He felt Flash's muscles tighten under his hand, just as he heard his name called from above. "Jupe?" The voice was female and elderly; he looked up and saw that it was the Governor, peering out at him from the pouch of her own silver-gray bird. The mount settled down near him, careful to avoid collision with the trees. It rubbed beaks with Flash—only a friendly gesture, since both were female—and the Governor wriggled herself free. "Why did you not report what Miranda Feng told you?" she demanded.
Jupiter automatically extended a hand to help her get out of the pouch. "What was there to report?" he asked, honestly confused.
"Her report that she suspected some of the Real-Americans of treason," said the Governor firmly. "You should have told me before the vote, Jupiter."
"I didn't know before the vote!"
Big Polly said regally, "That is of no importance. Do you realize that our entire mission is now endangered?"
"Is it? Oh, Polly!" he cried, struck to the heart. "Don't let it be!"
She shook her head. "It has passed the point where I can prevent it, Jupiter. Someone else must take action. I have decided that it must be you."
"Me?" What a dazzling thought! Jupiter, the savior of Real America? It was every dream he had ever had— "How do I do that, Polly?" he begged.
"You will go along in the Presidential yacht, and—oh, damn, won't the fool erk ever give up?" She had turned to gaze upward as the squawk of another approaching carry-bird told them they were expecting company. The head that peered out of the pouch was not human this time, it was the old erk Jutch.
"Wait," he cried. "Polly, don't send him! Send me! You owe us that much!" He was still talking as his carry-bird dropped to the ground between Flash and Big Polly's mount. He wriggled out of the pouch and scuttled to them, raising himself on his hind legs to beg. "Without the erks all this would be impossible. An erk must go along!"
"Oh, what a fool you are," said the Governor in disgust. "What will the Chinese think if they see you in the ship?"
"I'll hide! We won't allow vision! I'll pretend I'm a prisoner! Anything! But," cried the erk, "you humans don't have the battle experience we do."
Polly's glare cut him off. She actually stamped her foot. "That's nonsense! Human beings have fought many more wars than you erks ever have! Why, for thousands of years there have been wars almost every year. And, in any case, you may have battle experience, but you don't know anything about deception and guile. In that," she said proudly, "the human race is superb. I have decided. It must be Jupiter."
Jupiter, standing there with his mouth hanging open, cut in. "What must be Jupiter?" he demanded.
"Why," explained Polly, "the most important assignment of the war. You will go along on the Presidential yacht. You will be secretly armed. If it is indeed as Miranda says and the rest of the Real-Americans are actually false, then you will take command of the ship, shoot any who resist, explain our demands to the Chinese—" "Mel" cried Jupiter, intoxicated with joy. "You," said the Governor firmly. "Now come back to the city. I will prepare your orders in a fashion that cannot be denied. We will say nothing until just before the launch. Remember, you can trust no one but Miranda, not even the President—"
"It would be better with an erk in charge," chittered Jutch sadly.
"It will be a human! And the human will be Jupiter. And there will be no more discussion at all," said Big Polly. "You will arm him, Jutch. We will do the rest!"
So as the crew was gathering to board the yacht, Jupiter came to the launch loop in style. What style! He was a marvel to all who saw him. He had a hovercart for his own. He had more than that, because tucked inside his breechclout was a rapid-fire automatic pistol; around his neck was a concussion grenade hastily reshaped to look like an amulet; in his hand a small bag that might have contained clean clothing but in fact held a pair of stun-weapons. They were what he fully expected to use, if needed; the other things were as dangerous to him as to any foe in the closed quarters of the spacecraft. He stood on the hovercart, holding to the safety rail, staring grandly about. Yanks and erks cheered him as he passed. He was not alone on the cart. He had a guard of honor to display his rank, for four paint-uniformed erk troopers crouched at the corners, armed and ceremonially alert. A smart erk colonel of Marines guided the cart across the tarmac. Jupiter stood negligently holding the rail of his perch, with the look of eagles on his face. He stumbled a bit as the cart sped toward the first-wave crew, but held tight against the sudden jolt as the erk colonel threw down the ground brakes. Jupiter gazed sternly down on Castor and the rest as he proclaimed,
"I have new orders. I will join your ship for the first attack, Mr. President."
The faces that stared up at him showed all the expressions he anticipated—surprise, worry, annoyance; most of all surprise. Gratified, he added, "It is no use arguing, because my orders have been countersigned by Jutch, A-Belinka, my Senator, and my Senior Sister, and by the Governor herself. Come. Let us get ready to take off."
The faces did not change expression. The persons who owned them did not move, nor even speak. Delilah did not speak to Castor nor Castor to Manyface; but within the head of Manyface there was speaking enough, oh, yes! "They suspect something!" moaned the scrap that once had been Corelli Anastasio, and "Don't let him come!" begged the fragment formerly Su Wonmu. "Don't be foolish," cried Angorak Aglat, "how can we stop him? But we must be alert!" And Potter Alicia said soothingly to all of them, and mostly to herself, "But he's only a boy like my Castor. He won't do us any harm... I think." It made no difference what any of them said, in the secret voices within Manyface's skull or out loud; the orders were real, and there was no time to try to change them.
"Get on board, then," chittered the erk A-Belinka grumpily. "Start now, please. Before there are any more complications!"
And so the spacefarers entered into the ship, one by one, each attended by technician erks to strap them in and check their fit and make sure no one looked like being spacesick or hysterical.
"What a mess," said Castor out loud, not looking at Jupiter.
"Shut up, Castor," said Tsoong Delilah, not looking at anyone.
"They're lifting us!" cried Jupiter, and his voice at least was filled with certain joy.
He didn't have to say that, of course, because they all knew it—all felt the jarring lift as the grapples caught their ship and then the pause for recheck and window verification—
And the sudden, loosely sprung shove against all their backs, as the launch loop caught them and tugged them away—a terrible, urgent, belly-squeezing, breathstop-ping pressure that mounted swiftly and then held and crushed them—
And then was gone.
They floated free. They were on their way out of World's soupy atmosphere that screamed outside their ship as they split it open on their way.
They were on their way to Earth.
The initial launch carried them well into World's stratosphere and beyond. There was no need for rockets in that first thrust; the speed given them by the racing loop was enough for escape velocity and to spare. They would not burn a rocket until more than ninety-nine percent of World's air was below them, with only enough left for their external guidance surfaces to lever themselves against for positioning for the suborbital thrust.