“Rudy Golombeck?”
“Yes.”
“What if he says no?”
“Then I’ll just cut a deal with one of the corporates. I don’t want to do that, but I will if I have to.” The woman had ducked out of sight. Silvestri glanced after her, and Matt wondered if he was more interested in getting to her than he was in the drive. “Anything else?” he asked.
“I guess that’s all.”
“Good. Talk to you later. Let me know how it goes.”
Silvestri broke the link, and Matt stared at the space where the physicist had been.
He called Crandall Dickinson, who coordinated speakers at the Liberty Club. “Crandall,” he said, “who’s the next scheduled speaker?”
Dickinson was in his office. Matt could hear a basketball game, the volume turned down. The display was obviously off to one side. Dickinson kept glancing at it while they talked. “Next speaker?” He passed the question to the AI, glanced at the game, looked down at the response. “Harley Willington. Why?”
Harley was a local banker. They brought him in every couple of years, and he talked about the national debt and global fiscal trends. It was never practical stuff that anybody could use. Harley had a degree in economics from Harvard and liked to show it off. “Could we move him to another time, do you think? If I came up with a celebrity speaker?”
There was a roar and Crandall sucked air between clenched teeth. The other side had scored a big one. He stared at it for a few seconds, then turned back to Matt. “I don’t know, Matt. That always creates a problem. You have any idea what kind of message a last-minute cancellation sends?”
“Crandall, I know. And I wouldn’t ask, but it’s important.”
“Why? Who’s the celebrity?”
“Priscilla Hutchins.”
“Who?”
“The star pilot. The woman connected with rescuing the Goompahs.”
He shook his head. “Who the hell are the Goompahs?”
“Okay, look. She’s a good speaker. If you plugged her in, she’d give you a serious performance.”
“Matt, I don’t mind adding her to the speaker list. But why don’t we let her wait her turn? We could put her on”—he turned aside, checked something, came back—“in September. That be okay?”
“Crandall, this is important. We need it to happen this month.”
The guy was really suffering. “Who is she again?”
“Priscilla Hutchins.”
He wrote it down. “You owe me,” he said.
“One more thing.”
“There’s more?”
“I just wanted you not to cancel Harley until I get back to you.”
That brought eye-rolling and a loud sigh. “You haven’t set it up with her yet, right?”
“I’m working on it now.”
“What’s the big hurry, Matt?”
“It’s important. I’ll explain it to you when I have a minute.”
The other team apparently scored again. Crandall looked again to the side, groaned, and disconnected. Matt’s AI congratulated him. “I thought you were very good,” he said. “I didn’t think he was going to go for it.”
“Everything’s politics. I’ve done him a few favors. Now, see if you can connect me with Priscilla Hutchins.”
“Ah, yes. Good luck.”
HUTCHINS WAS OFF somewhere, out of touch, and he needed two days to locate her. In the meantime, Crandall called and insisted on a decision. Matt told him to cancel the banker.
“What happens if we don’t get What’s-her-name?”
“We’ll get her. Don’t worry.” If not, he’d dig up a history teacher over at the school to come in and talk about the five worst presidents, or some such thing. It would still be a considerable improvement.
WHEN HE FINALLY caught up with Hutchins and explained what he was trying to do, she didn’t take it well. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “You’ve committed me to do a fund-raiser to equip a high school lab so they’ll let you have a lander that’s been sitting out on the grass for the last few years. Do I have that right, Mr. Darwin?”
“Yes, ma’am. As far as it goes.”
“And you’ve talked to Dr. Silvestri about using the lander to run the next Locarno test?”
“Yes.”
“And he thinks that’s a good idea?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Tell me again who you are.”
Matt explained. Former star pilot. A number of years with the Academy. Worked for you briefly when you were director of operations. Want to see the Locarno program work.
“Why me?”
He thought, Because we’re kindred souls. But he said, “I’ve seen you speak. And I thought you’d be willing to help.”
Hutchins was an attractive woman. She’d been around a long time, but you had to look hard to see it. Black hair, dark eyes, fine cheekbones. She might have been thirty. But her manner suggested she was not someone to be jollied along. “Mr. Darwin, don’t you think it might have been a good idea to check with me first?” She was at home, seated on a sofa behind a coffee table. Behind her, a painting of an old-style starship dominated the wall.
“I wasn’t sure I could get you plugged in. I didn’t want to have you accept, then have to go back to you and explain that the club wouldn’t make the change.”
“What makes you think the Locarno will perform any better this time?”
“I’ve spoken with Jon.” The use of the first name was too familiar, and he regretted using it but couldn’t get it back.
“As have I. What’s your background in physics?”
“Limited,” he said.
“So you base your conviction on what? Silvestri’s sincerity? His optimism?”
“Ms. Hutchins, I’ve talked to a physicist who says it’s possible.”
“That’s a step forward. I suppose we could have a power failure at any moment, too.”
He was beginning to get annoyed. “I was hoping to find you a bit more open-minded.”
“Open-minded to what? An outside chance that maybe, just maybe, Silvestri has it right? You want me to invest an evening to go down there and try to persuade people to kick in money on an outside chance?”
“If you do it, the high school will get a new science lab. Isn’t that worth an evening of your time?”
“Don’t even try it, Matthew. I won’t be hustled into this thing. If I participate, I become part of the project. It blows up again, and my reputation takes a beating.”
“You’re already part of the project, Priscilla. You were standing with the others in the control room on Union, weren’t you, when they lost the Happy Times?”
She smiled at him, but there was something menacing in that look. “There’s a difference between participating in a failed experiment and participating in the same failure a second time.”
“I’m sorry to have bothered you, Priscilla. I’ll try to get somebody else.”
“I’m waiting to be persuaded. Why should I do this?”
“Because,” he said, “it might work. Do you really need another reason?”
Somewhere, down the street, he heard kids laughing and shouting.
“When and where?” she asked.
ARCHIVE
This AKV Spartan model, from the William Jenkins, is awarded to the Thomas MacElroy High School by Armis Reclamation, in recognition of the accomplishments of staff and student body, and of their many contributions to the community. Presented this date, June 3, 2250. Fly High, Explorers.
—Engraved on the marker at the lander site,
Thomas MacElroy High School, Alexandria, Virginia