Algis Budrys - Michaelmas

“Approximating. Yes.”

Michaelmas was watching Norwood in conversation with Frontiere. Frontiere was talking intently and softly, holding one hand on Norwood’s shoulder and tapping lightly on Norwood’s chest with the spread fingers of the other. Norwood was looking into his face with the half-focused stare of an earthquake victim. It was over in a moment. Norwood shrugged and nodded, his eyes downcast. Frontiere smiled and put his arm protectively around Norwood’s shoulders in good-natured bonhomie. He patted Norwood’s shoulder absently while looking about for aides to make sure the astronaut’s entrance into Control Tower would be properly handled.

“An interesting statement. But hardly relevant at this moment,” Michaelmas said. “Your sensors were adequate to measure his belief in himself.”

“As any other lie detector would have.”

“That may be as much detection as any man needs. Well — we’re off.” The bus was emptying. To keep in trim, Michaelmas stepped forward deftly and debarked just behind Norwood and Frontiere. Not only Ossip Sakal but Hjalmar Wirkola himself were waiting to greet Norwood, all smiles now. There was a faint flicker through the lobby lights, unnoticed. Frontiere propelled the astronaut gently toward the Director General. The stately, straight-backed old gentleman stepped forward from Sakal’s side as Norwood approached, and extended his hand. Somewhere very faintly there was a ringing bell, if you listened. “My boy!” Wirkola said, clasping the astronaut’s handshake between his palms. “I was so glad when Ossip told me you are all safe now.” Everyone’s attention was on them. Over at the elevator bank, a security man was looking at the lights of an indicator panel and frowning, his ear to the wall, but that was the sum total of distraction in that crowd.

The press of people built up around Norwood and Wirkola; Michaelmas could see additional UNAC people coming from a side foyer. Getulio’s press aides were bringing them in through the more casual onlookers and the news people. There is a lot you can do with a properly swung hip and a strategically insinuated shoulder to create lanes in a crowd without it showing on camera.

There was, somewhere, away in the higher levels of the tower, a dull thump. Perhaps, really, it was a sonic boom outside, somehow penetrating the building insulation. Or masked burglars blowing a safe with black powder. A freight elevator door opened and Papashvilly stepped out, looking momentarily flustered but recovering quickly.

Domino was making the noise again. He had learned to make it clearly, now. It was a bronchitic giggle, brought up sawing from the depths of a chest in desperate search of air. “The building systems programme?” he gasped. “It’s trying to maintain homeostasis with everything going to hell upstairs. It’s running from switch to switch like an old maid chasing mice with a broom. Oh, my! Oh, me!”

Papashvilly had his head up, his shoulders back, and his grin delighted as he moved toward the main group. He was waving at Norwood. As his glance reached Michaelmas, who was making his way across Luis’s line of sight on Norwood, he momentarily shifted the direction of his wave, and wagged two fingers at him, before redirecting himself to the welcome. Michaelmas raised a clenched fist, one thumb up, and shook it. Clementine Gervaise stepped on Michaelmas’s foot. “Pardon” she said, the corners of her mouth quivering slightly and her eyes a little wider and shining more than normal, “you are blocking my camera, Laurent.” Michaelmas stared at her. “Excuse me,” he said, wondering if they would now spend days grinning at each other. “It was innocent, I assure you.” he said and pushed on, his eyes sliding off Campion’s face en route. The man was looking around a little busily, his face raised. He made a sniffing expression. There was the faintest whiff of smoke in the air, already being dissipated by the building’s exhaust ventilators. Campion shrugged faintly and returned his attention to matters at hand. Michaelmas found it interesting that Douggie did have a nose for news. He winked toward Papashvilly.

“Hanrassy is punching up Gately’s number,” Domino said.

Michaelmas stopped, changed direction, and began working his way clear. “I’ll want to monitor that,” he said, and pulled the plug out of the terminal, inserting it in his ear as he went, to account for the fact that he was stepping out of the crowd and standing with an intent expression, his hand over his free ear to shut out other sounds. He stood apparently oblivious, while Gately’s secretary fielded the call and then put Hanrassy through.

“I want you to look at something, Mr Secretary,” she said without preamble.

Domino said : “She’s showing him a holo of the sender.”

“Yes,” Michaelmas said. He clenched his jaw.

“I see it, Miz Hanrassy. Should I recognize it?” Gately said.

“That would depend on how familiar you expect to be with Soviet electronic devices.”

“I don’t follow you, ma’am. Is that thing Russian?”

“It is, Mr Secretary. There’s no doubt about it; it’s not exactly a standard component in their engineering, but it’s made of standard pieces and the workmanship is characteristically theirs.”

“Yes, ma’am, and in what way is that relevant to my duties?”

“I wonder if you’d care to call Colonel Norwood and ask him if he found it in his capsule just before he was forced to escape.”

Michaelmas took a deep breath. “That’s it, then,” he said to Domino steadily. “There is no further doubt. Limberg and Cikoumas supplied it to her, along with their story. They don’t have the slightest sense of restraint or responsibility. They think we are an ant farm.”

“Ma’am,” Gately was saying, “are you telling me the Russkis sabotaged Norwood’s shuttle and you can prove it?”

“The sons of bitches,” Michaelmas said. “The bastards. Get me to the sanatorium. Right now. And I arrive without warning. Right?”

“Viola Hanrassy” said : “Ask Norwood, Mr Secretary. Ask him why UNAC hasn’t let him say anything about it.”

“Ma’am, where’d you get this information?”

“If you obtain corroboration from Norwood, Mr Secretary, then I’ll be glad to discuss details with you. In fact, Will, I’m holding myself in readiness to work very closely with you on this. We may have the joint duty of alerting the American people to their responsibilities and opportunities in the coming election.”

Domino said : “I think that may have been an offer of the Vice Presidency.”

“Bribes,” Michaelmas said. “They always go to bribes when they’re not sure they’re on top, and coercion when they are. That’s all they know. They really don’t believe anyone would help them just on their merits. Well, Christ, at least they’re our own. How’s my ride to Berne?”

“Wait one.”

Gately was saying: “I’ll place a call to Africa right away and get back to you.”

“Thank you, Mr Secretary.”

“And kiss my bum, both of you,” Michaelmas muttered as the connection broke. He was looking around with sharp, darting swings of his eyes, his hands raised in front of him and his feet well apart, so that he was leaning forward against his weight.

“Mr Michaelmas.”

“Yes.”

“Get to the airport.”

“Right.”

He strode directly toward Mr Samir. “How do you do,” he said, thrusting his hand forward.

“How do you do, sir,” Mr Samir said, responding with a calloused palm and a dignified smile. “What are my instructions?”

“There has been a change of plans. I would like to be driven back to Cite d’Afrique immediately.”

“As you wish.” He turned toward his crew, snapped his fingers and gestured. The men began clambering at the sides of the Oskar. “We depart in ninety seconds, Mr Michaelmas.”