18. Embassy
Duncan’s Minisec had been a parting gift from Colin, and he was not completely familiar with its controls. There had been nothing really wrong with his old unit, and he had left it behind with some regret; but the casing had become stained and battle-scarred, and he had to agree that it was not elegant enough for Earth.
The ’Sec was the standard size of all such units, determined by what could fit comfortably in the normal human hand. At a quick glance, it did not differ greatly from one of the small electronic calculators that had started coming into general use in the late twentieth century. It was, however, infinitely more versatile, and Duncan could not imagine how life would be possible without it.
Because of the finite size of clumsy human fingers, it had not more controls than its ancestors of three centuries earlier. There were fifty neat little studs; each, however, had a virtually unlimited number of functions, according to the mode of operation—for the character visible on each stud changed according to the mode. Thus on ALPHANUMERIC, twenty-six of the studs bore the letters of the alphabet, while ten showed the digits zero to nine. On MATH, the letters disappeared from the alphabetical studs and were replaced by x, +, ÷, -, =, and all the standard mathematical functions.
Another mode was DICTIONARY. The ’Sec stored over a hundred thousand words, whose three-line definitions could be displayed on the bright little screen, steadily rolling over page by page if desired. CLOCK and CALENDAR also used the screen for display, but for dealing with vast amounts of information it was desirable to link the ’Sec to the much larger screen of a standard Comsole. This could be done through the unit’s optical interface—a tiny Transit-Receive bull’s-eye operating in the near ultra-violet. As long as this lens was in visual range of the corresponding sensor on a Comsole, the two units could happily exchange information at the rate of megabits per second. Thus when the ’Sec’s own internal memory was saturated, its contents could be dumped into a larger store for permanent keeping; or, conversely, it could be loaded up through the optical link with any special data required for a particular job.
Duncan was now employing it for its simplest possible use—merely as a speech recorder, which was almost an insult to a machine of such power. But first there was an important matter to settle—the question of security.
An easily remembered word, preferably one that would never be employed in this context, would be the simplest key. Better still, a word that did no even exist—then it could never accidentally trigger the ’Sec’s memory.
Suddenly, he had it. There was one name he would never forget; and if he deliberately misspelled it...
He carefully pecked out KALINDY, followed by the sequence of instructions that would set up the memory. Then he unplugged the tiny radiomike, pinned it on his shirt, spoke a test message, and checked that the machine would play it back only after it had been given the correct order.
Duncan had never kept a diary, but he had decided to do so as soon as he arrived on Earth. In a few weeks he would meet more people and visit more places than in the whole of his preceding life, and would certainly have experiences that could never be repeated when he returned to Titan. He was determined to miss nothing that could be helped, for the memories he was storing now would be of inestimable value in the years ahead. How many times in his old age, he wondered, would he play back those words of his youth...?
“2276 June 12. I’m still adapting to Earth gravity, and don’t think I’ll ever get really used to it. But I can stand for an hour at a time now, without developing too many aches and pains. Yesterday I saw a man actually jumping. I could hardly believe my eyes...”
“George, who thinks of everything, has arranged a masseur for me. I don’t know if that’s helped at all, but it’s certainly an interesting experience.”
Duncan stopped recording and contemplated this slight understatement. Such luxuries were rare on Titan, and he had never before had a massage in his life. Bernie Patras, the amiable and uninhibited young man who had visited him, had shown a remarkable (indeed, startling) knowledge of physiology, and had also given Duncan much useful advice. He was a specialist in treating off-worlders, and recommended one sovereign cure for gravitational complaints. “Spend an hour a day floating in a bath—at least for the first month. Don’t let your schedule squeeze this out, no matter how busy you are. If you have to, you can do a lot of work in a tub—reading, dictating, and so forth. Why, the Lunar Ambassador used to hold briefings with just his nose and mouth above water. Said he could think better that way...”
That would certainly be an undiplomatic spectacle, Duncan told himself—unique even in this city, which had probably seen everything.
“I’ve been here three days now and this is there first time I’ve had the energy—and the inclination—and the opportunity—to put my thoughts in order. But from now on, I swear, I’ll do this every day...
“The first morning after my arrival, General George—that’s what everyone calls him—took me to the Embassy, which is only a few hundred meters from the hotel. Ambassador Robert Farrell apologized because he couldn’t come to the spaceport. He said, ‘I knew you’d be in good hands with George—he’s the world’s greatest organizer.’ Then the General left us, and we had a long private talk.
“I met Bob Farrell on his last visit to Titan, three years ago, and he remembers me well—at least, he gave that impression, which I suppose is an art all diplomats have to acquire. He was very helpful and friendly, but I got the feeling that he was sounding me out, and not telling me everything he knew. I realize that he’s in an ambiguous position, being a Terran yet having to represent our interests. One day this may cause difficulties, but I don’t know what we can do about it, since no native-born Titanian can ever live on Earth...”
“Luckily there are no urgent problems, as the Hydrogen Agreement isn’t due for renegotiation until ’80. But there were dozens of little items on my shopping list, and I left him with plenty to think about. Such as: why can’t we get quicker deliveries of equipment, can anything be done to improve shipping schedules, what went wrong with the new student exchange?—and similar Galaxy-shaking questions. He promised to set up appointments for me with all the people who could straighten these things out, but I tried to hint that I wanted to spend some time looking at Earth. And after all, he’s not only our man in Washington but also our representative on Terra...”
“He seemed quite surprised when I told him that I expected to stay on Earth for almost a year, but at this stage I thought it best not to give him the main reason. I’m sure he’ll guess it quickly enough. When he tactfully asked about my budget, I explained that the Centennial Committee had been a great help, and there was still some Makenzie money in the World Bank which I was determined to use. ‘I understand,’ he said, ‘Old Malcolm’s over a hundred and twenty now, isn’t he? Even on Earth, leaving as little as possible for the Community Fund to grab is a popular pastime.’ Then he added, not very hopefully, that any personal balances could be legally bequeathed to the Embassy for its running expenses. I said that was a very interesting point and I’d bear it in mind...”
“He volunteered to give me any assistance on my speech, which was kind of him. When I said I was still working on it, he reminded me that it was essential to have a final draft by the end of June so that all of the important commentators could study it in advance. Otherwise, it would be drowned in the flood of verbiage on July Fourth. That was a very good point, which I hadn’t thought of; but then I said, ‘Won’t the other speakers do exactly the same?’ And he answered, ‘Of course, but I’ve got good friends in all the media, and there’s a great interest in Titan. You’re still intrepid explorers in the wilderness. There may not be many volunteer carvers around here, but we like to hear about such things.’ By that time I felt we’d got to understand each other, and so I risked teasing him ‘You mean it’s true—Earth is getting decadent?’ And he looked at me with a grin and answered quickly: ‘Oh, no—we aren’t decadent.’ Then he paused, and added: ‘But the next generation will be.’ I wonder how far he was joking...”