“Prophet’s beard,” Norman said. “Whatinole did you bleeders do to him?”
“Mr. House, that’s a very—”
“If you’re speaking from St. Faith’s you’re an officer, I guess. Colonel—general?”
“Of course—colonel—but one doesn’t use the—”
“Never mind. Suppose you answer my question?”
Oldham said stiffly, “Lieutenant Hogan was in a sense wounded in his country’s service and any other attitude to what has happened would be improper and unjustified. I hope that’s clear.”
“Have it your way,” Norman sighed. “All right, let’s stick to the orbit we were flying. You want to know if he can come and look over the Beninia project. Yes, he most certainly can, and if you’ve decided to discharge him from the service I’ll be happy to hire him myself. Tell him so—it might cheer him up if he’s depressed about something.”
“He is,” Oldham said shortly. “But you’ll see for yourself whether news like that is any use.”
* * *
For a while after that call, Norman was bewildered. No effort of imagination could explain convincingly how Donald could have been driven out of his skull. He had always seemed a stable, balanced codder, perhaps lacking in emotion, even. Was that what betrayed him—excessive self-control?
No good guessing.
With a start, Norman realised that for months past he had not taken in a news bulletin to digest it properly; he had sat in front of the screen and his mind had invariably wandered to something that directly concerned him. He recalled a few major items like the diplomatic breach with Yatakang, but he had no clear idea either what had caused it or what had ironed it out. There had been this tremendous row over the charge that Sugaiguntung had been lying—or someone had lied in Sugaiguntung’s name, he wasn’t sure which—and the genetic optimisation programme had been called a fake and now there was some sort of revolution going on with islands defecting to a rebel army led by a man with a funny name which made him think of horse’s hooves clopping, and the Chinese were accusing the Americans of fomenting it and retaliating by shipping arms to … where was it they searched a ship and found nuclear missiles hidden in the hold? Not Chile, but …
He stopped himself and told somebody to prepare a digest of the events relating to Yatakang over the past half-year, after which he was able to return to work.
* * *
When Donald did eventually arrive in Port Mey, Norman’s first reaction was shock. He had lost at least thirty pounds, and his cheeks were sunken under dark-circled eyes. Also there were patches of grey in his hair. Behind him, emerging from the same car, was a large young man with a watchful air who somehow made Norman think of bodyguards.
But he covered himself well and extended his hand, uttering a warm greeting. Donald let his own fingers rest laxly in Norman’s for a moment and answered with disconcerting directness.
“You’re wondering what’s made the change in me, aren’t you? Oh, don’t bother being polite—we shared an apt for years, didn’t we? I mean, the other Donald Hogan did.”
Norman’s heart sank. What was this about “the other” Donald? Was it a symptom of his mental derangement?
He looked past Donald at the man who had accompanied him, who gave a shrug and pursed his lips.
“That’s Tony,” Donald said. “They wouldn’t let me come without him. He’s not much of a nuisance except when I feel I’d like a shiggy and somehow with him watching me all the time I can’t persuade any girls to—never mind, though.” His manner reverted to something approaching the normal.
“Good to see you again! You’re turning into quite a public figure, know that? All the TV channels seem to be talking about you day and night. So I thought I’d like to come and see what it is that’s getting everyone so worked up.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Norman said. “I’ve laid on a tour of the kind we reserve for HIP’s.”
“I hope it includes the people I know here, which isn’t many, but they said Chad was here, and of course I suppose Elihu is?”
“I fixed for you to call on Elihu this afternoon—I thought you might want to say hullo. Of course, he’s pretty busy, but there’ll be time for a drink together, at least. As for Chad, though, he’s off up-country on the trail of an idea one of his study groups produced. I’ll do my best to get you together with him, but talk about trying to catch a fish with your bare hands…”
Chatting away, Norman ushered Donald into the dome.
* * *
The tour on which he escorted his visitor was a nightmare of tension for him. He hadn’t envisaged a change like this, and every second found him expecting another outburst of irrationality. It never materialised. Yet, without knowing exactly what form the disorder took, he couldn’t give up preparing for it. He was almost exhausted by the time they were due to call at the Embassy and see Elihu.
Gideon Horsfall was with him, and this was a relief; it meant there were two other people to carry the burden of conversation and he could rest until the subject reverted to something directly affecting him. For a while the talk was casual, concerning such public matters as President Obomi’s failing health and the good progress being made with the project, but it was inevitable that Donald should raise the name of Chad Mulligan again, and at that point Elihu glanced at Norman.
“I’m afraid I have no very clear idea what he’s doing,” the ambassador said. “Norman, you’re nominally his boss—can you explain?”
“Well, he’s conducting a tremendous social study of the country,” Norman shrugged. “He’s convinced that when he told Shalmaneser there was some unknown force operating among the people here he was speaking the truth, and he’s off looking for it.”
“And when he’s found it, what’s he going to do with it?” Donald demanded in a suddenly hostile tone. Norman’s scalp crawled, and he tried to make his answer as peaceable as possible.
“Well, I think you’d have to ask him about that.”
“Is he going to use it to change people?”
There was a blank silence. At length Elihu said, “Certainly Chad’s changed, himself, since I first met him. He struck me on first acquaintance as a loud-mouthed alcoholic, but now I know him better I think he was only embittered by rejection, and out here with a job that fully engages his attention he’s been transformed.”
“I was transformed, too,” Donald said loudly. “Did I tell you about that?”
From the corner in which he was sitting silently on his own, Tony said, “Now, Mr. Hogan, if you go on I shall have to—”
“Give me a trank and take me away!” Donald interrupted. “Fasten it, will you? Why they thought it would help me to recover having a stupid bleeder like you looking over my shoulder … Anyway, so what if I do talk about it? This is a Yew-Nigh-Ted States ambassador, remember?” He went on, addressing Elihu, without pausing for breath. “You know about being eptified, I guess. They did it to me, the drecky bleeders. They took me and trained me and when they’d finished I wasn’t Donald Hogan any more though I feel I’m entitled to use the name because he’s dead now. You see—”
As Elihu and Gideon were exchanging astonished glances, there was a sudden commotion outside. Relieved, Elihu said, “Excuse me, Donald! Gideon, see what that is, will you?”
Losing his audience, Donald fell to staring at his palms, both hands upturned on his lap, his head cocking first to one side, then the other.
Through the door, which Gideon had left ajar, there roared a familiar voice.
“I don’t care if he’s entertaining the Queen of sheeting Sheba! I want to talk to Norman House!”