The caller worked into his belt buckle sounded three short zips: signal to call Colorado Springs. He’d been called a dozen times in France; various people were going over his Charleville report. They usually called around dinner time.
He carried his drink into the cafe and got the bartender’s attention. “Ou se trouve le téléphone?”
The bartender reached under the bar and produced an ancient handset, with a screen instead of a cube, and asked whether it was a local call. Jacque said no, but collect. He nodded and unlocked it. Jacque punched up 3037-544-2063.
The switchboard plugged him into Operations, but he got a holding pattern with a SECURITY DAMPER message. This antique didn’t have a sight-and-sound focus, so he compromised by carrying it into the farthest corner before thumbing the COMMENCE button.
The message snapped off and John Riley’s face appeared. It wasn’t routine, then. Jacque had a sinking feeling that his vacation was over.
“This is a recording,” Riley said.
“All Earthbased Tamers are recalled to Colorado Springs. Immediately. This is the single most important thing that has ever happened to the Agency. And that is putting it very mildly.
“Stay on the line. If you’re calling long distance, you’ll be switched to the transportation operator. Otherwise-be here as soon as possible. Main amphitheater.”
Riley faded and was replaced by Mike Sohne, a drinking buddy of Jacque’s, who looked harried.
“Mike! What’s up?”
Half-second lag; satellite relay. “Oh. Hi, Jacque. Don’t know, guess I’ll find out when you do. The place is in an uproar, everybody running around and nobody talking. We had a long-range probe come back all deaders, that’s all I know. Don’t even know that for sure. . . . You’re in Paris?”
“That’s right.”
“Lucky son of a bitch. Look, you have to be here by 1300. That’s 2000 Greenwich, 2100 your time.”
“Two hours?” Jacque checked his watch. “You’ve-“
“That’s right. One hour fifty minutes.”
“You’ll have to start without me, then. End without me, too: I can’t get a flight out-“
“Uh-uh, Jacque. Just get your ass over to Orly. Is Wachal with you?”
“No, she’s out shopping somewhere.”
“I mean is she in Paris.”
“Oh, sure. I just don’t know-“
“She must’ve got one of the other operators, then. Get over to Orly as fast as you can and wait for her.
Or she’ll wait for you. You’re reserved on pad thirty-nine, that’s a suborbital express.”
“But Mike, look . . . all of my stuff is back at the hotel-my fucking passport! I can’t-
“Don’t worry about it, we’ll clean up after you. I punched up the travel budget here and got all nines. What hotel?”
“Uh . . . Studio Etoile, just a second.” He pulled a matchbook out of his pocket. “That’s 32-754-69-31, got it?”
“Okay. Passport . . . You don’t know your number?”
“No.”
“No matter, I’ll give them a picture. When you get to Orly, go to the departures wing and find out who’s in charge.”
“All right.”
“See you in a couple of hours. Endit.”
“Endit,” Jacque said to the empty screen.
Jacque and Carol were sitting in the amphitheater in Colorado Springs. “Oh, did you find that dress you wanted?”
“Suit, not dress. No, the ones I liked cost too much. If I’d known we were coming back today I would’ve bought one.”
“Yeah.” There were four or five hundred people in the hall, murmuring. “I would’ve drunk faster.”
“You drank fast enough. You still smell like a licorice factory.”
“Love it.” A woman came out on the stage and set up a podium. “Feeling better?”
“No.” She was taking hormones to suppress lactation. She was dizzy and her breasts ached. “Free fall didn’t help.”
A shimmering cube appeared around the podium. A white blob in the center shrank to a sharp point, and the cube disappeared: holo projectors focused. John Riley came out and put a couple of sheets of paper on the podium. The crowd fell silent.
He looked around. “I don’t know exactly where to begin.” He tapped the podium nervously. “This all started with the astrophysics group. Some fellows from Bellcomm University came to them with a jump proposal. To Achernar.”