Jack Chalker: Echoes of the Well of Souls

She sat for a moment, not quite wanting to believe the implications of the conversation. Finally, worried that she had misunderstood, she asked, “Are you asking if I would go?”

He nodded. “Very short notice.” He looked at his watch. “You’d have to leave for home now. Pack in an hour or so. Your passport is current?”

“Yes, but—”

“Don’t forget it. They’ve got the visas. They’ll send a helicopter here for you and your stuff. You’ll be on a private charter with their team leaving Hartsfield at seven tonight.”

“But—but… Why me?”

He looked almost apologetic. “Grad assistants can cover your courses with no sweat, but Doctor Samms is in a rush to get his research organized for a presentation at the AAS next week, and both Kelly and I are, frankly, too old for this sort of thing, as much as I’d love to see that sucker come down—pardon the expression. Nobody else is qualified to observe the event and free enough to go who also wouldn’t be stiff as a board and look like an ass on television. So it’s either you or they call another university. And I’m afraid I have to call them back in less than ten minutes or they’re going to do that anyway.”

“I—I hardly know what to say. Yes, of course I’ll go. I—oh, my God! I better get packing!” The fact that he was being fairly left-handed about it all, that she’d gotten the job only because she was the only one so unimportant that she could be easily spared, didn’t bother her. This was the kind of luck she dreamed about, the one break upon which she might be able to stake out a scientific position that would be so unique that it would ensure her stature and prominence.

“We’ll make sure you’re covered,” Hicks assured her. “Five o’clock this afternoon they’ll land to pick you up at the medical center heliport. Don’t forget your passport!”

She wanted to kiss the old boy, who now could call her “Lori” any time he wanted, but she was in too much of a hurry. Jeez—she’d have to get the suitcases out of the storage locker, haul them up. What to take? She had little clothing or equipment for this kind of trip. And makeup— this was television! And the laptop, of course, and… How the hell was she going to pack and make it in just three hours?

It was tough, but she managed, knowing she’d forgotten many vital things and hoping that she would have a chance to pick them up in Brazil before going into the wild. The mere hauling of the suitcases and the packing had her gasping for breath, and she began to wonder if she was up to the coming job. She began to feel both her age and the effects of letting the spa membership lapse about a year earlier. She also worried about how much of that clothing, particularly the jeans, would fit. In the months since she’d thrown Harry out, she’d found solace for her dark mood in large quantities of chocolate and other sugary things and generally letting herself go.

Well, the hell with it. If they were going to give her this kind of notice, they could damned well buy her appropriate jungle clothing.

She locked up and hauled the suitcases to the car, discovering for the first time that one wheel on the big suitcase was missing. She just wasn’t ready for this, not with this kind of deadline—but she knew she needed it, needed it bad.

The helicopter was just about on time. It was, she saw, amused, the one Atlanta’s pop radio station used for traffic reports and had that big logo on the side. She wondered how the commuters were going to get home tonight.

The pilot got out, bending slightly under the rotors, and put out his hand. “Hello! I’m Jim Syzmanski,” he said in a shouted Georgia-accented voice. “You’re Doctor Sutton?”

“Yes. I’m sorry for the bulk, but they didn’t give me much notice on this.”

He looked at the two suitcases. “No sweat. You ought to see what some of ‘em take to a mere accident.” He picked them up as if they weighed nothing and stored them in back of the seats. “Get in, and we’ll get you goin’.”

Although not new to helicopters, she’d never been in one of these small, light types with two seats and a bubble, and it was a little unnerving for a while. Still, the pilot knew his business; it was smooth and comfortable, and they were approaching the airport in a mere twenty minutes, about two hours less than it would have taken to drive and park.

“Sorry to rush you here so you could wait,” the pilot told her, “but they need the chopper back over the highways, and this was the only slot I had to get you. Your bags will be okay here. Not many facilities in this area, but unless you want to hike a bunch to the terminal and back, I’d say just head for that waiting room over there. It’s pretty basic, but it’ll do. I’ll radio in once I’m up and tell them that you’re here and waiting. It shouldn’t be long.”

She thanked him, and he was off as soon as he got clearance, leaving her alone in the hangar area. There was a sleek-looking twin-engine Learjet just beyond the barrier with the news organization’s corporate logo; she assumed that it was the plane they were going to use.

She turned and walked toward the indicated lounge area, which wasn’t much more than a prefabricated unit sitting on the tarmac. A few official-looking people were around beyond the fence, but she suddenly felt nervous about being there without some kind of pass or badge. What if she got arrested for possible hijacking or something?

The lounge proved to have a few padded seats, one of those portable desks so common at airport check-ins, a single rest room, a soft drink machine, two candy machines, a dollar changer, and an empty coffee service. Suddenly conscious that she hadn’t taken the time to eat anything since breakfast, she looked at the machines and sighed. The cuisine in this place wasn’t exactly what she needed, but it would have to do. Hartsfield was such an enormous airport that getting to a point where she could even catch a shuttle to a terminal was beyond her current energy level, and she was afraid to leave. If they showed up and didn’t find her here, they might just leave without her. One of Murphy’s ancient laws—if you stay, they’ll be late. If you go, they’ll show up almost immediately. This wasn’t exactly scheduled service, and any rules beyond that weren’t very clear.

She fumbled through her bag. At least she had some ones and what felt like a ton of change at the bottom.

Nothing brought on depression faster or made time crawl more than having rushed like mad only to wind up stuck in an empty building, she reflected. The adrenaline rush was wearing off, replaced by a sense of weariness. If the pace had continued, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but to be dropped suddenly into lonely silence was murder.

It also gave her time to worry. Had she packed everything that she needed? Was she dressed right for this? Thinking of utility, she’d pulled on some stretch pants, a Hubble telescope T-shirt because it was the only thing she could find that would mark her as perhaps a scientist, and some low-top sneakers. Her old hiking boots were packed, at least, but she doubted that she had a pair of jeans that still fit. Prescription sunglasses, check. But her spare pair of regular glasses were still in her desk in her office. Damn! That’s one, she thought glumly. The pair she had on and the sunglasses would have to do.

She also hadn’t stopped the mail or papers or arranged for her car to be picked up. It was too late to call anybody who could do much tonight; she’d have to call Hester, the department secretary, from Brazil tomorrow.

She went over to the window and looked out on the field. The sun was getting low, and the tinted windows reflected her image back through the view. God! I look awful! she thought, worried now about first impressions. She hadn’t really realized how much she’d let herself go. She was becoming a real chubette, even in the face, and the very short haircut that had proved so convenient and would also be best for the tropics somehow looked very masculine against that face. I look like a middle-aged bull dyke, she thought unhappily. She was supposed to go on TV looking like this!