The reply after transmission lag came stiff. “Sir, you knew the reputation of our agency when you engaged us.”
“Yes, of course.” Fireball’s were not the only people touchy about the outfits to which they belonged. Because that was where they belonged, far more than in their countries or any other part of an impersonal civilization? “No offense. You did an excellent job. Keep the file encrypted, please, till I can get to Earth and study it in detail.” Not that that would likely make any difference. “After which, I suppose, I’ll want it wiped and forgotten.”
Having switched off, Rydberg jumped to his feet and paced, not Lunar-style paces but short, jerky steps as if to make the room feel larger than it was. Finally he observed the time and swore. Late duskwatch. Aside from police and the like, nobody administrative was at work. He couldn’t very well call the Beynac home, could he?
No, wait, this might be for the best. The phone found the office number he wanted and made contact for him. An assistor responded. That wasn’t necessarily fortunate. The machine might not be programmed with the flexibility to consider his request and decide. However, this one was. It said the mayor could receive him at 1530 tomorrow. It even scanned the transport database and advised him about schedules.
Well, he’d heard that the incumbent ran things in free and easy fashion. From what he’d also heard, if his business wasn’t worth her attention, he wouldn’t last but a few minutes.
And if it was—considering what it was—he’d meet that when the hour came, and endure whatever he must.
Meanwhile he had an obligation. Honoring it wouldbe a distraction for his mind, a balm for his heart. The call to Stockholm found both Sten and Linnea Rydberg. The old couple had inquired when he was due and stayed in their place waiting. Their joy made his eyes sting. It was hard to tell them, “Nej, ack, jag vet ej—No, I’m sorry, I don’t know when I can come. I must see to something here first. I will come as soon as possible. I promise.” He meant it, though he did not know what “possible” was going to mean.
His room had become a cage. He considered the pub. Eva Jannicki was getting an uproarious welcome there. Why not he? No. Ordinarily he was happy among comrades, but tonight he’d have to force it, boosted by alcohol or cannabis or levitane. Experiments in youth had left him with a dislike of intoxication.
He went instead to the public gymnasium. Nobody else was using the springball court. That suited him well. Its robot gave him a game that left him pleasantly tired. After a shower and a light supper in a cafeteria, he slept better than he had expected.
In dawnwatch he boarded the monorail to Ty-chopblis. The system was newly completed, and in spite of regathering tension he enjoyed this, his first ride. Not simply faster than the semitrain, it was spacious and comfortable, its ports affording a sublime view. By day, when Earth was narrowed to a sickle and stars flooded out of vision, the heavens were not a sight to hold you unmoving for hours, certainly nothing comparable to what he had beheld near Mars, Jupiter, Saturn; yet his glance kept returning. The satellites he had lately betrodden had no real landscapes. They were too small; their stoniness toppled away. Here he looked across plains and up heights, here he spied energy dishes like triumphal monuments.
A fellow passenger struck up a conversation which Rydberg found himself likewise enjoying. The man was a tourist, but intelligent, an ecological engineer fresh from an aquacultural project south of Green land. Though he worried about the troubles in the Near East and Africa and hoped they wouldn’t erupt into full war, mainly he was indignant. Damned fanatics, delaying the reclamation of a continent and a half!
“Did you follow the news, out Jupiter way?” he asked.
“When we could,” Rydberg said. “We would cluster around the screen—they still do, I am sure—each time the beam brought a ‘cast, if we were on hand. We do have kinfolk and friends on Earth. But mostly we were elsewhere, or too busy. It came to seem distant, half unreal. We felt ashamed of that.”