Algis Budrys - Michaelmas

Norwood said: “Mr Secretary, I’m looking at a materials analysis print-out that says the core component was made by spark-eroding a piece of GE Lithoplaque until it looks a lot like USSR Grade II Approved stock. You’d think that could work because Grade II is manufactured some place south of Kiev using equipment purchased from GE and utilizing GE processes under licence. But GE went to a smooth from a matte finish on Lithoplaque last year, whereas Grade II didn’t. You might figure you could carve back to the old configuration. But you can’t; GE also changed the structure a little. And it’s only in limited distribution as yet. According to what I see here, the only place you could get that particular piece we’re talking about is GE’s central mid-western supply warehouse in St Louis.”

“St Louis?”

Mr Wirkola said: “I am fine. And how are you, Mr Gately?”

There was a long silence. “You’re sure, Walter?”

“Well, to satisfy myself I’m immediately going to pass the thing through the labs here again. I’ve got to admit I damned near made a fool of myself about it once; and I don’t want to do that twice. But we’re working with the best hardware and software in the world when it comes to engineering, around here, and I’ve strapped myself into it many’s the time without a second thought. I’ve got a feeling I could run this baby through any modern equipment in the world and come up with the same answer.”

“St Louis, Missouri.”

Mr Wirkola said: “I believe there is still a community called St Louis du Ha! Ha!, near Lac Temiscouata in Quebec.”

“Mr Wirkola, I appreciate UNAC’s discretion in this matter,” Gately said. “I’m assuming you’ll be in touch with me officially about this?”

“Yes,” Wirkola said. “We are assigning Colonel Norwood to temporary duty as our liaison with the US government on this matter. I suggest a good will tour of the USA as a cover for his talks with your President and yourself. But he will call you a little later today with confirmation from his re-tests, and that will have given you time to consult with Mr Westrum on your response to that suggestion. You may tell Mr Westrum we understand his political situation, and we certainly do not wish to inculcate any unnecessary constraints upon his conscience. Nevertheless, I think there may be better ways to slide this incident into the back shelves of history than by any public counterclaiming between Mr Westrum and whoever your informant may have been. What is done privately is of course private.”

Domino said : “Slit you, skin you, and sell you a new suit. That nice old man took two minutes to react to Gately’s news, size it up, and flip through the anatomy text.”

“Yes,” Michaelmas said.

“Thank you, Mr Wirkola,” Gately said. “I’ll speak to my President and be waiting for Colonel Norwood’s call.”

“Thank you, Mr Secretary. We are grateful for your co-operation,” Wirkola raid.

“ 'Bye, Walter. Good to talk to you, son.”

“Thank you, Mr Secretary.”

The connection opened. The van was on the city ramps now, sliding smoothly between the beautiful new structures, humming towards the airport. Domino said: “I can see why you favoured Mr Wirkola’s election as Director General.”

“That’s not what you see. What you see is why it wasn’t necessary to do anything with the vote. His virtues are evident even to an election committee. Eschew the sin of over-management; that above all. You don’t want to lose respect for the Hjalmar Wirkolas of this world.”

“Noted. As before.”

Michaelmas sighed. “I didn’t mean to nag.”

He made his voice audible: “Mr Samir, after you’ve delivered me, I’d like you to go back to Star Control and interview Major Papashvilly. Permission’s all arranged. After I’m airborne, I’ll call Signor Frontiere and the Major, and tell them you’re coming and what we’ll do.”

“Right,” Domino said.

“I understand,” Mr Samir replied.

Michaelmas smiled trustfully at him. “You have it. I’ll be on the phone with you, giving you the questions to ask, and you’ll pick up the Major’s responses.”

“No problem,” Domino said.

“I understand completely,” Mr Samir said. “I am proud of your reliance on me.”

“Then there’s no difficulty,” Michaelmas said. “Thank you.”

Mr Samir’s footage would be fed to his network’s editing storage and held for mixing. Via Domino, the network would also receive footage of Michaelmas asking the questions, commenting, and reacting to Papashvilly’s answers. The network editing computer would then mix a complete interview out of the two components.

Since the shots of Michaelmas would be against a neutral background, the editing programme could in some cases scale Michaelmas and Papashvilly into conformity and matte them into the same frames together. The finished effect would be quite convincing. Mr Samir assumed, without the impoliteness of asking, that Michaelmas would also use a union crew at his end.

And in fact he would, Michaelmas thought as he leaned back in his seat. Domino would call in direct to network headquarters, and they’d photo the Laurent Michaelmas hologram in their own studios. You could do that with studio-controlled lighting and computer-monitored phone input levels. There was a promise that only a year or two from now there’d be equipment that would let you do it in the field. When that happened, it wouldn’t be necessary any longer for L. G. Michaelmas to be physically present anywhere but in his apartment, sitting at his desk or cooking in his kitchen or playing his upside-down-strung guitar.

“What’ll you want?” Domino asked. “A how’s-it-going-Pavel, or a give-us-the-big-picture, or a roundup conversation including how he reacts to Norwood’s return or what?”

“Give us the round-up,” Michaelmas said. “He’ll be good at that. We just want to reinforce the idea he’s a bright, quick, fine fellow and he’s going to do a hell of a job.” And mostly, they were simply going to keep Papashvilly in a controlled situation among friendly people for the next hour or two. It would do no harm. And it would maintain L. G. Michaelmas’s reputation for never scrubbing a job even if he had to be in two places at the same time, damn near, and it was good to remind yourself there were plenty of competent crews and directors around. “And, listen, make sure I’m in character when I phone Pavel about this.”

“That’s all taken into account. Ghat before shooting. Friends re-united. Buy you a drink soonest.”

“Fine,” Michaelmas said. He rubbed his thumb and fingers over his eyelids, head bowed momentarily, aware that when he slumped like this, he could notice the fatigue in his back and shoulders.

Something overhead was coming down as if on a string, metallic and glimmering—God’s lure. The military gates opened smoothly, so that the Oskar barely slowed. The guard nodded at their plate number and saluted, good soldier, explicit orders fresh in the gate shack teleprinter. The van moved towards the flight line. “What is that?” Mr Samir asked, looking up and out through the windscreen. He braked hard and stopped them at the edge of a hardstand.

The aircraft became recognizable overhead as a cruelly angled silvery wedge balanced on its tailpipes, but as it neared the ground its flanks began to open into stabilizer surfaces, landing struts, and blast deflectors.

“I believe that is a Type Beta Peacekeeper,” Michaelmas said. “They are operated by the Norwegian Air Militia. I wouldn’t open any doors or windows until it’s down and the engines are idled.” The windscreen glass began shivering in its gaskets, and the metal fabric of the Oskar began to drum.