CHAPTER FOURTEEN
STILL NO OVERTURE came from the Chironian leaders. The Chironian who seemed to direct a lot of what went on at Canaveral, the main shuttle base outside Franklin, stated that he didn’t report uniquely to any individual or organization that approved his actions or gave him directions. So who told him how the place was to be run? It depended. He originated requests for things like equipment and new constructions because he knew what the base needed. How did he know? Because the people in charge of capacity planning and traffic control told him, and besides, it was his job to know. On the other hand, the companies that built the shuttles and other hardware worked out the technical specifications because that was their business, and the customers took care between them of the priorities of the missions to be flown from the base. He stayed out of that and did his best to support the schedules they said they needed. So ultimately, who was in charge? Who told whom to do what, and who did it? It depended. Nothing made any sense.
Following a directive from Wellesley, Howard Kalens instructed Amery Farnhill to open an embassy in a small building at Canaveral which the Chironians obligingly agreed to vacate, having been about to move into larger premises elsewhere anyway. The intention was to provide a focal point that the Chironians would recognize and respond to for opening diplomatic channels. Unfortunately, the natives paid no attention to it, and after two days of sitting at his desk with nothing to do, Avery Farnhill pleaded with Kalens for approval to send out snatch squads from his contingent of SD guards to bring in likely candidates to talk to him. Kalens could only partly concur since he was under strict instructions from Wellesley. “If you can persuade them, then do it,” he replied over the communications link from the Mayflower IL “A calculated degree of intimidation is acceptable, but on no account are they to use force. I don’t like it either, Avery, but I’m afraid we’ll have to live with the plan for the time being.”
“Hey, you. Stop.” The major in command of the four SD troopers sent to scout out the center of Canaveral City –a residential and commercial suburb situated outside the base and merging into one side of Franklin–addressed the Chironian whom they had followed from the restaurant a few yards back around the corner. He was well-dressed, in his midthirties, and carrying an attach6 case. The Chironian ignored them and kept walking. Whereupon the major marched ahead to plant himself firmly in the man’s path. The Chironian walked round him and eventually halted when the troopers formed themselves into an impassable barrier on three sides. “You’re coming to talk to the ambassador,” the major informed him.
“No, I’m not. I’m going to talk about air-conditioning for
the new passenger lounge in the base. “Say ‘sir’ when you talk to me.”
“If you wish. Sir when you talk to me.” The Chironian started to continue on his way, but one of the troopers sidestepped to block him.
“What’s your name, boy?” The major thrust his face close and narrowed his eyes menacingly.
“None of your goddamn business.”
“Do you want us to have to drag you there?”
“Do you want to get out of here alive?”
The major’s jaw quivered; his face colored. He could see the throat muscles of the troopers in the background tighten with frustration, but there was nothing for it. He had his orders. “On your way,” he growled. “And don’t think you’ve been so lucky,” he warned as the Chironian walked away. “We’ve got your face taped. There’ll be a next time.”
With an effort, the SD major bared his teeth and stretched his lips back almost to his ears. “Excuse me, sir, ‘ but do you have a few minutes you could spare?”
“What for?” The Chironian in the purple sweater and green shorts asked.
“Our ambassador would like to talk to you. It’s not far
–just inside the base. “What about?”
“Just a friendly chat . . . about your government, how it’s organized, who’s in it . . . a few things like that. It won’t take long at all.”