The entrance they came to was a transparent wall and set of doors opening from a wide pedestrian precinct lined by stores and what looked like office units, rows of display eases, and at the far end a battery of stairs and escalators going up to the concourse of a transportation terminal. The doors opened at their approach, and inside was a desk with a Jevlenese reception clerk. A couple of guards were standing a few yards back in the lobby area opening through to the interior. To Hunt’s relief after some of the things he had seen and heard since arriving, the guards were smartly turned out and seemed alert. So someone, at least, seemed to know what he or she was doing. They were unarmed as far as Hunt could see, but both were wearing lightweight headbands, throatmike-earpiece combinations, and wrist units that Hunt recognized as Ganymean communications accessories into the Shapieron’s computer system, ZORAC—the direct neural-coupling technology of the Thuriens was from a later era.
Initially, the interest of the guards was focused more on Hunt’s companions than on Hunt. But then the clerk, probably prompted by ZORAC, who would have recognized Hunt via the visual pickups in the headbands, gesticulated and said something in Jevlenese to the other two, followed by “You are Doctor Hunt, who gets missed? All look everyplace Shiban. Ganymeans very . . .“ He traced circles vaguely in the air with his hand.
Hunt nodded. “I’m Hunt. I’m okay.”
“Use, please.” The clerk reached below the desk and produced another communications kit. Hunt fitted the items into place, and a voice spoke that he hadn’t heard for a long time.
“Hello, Vie. Welcome to our world, and all that—but you don’t seem to have been doing a bad job of finding yourself a welcoming committee already. Pretty fast operator, if you don’t mind my saying so.
It spoke in his ear, not his head. A sudden feeling of being back among familiar things came over him. Perhaps, in some ways, the Shapieron Ganymeans were closer to Earthpeople than to Thuriens. “ZORAC, you haven’t changed,” he replied. “This isn’t what it looks like. And even if it were, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”
“Glad to see you’re in one piece, anyhow.”
The reception clerk was coming through coherently now that ZORAC was on—line to translate. “Dr. Hunt, we’re sure pleased to see you. We’ve put alerts out all over. The Ganymeans have been getting worried.”
“Did everyone else make it okay?” Hunt asked.
“They’re all here.”
“We passed an accident on the way from Geerbaine,” Hunt said. “A part of a bridge collapsed.”
“Yes. A senior officer of the Shiban police was killed. There was a lot of confusion.”
“Also, there was a Terran party in a bus, off the same ship as us. They were in a precarious situation when we left.”
“The school group?”
“That’s them. The two Terrans who met us stayed behind to sort it out. Do you have any news on what happened?”
“They’re all okay. Koberg and Lebansky got back a few minutes ago.” Hunt nodded and emitted a thankful sigh. The clerk inclined his head to indicate the three girls, who were by this time talking to the guards. “Er, where did they come from?” he inquired, dropping his voice discreetly.
“They were collecting for charity at the airport.”
“Sure. Give me a call,” Osaya was saying to one of them.
“I’m off at seven. How about then?”
“Anytime. And I love the Terran uniform. . .“ ZORAC was still supplying the background translation.
Just then, another figure appeared through some doors on the far
side of the lobby area and came across. He was about fortyish, with
a medium, athletic build, black-haired and clean—shaven, and wearing a white shirt and gray slacks. As he got closer, Hunt recognized his face as the American that Lebansky had talked to on the screen inside the minibus. The American grinned easily and extended a hand.
“Dr. Hunt, from UNSA?”
“Yes.’’
“Hi. The name’s Del Cullen. Glad you’re okay.” Cullen eyed the three girls curiously. “I see you’ve been making friends already.”
“Well, you didn’t send the mayor with a red carpet. One must exercise initiative.”