“Precisely why it must be simulcast,” said Hinkel. “Precisely why I cannot permit the risk of turning this into a circus!”
Hinkel was honestly shocked.
75
WITH FRIENDS LUCE THESE …
“Circus! Do you have the infernal gall to sit there and call the 25th Hour—the highest-rated newscast for five consecutive years, winner of over a hundred prizes for journalistic excellence—a circus1?”
“Goddamn it! I just said it, didn’t I? Yes, and with a special vote for exceptional cretinism to the lead elephant!”
Hinkel rose with great dignity. “I see.” His voice approached a verbal equivalent of zero Kelvin. “Thank you, Commander, for making your feelings in this matter perfectly clear. Good day.”
He left.
Cleve snapped the abused pencil in two and threw the halves at the ceiling. “Well, that tears it!” he said.
“I could instruct engineering not to allow his people transfer facilities for Earthside beaming, sir,” offered Vandermeer hopefully.
Cleve rubbed both eyes, tiredly. “No, no … let’s not be so overt, Lieutenant. Let him contact his influential friends. If the idiots, dirtside, think he should be allowed to cover this meeting, they deserve whatever results result. I pray the Murrin react favorably. No, better they don’t react at all! Now go away. Oh, here . . .” He handed Vandermeer the script Hinkel had given him. “I can do one thing. Find a Disposall, Lieutenant, and file this. Discreetly, of course.” “Yes, sir.”
The Murrin, as the scrambled videocasts revealed, were a large, ursoid race, clearly mammalian. They resembled the terran brown bear in a fortunate number of respects. Fortunate, because it alleviated Hinkel’s first fear. Namely, that the extrasolar visitors would turn out to be ten-foot-wide spiders with slavering fangs and green eyes. Fuzzy aliens inspired little