What she would do to, or with, Castor was less clear in her mind.
Still, she thought indulgently, the boy was so very thrilled by it all! It was flight and adventure that made Castor's eyes sparkle so, not the presence of a skinny girl child with crazy and destructive notions.
So thinking, Delilah let herself drift off to sleep. All the same, hours later, when they were in the limousine to take them to their housing, she made sure that it was she who sat beside Castor.
In truth, Delilah was nearly as excited as Castor, for everything was almost as new to her as to him. The island of Hainan hung from the southernmost tip of Han China, out of the way, not very interesting except for its climate (but Hawaii's was just as good) and for its Space Center. That was very interesting, of course, but generally speaking that interest was discouraged by the high party officials. Delilah had been Home a dozen times, the last time to escort her aged and ailing husband to his dying place (when would the old man do it?). Hainan Dao she had never seen.
From the air there had been tiny and unsatisfying glimpses of coast, palms, rivers, villas; even, a minute or two, everybody craning to get a corner of one of the tiny aircraft windows as they approached the landing over the Space Center itself, a giant man-rated ship towering over its own gantry, with the meteorological and communications and sky-eyes rockets dotted across the rest of the field pencil-thin and wheatstalk-high by comparison. Everyone on the plane shouted when they saw the ships. Even Delilah.
And everyone, even Delilah, stared excitedly out of the limousines as they purred toward their quarters. Hainan Dao was rather like a combination of the old Waikiki and Palm Springs, with Midwest car racetracks and stately California mansions thrown in. Castor's eyes popped as they passed groves of ornamental trees and swimming pools tucked into the formal gardens of homes. There were joggers along the road and children playing games in meadows; there were old people taking the sun between holes on the golf courses and lovers holding hands. And all the cars! Hainan Dao was a rich place. Except for the Han Chinese, none of the "American cabinet" had ever seen a rich countryside before, and when they pulled into a long, pine-lined drive, Feng Miranda began to swear bitterly to herself. Delilah grinned. She knew what the silly child was thinking.
"What is that?" Castor demanded in her ear, and Delilah peered to see what he meant. They were approaching an immense house with balconies and pillars and a fountain playing in the center of its circled driveway, and just before the fountain was a pole. The pole bore a flag: white stripes and red stripes, blue field and white stars.
Delilah could not help herself, though others might have seen. As she leaned toward the window she touched her lips to his cheek in pleasure at his openmouthed stare. "Have you never seen it before, Mr. President? It is the flag of your United States of America."
Exhausted though they were and spacey with jet lag, the first thing they did was have a meeting. To Delilah's surprise it was Manyface's face Dien Kaichung that took charge. "You, Tsoong Delilah," he snapped, "you will study pilotage."
"I already know pilotage," said Delilah, and heard with surprise the tone of her voice. It was not a good tone to take with a high party member. But in fact it was not really the high party member Fung Bohsien who was speaking, but only the implant Dien Kaichung, or the implant that had once been the human being Dien Kaichung before he became an implant, and thus only one member of the committee that was Manyface. Delilah found herself confused, not only by jet lag. Yet one thing was clear to her: it was not only politically unprofitable to take that tone, it was also likely to make problems. In fact it did. The face of Manyface twisted in a grimace that was almost pain. For a moment it was the eye of the real Fung Bohsien that stared accusingly at her out of the face they held in common. "I'm sorry," she said, as graciously as she could. "I am tired, and careless. I will of course do as you instruct, Comrade Dien, since you are our director of training."
He frowned at her, moving his lips as though holding an internal conversation—no doubt he is, thought Delilah. She looked away from him to minimize the confrontation and fell into another. Feng Miranda! Saucy little Overseas-Chinese slut, she was sitting far too close to Castor and whispering far too intimately into his ear. And— oh, what unfairness!—it was not the slut who got reprimanded, it was Delilah herself. "Do pay attention, Comrade Tsoong," Manyface snapped. "We have much to cover, and little time to do it. Now! You will of course all be required to take extra-atmospheric training. There will be centrifuges and bouncing chambers, spinning rooms to test for space-sickness, underwater maneuvering to simulate zero-G. These courses are of the utmost importance for those who will be part of the mission! If anyone fails any of these tests," he added severely, "he will of course be disqualified from the mission at once, so do not take them lightly—oh, what is it now?" he demanded irritably as Feng Miranda raised her hand.
Her expression was innocent enough, but her tone was not. "I only wanted to ask, what if it is President Pettyman who should fail the tests?" she said sweetly.
That nasty little man Tchai Howard interrupted then. "Shut up, Feng," he ordered roughly. "Let the briefing proceed." Delilah could have kissed him... almost.
In fact the rest of the briefing was more interesting than the assignment of tasks, for the Space Center teams had produced computer simulations of the alien vessel's orbit and projected deltas; there would be eighteen days at most before it would be in position to meet the launched president of the United States in orbit. "That is at most," Manyface warned. "It may be as little as fourteen. So there must be no delay in training! Is that understood?"
The party all nodded, and Manyface allowed himself a grin. "In that case," he declared—and this time the voice was Fung Bohsien's own—"I will tell you what has been decided. Three of you will be aboard the rocket when it is launched for the rendezvous—always assuming you pass the tests," he added, looking meaningfully at Delilah. "I will now give you their names. Pettyman Castor. Tsoong Delilah. And Tchai Howard."
Castor looked thunderstruck, then ablaze with joy. The mean little face of Tchai Howard froze, then split in a predatory grin. Delilah herself felt nothing at all—nothing but a sort of subliminal sting of fear, then a rush of pride at having been selected...
And then, as she caught a glimpse of the jealousy and rage on the face of Feng Miranda, an exultation of triumph.
The house they stayed in had twenty-nine rooms. Castor counted them and reported the result to Delilah with awe. No one else had counted, because it was not the kind of house that announced its status with numbers. It was far too grand for that. It was a manor, almost a palace ; in the queer, archaic terms of its butler (for it had, among many other unprecedented luxuries, a butler) it was "the Residence." Whatever it was called, it was impressively huge. It had the Master Suite and the Green Jade Suite and the Mao Wing, with six handsome bed-sitters, each complete with bath and tiny sitting room and hot tub. It had a library and a drawing room—actually two drawing rooms, if you counted the one that completed the Master Suite. It had a dining gallery and a billiard room; it had porches and conversation chambers and a huge green lawn.