He was the founder of Harbinger Management Systems, which specialized in teaching people how to supervise subordinates and oversee resources. It was mundane stuff, but it was sorely needed in the commercial world of the early twenty-third century. Harbinger had made him wealthy and allowed him to indulge his principal hobby: cruising into the unknown with beautiful women.
His partner on this tour was Antonia Luciana, an exquisite and insatiable young Roman who had kept him in quite a good mood since the start of the voyage. Antonia had tried to discourage him from joining the rescue effort, had struggled to hold back tears when he insisted, had then suggested she would have liked to go along too but doubted her ability to learn the requisite skills within the time frame. She had also admitted that the prospect of going outside terrified her.
In the manner of the excellent manager he was, he understood, and left her to applaud his pending heroics.
Pindar was enjoying himself thoroughly. He'd gotten caught up in the emotional swirl surrounding the rescue effort, he had come to feel a kinship with the four people on the surface, and he understood that no display of courage and skill on his part, however memorable it might be, would be satisfying unless the rescue succeeded.
The ceremony was short. "You'll all want to get a good night's sleep," Captain Clairveau told them at its conclusion. "We've set up special quarters for you. I'm told you already know about that, and you know where they are. We'll escort you there anyhow when we've finished here." He grinned. "Consider yourselves in the military for the duration. Your morning will start early. I'd like to remind you that after you leave this room everything becomes real."
They gave Janet the last word. She thanked her fellow Outsiders, assured them she'd be with them throughout the operation, and gave them their final instructions.
Pity. Antonia would have been thoroughly aroused by his pending exploit. Pindar consoled himself that he was making a magnanimous sacrifice and trooped off with the others.
Before bedding down for the night he called her. Her lovely image took shape and shimmered in front of him. She'd adapted her signal to present herself with precisely the degree of insubstantiality that enhanced her natural beauty. "It's going fine," he assured her. "They're breaking us into groups of two and three. I've been assigned as a team leader. Can you imagine that? Me, a-skyhog?"
"You will be careful?" said Antonia. "I want you to come back to me." She tried to purr, but it didn't work because she was really worried for him, and that knowledge stirred him, demonstrated it was not just his position and power that had won' her over. It forced him to recognize once again that he must be an extraordinary person to command such affection from one so lovely.
"Have no fear, Amante," he said. "You just relax and enjoy the rescue."
"Pindar." She peered at him closely, as though to see into him. "You're really not afraid?"
"No," he said. "Everything will be fine."
"Will I be able to see you?" She meant on the viewscreens.
"I'm sure you will."
She tilted her head and smiled. "I'll be glad when it's over."
In the morning, they were awakened early, at about five, and marched back to the same dining room, where they received a light breakfast. Afterward he met his partner, an attractive brunette whose name was Shira DeBecque. He and Shira boarded a shuttle headed for Wendy. They talked over their tasks en route, and arrived on the science ship in good spirits. There they met the shuttle pilot who'd be working with them during the balance of the morning, received their schedules, and set up their gear.
Marcel could see the dismay in Ali Hamir's eyes. Ali was Wendy's lead technician. He'd thought there was a decent chance to reconfigure the scanners and conduct a successful search for the capacitors. But resolution below the surface of objects smaller than a human being had not proved possible. The wave action had picked up and re-deposited millions of rocks and other pieces of debris. There was no way to determine which two, if any, might be the missing units.
Marcel blamed himself for the failure at the tower. There'd been time to get to Tess and recover the capacitors had he not relied on the wave projections. He should have hustled them along. He should have insisted they do what they had finally done: split up and make best time for the lander. He and Hutch had discussed it, but she'd believed the danger too great to leave anyone behind. Marcel had gone along with her, reluctantly. Now he saw the magnitude of his error.
Several of Ali's people were seated in front of the operational screens, forlornly watching hundreds of markers blinking. Rubble in the muck beneath the newly created inland sea.
"Hopeless," said Beekman.
Moose Trotter, a mathematician from the University of Toronto and, at 106, the senior member of the mission, had always seemed unfailingly optimistic. But Moose now looked like a man in pain, wandering from station to station, neglecting the work that had brought him there.
Marcel had been asked whether, if the sky-scoop initiative didn't work out, communication with the ground party should be cut off as conditions worsened. Benny Juarez, a close friend of Kellie's, thought anything less than granting the victims their privacy during their last hours, if it came to that, would be indecent.
Nicholson was getting an update from his engineer when Mercedes Dellamonica called him. "What have you got, Meche?" he asked.
"A delegation," she said. "Maybe a dozen people at the moment, but it looks like more coming. They're unhappy about the rescue effort."
The locator put her on the bridge. "On my way," he said. He called the kitchen and ordered several cartloads of refreshments sent up and then left the operations center and took the elevator topside. He rehearsed his comments on the way. But he was taken aback by the sheer number of angry passengers. More were trying to push into the area from outside.
The exec was standing behind a table trying to talk into a microphone. He strode through, got to Mercedes, and turned to face the crowd.
They got louder. Nicholson knew many of them. He was almost an ideal cruise-ship captain. One of his strengths was that he never forgot a name. Laramie Payton, a building contractor from the American
Northwest, asked the question Nicholson knew would be at the top of the agenda: "What's this about our being welded to that alien thing?"
"Laramie," he said smoothly, "I've explained all that already. There's no danger. You can rest assured I wouldn't do anything that would put the Evening Star at risk. We will be welded, but keep in mind this is a very big, ship. If we need to, at any time, we'll be able to break away from the assembly as easily as you could break an egg. So you just don't have to worry about that at all."
Hopkin McCullough, a British communications tycoon, demanded to know how he could be so sure. "They're talking about pushing that thing down into the atmosphere. How do we know we won't go down with it?"
Nicholson raised his hands. "We have engines, Hop. The fact that we're helping push isn't going to affect our ability to maneuver if we have to. It's just not a problem. Anybody else?"
He gave a few more reassurances. The donuts and coffee arrived. The disorder subsided, and the captain strolled out among his patrons, clapping some on the back, and chatting idly with others. "I can understand why you'd be worried, Mrs. Belmont," he'd say, "but there's really no cause for concern. We're going to rescue those people tomorrow and then we'll be on our way."
PART 3
SKYHOOK
XXVI
There is little that is actually impossible if one is in a position to apply energy and intelligence. It is our willingness to conclude this or that cannot be done that usually defeats us. Consider for example how long the outhouse was with us.