“Come in.” Lt. Col. Menninger was sitting at a desk in a white, fluffy dressing gown, rimless granny glasses on her nose, a half-eaten dinner tray pushed to one side. She looked up from some papers and said, “Take a seat, Ana. Do you smoke? Would you like a drink?”
The angry fires inside Ana banked themselves. But they were still ready to blaze out. “No, thank you,” she said, in general, to all.
Margie stood up and poured herself a scant shot of whiskey. She would have preferred marijuana, but she did not care to share a joint with this Bulgarian. She sipped a centimeter off the top of the drink and said, “Personal question. What have you got against Sweggert?”
“I have nothing against Sergeant Sweggert. I simply do not care to make love with him.”
“What are you, Dimitrova, some maximum women’s libber? You don’t have to ball him on the parade ground. Just let him give you a hand when he wants to.”
“Colonel Menninger,” Ana said precisely, “are you ordering me to encourage his sexual overtures so that I can complete the obstacle course more readily?”
“I am not ordering you to do diddly-shit, Dimitrova. What is it with you? Sweggert comes on to everything with a hole in it. It’s his nature. He comes on to me, too. I could put the son of a bitch in Leavenworth for the places his hands have been on the drill field. But I won’t, because he’s a good sol — Because he’s essentially a good person. He’ll help you if you let him. You can always tell him to fuck off later on.”
“This I consider immoral, Colonel Menninger.”
Margie finished her drink and poured half of another. “You’re not too happy here, are you, Ana?”
“That is correct, Mis Menninger. I did not ask for this assignment.”
“I did.”
“Yes, no doubt, perhaps you did, but I—”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I asked for it for myself, but I also asked for it for you. I picked you out by name, Ana, and it took hell’s own conniving to make the Bulgarians turn you loose. They think you’re pretty great at translating.” She tossed down the rest of the drink and took off her glasses. “Look, Ana, I need you. This project is important to me. It should be important to you, too, if you have a spark of patriotism in your body.”
“Patriotism?”
“Loyalty, then,” said Margie impatiently. “Loyalty to our bloc. I know we come from different countries, but we stand for the same thing.”
Ana found herself more puzzled than angered by this strange American. She tried to sort her feelings out and express them exactly. “Bulgaria is my home,” she began. “I love my home. The Food Bloc — that is a much more abstract thing, Mis Menninger. I understand that in a world of two hundred nations there must be alliances and that one owes one’s allies some sort of allegiance, or at least courtesy. But I cannot say I feel loyalty. Not to the Food Bloc.”
“To the whole human race then, honey,” said Margie. “Don’t you see it? You just said it for yourself — a world of two hundred nations. But Klong can be a world of one nation! No fighting. No spies. No cloak-and-dagger shit. Who colonized America?”
“What?” It took Ana a moment to realize she was supposed to answer the question. “Why — the English? Before them, the Dutch.”
“And before them maybe the Italians and Spaniards, with Columbus, and maybe, for Christ’s sake, anybody you like — the Vikings, the Polynesians, the Chinese. Who knows? But the people who live in America now are the Americans. And that’s who’s going to live on Klong in another generation or two. The Klongans. Or whatever they call themselves. A single race of human beings. Never mind where they come from here! They’ll be all the same, all part of the same wonderful… well, dream. I don’t mind calling it a dream. But you and I can make it come true, Ana. We can learn how to live on Klong. We can build a world without national barriers and without the kind of senseless competition and rapacity that have ruined this one. Do you know what it means to have a whole new world to start over on?”
Ana was silent. “I — I have had some thoughts of that sort myself,” she admitted.
“Of course you have. And I want to make it happen. I want to lay the foundations for a world society that understands planning and conservation and cooperation. Do you know how much we’re putting into this? Four ships. Nearly ninety people. Thirty-five tons of equipment. The invasion of Europe cost less than this one launch, and believe me, everybody involved is screaming. It costs too much. It upsets the Peeps. The Greasies will raise their prices. We need the resources to solve the problems of the cities. Half the Congress would like to call it off tomorrow—”
“One has heard rumors,” Ana said cautiously, “that the launch may be canceled.”
Margie hesitated, and a shadow crossed her face. “No,” she corrected. “That will not happen, because it is too important. But that is why I asked for you, Ana. If we can send ninety people, they must be the best ninety people there are. And you are the best translator I could find.” She reached out and touched Ana’s sleeve. “Do you understand?”
Ana drew away as soon as she could without giving offense, her thoughts uncertain. “Y-yes,” she said unwillingly, and then, “but, on the other hand, no. What you say is most persuasive, Mis Menninger, but what has it to do with the use of flamethrowers and other weapons? Are we to build this fine monolithic world by destroying everyone else?”
“Of course not, Ana!” cried Margie, with as much shock and revulsion in her voice as she knew how to put there. “I give you my word!”
There was a silence. “I see,” said Ana at last. “You give me your word.”
“What else would you have me do?”
Ana said thoughtfully, “One has so little contact with the rest of the world here. I would like very much an opportunity to discuss this with others. Perhaps with my own delegation at the United Nations?”
“Why not?” exclaimed Margie. She looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded. “I’ll tell you what. As soon as training’s over we’re all going to get three days off. I’m going to New York myself. Come with me. We’ll eat some decent food, go to a few parties. And you can talk it over with anyone you like. Agreed?”
Ana hesitated. At last, unwillingly, she said, “All right, Mis Menninger. That sounds attractive.” It did not, for many reasons, but as a just person Ana had to concede that it sounded at least fair.
“Fine, honey. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m overdue for a long, hot bath.”
Margie locked the door behind the Bulgarian woman and ran herself a tub with some satisfaction. What the stupid prunt didn’t know was that she was leaving Camp Detrick direct for the launch pad. The next chance she would have to talk anything over with anybody would be on Klong, and there let her say whatever she liked.
But Ana Dimitrova was only one problem, and maybe the easiest to solve. “One has heard rumors that the launch may be canceled” indeed! If Dimitrova had heard them, then everybody had heard them, and maybe the rumors were close to being true.
Margie allowed herself five minutes of luxurious soaking in the tub. When she got out she draped a towel around her body, not from modesty but from distaste; the shots had raised angry red welts all over her skin, and even with the ointment and the pills they itched. She did not want to be seen like that. Certainly not by the senator. It was bad advertising for the merchandise.