I just met one of them.”
“Even a holy man from Tibet or somewhere, who’s heard the call of Jevlenese mysticism and came aboard this morning with some of his disciples.”
“Tax problems?”
“Who knows?” she shrugged. “And directors from a corporation in Denver going to see about Jevien for their next-year sales conference, a whole mix of ologists, a group making a movie, and a South American real—estate millionaire who’s decided that Jevien is where he wants to retire.”
Hunt set his glass down and looked at her curiously. “You’ve only just arrived on board. How do you know so much already?”