James Hogan: Mission to Minerva

"You could be right," Danchekker agreed.

By the time she was squinting at the menu, after rummaging in her purse for a pair of oval spectacles with purple butterfly frames, she had switched to news of the European branch of the family. "Emma-you remember her? You wouldn't recognize her if you saw her today-tall and raven haired like her grandmother was. She took up with a Ukrainian artist of some kind, and they're living like Bohemians in a converted barn in Croatia. Martha-that's her mother-is so put out about it. Stefan says he's going to disinherit her if she doesn't come to her senses. He's doing well, by the way. You really could try and stay in touch a bit more, you know, Christian. His firm has just opened a new office in Vienna. They've got a new line on some kind of self-repairing material for spacecraft and things that there was a lot of interest in. But he's worried now that the Thuriens might start importing something superior that would upset everything. I don't think they would, though, do you? I know they don't have an economic system as we know it, or very much in the way of restrictions. But they're just not the kind who would go barging in thoughtlessly and destabilize another culture like that… Seafood Alfredo sounds good. What are you having?"

"Oh, just something light today. I have to attend one of those wretched black tie dinners tonight. In honor of someone who's retiring. Some UNSA people are over from Geneva for it."

"Poor Christian. You never were one for that kind of thing, were you?"

"The primary object appears to be getting seats at the right tables and to be seen, rather than appreciating a good meal. Quite frankly, I'd rather they brought him here."

"The Thuriens would never go for that kind of nonsense, would they?" Mildred said, resurrecting that topic through to the end of the salad course. "From all the things I've read, they just don't have any concept of rivalry or putting the other person down. If you persuade them they're wrong about something, they just admit it. Why can't we be more like that? And it's so idiotic! I mean, how often have you watched someone at a cocktail party who won't back down?… because he's afraid of losing face! But he couldn't lose more face than by doing what he's doing, could he?… when everyone in the room thinks he's being a dolt. But just once in a while you see one who can stop, and look at you, and say, 'You may have a point. I never thought about it that way.' In my eyes, someone like that is suddenly ten feet tall. You think, my God, how wonderful! So why is it so difficult? But all the Thuriens are like that, aren't they? Does it really go back to their ancient ancestors on Minerva, where there were no land carnivores and predators? I've read the things you've written about all that. It explains so much of their social structure today. I really need to learn more."

Danchekker decided that his moment had come. Mildred must have seen him swell in anticipation or caught a glint in his eye through his spectacles, for she paused just as she was about to resume, and looked at him curiously.

"How would you like to learn everything you want to know, firsthand, from the best source you could possibly wish for?" he asked her. Mildred frowned, not knowing what to make of this. Danchekker dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and tossed out his other hand expansively. "From the Thurien psychologists, biologists, and social visionaries themselves! All of them-anyone you care to approach, with all their records and theories, plans and history available and accessible. You said yourself how informal they are."

Mildred shook her head, thrown off track and flummoxed. "Christian, I don't think I quite follow… What, exactly, are you talking about?"

Danchekker beamed in the way of someone finally divulging a secret he could contain no longer. "I have managed to arrange precisely such an opportunity for you: to go there personally, to Thurien, and meet some of their most prominent scientific figures and social leaders. They will be more than happy to help with everything you need to know. A writer's chance of a lifetime!"

Mildred stared at him incredulously. "Me? Go to Thurien?… Are you serious? I… I don't think I quite know what to say."

Danchekker brushed an imaginary crumb from his lapel with a thumb. "The least I could do as a modest contribution, considering the acquaintances I have been fortunate enough to make there," he told her. "Frenua Showm, an inner member of their highest policy-making organization, will take care of you personally and arrange the right introductions."

"My God, this is…" Mildred put a hand up to her mouth and shook her head again. "Quite a shock, you understand."

"I am sure you will rise to it admirably."

Mildred emitted a long, shaky breath and gulped from her water glass. "When is this supposed to happen?"

"A Thurien vessel called the Ishtar is in orbit above Earth currently, in connection with a technical and cultural exchange mission visiting eastern Asia. It will be returning seven days from now. I took the liberty of reserving you a place on it."

"Seven days! My word…" Mildred put a hand to her chest weakly.

Danchekker waved a hand carelessly. "I know the Thuriens are obliging, and one only has to ask. But it means that places on their ships tend to be filled quickly. And the Ishtar is only a small craft, apparently. I didn't want to risk your being disappointed."

"Christian, was this your idea?" A suspicious note had crept into Mildred's voice.

Danchekker spread his palms with the expression of bewildered innocence of a boy insisting he had no idea how the frog had gotten into his sister's bed. "I talk to Frenua all the time, and happened to mention your project and its research needs. The offer was entirely theirs." A mild feeling of discomfort flickered for a moment as he said this, but lightning didn't strike.

Finally, Mildred absorbed what he was saying. She sat back in her chair and looked at him disbelievingly. "Well… what do I say? I knew I'd come to the right person."

"Does that mean you're agreeable?"

"It'll be a bit of a rush getting organized at this kind of notice… But of course. As you said, a writer's chance of a lifetime."

"Splendid. It calls for a bottle of wine, don't you think?" Danchekker turned his head from side to side, searching for a waiter.

"I thought you didn't drink," Mildred said.

Danchekker pursed his lips for a moment, then shrugged. "There are moments in life when a rare exception might be permitted," he replied.

He was still cackling to himself an hour later, when he paid the cabbie off at Goddard, having dropped Mildred at her hotel on the way back to begin making her arrangements.

A friend of Hunt's named Rita, who was widowed, attractive, sophisticated, and, remarkably, unattached, ran a Turkish-cuisine restaurant that he visited from time to time in Silver Spring. A couple of months previously, she had prevailed upon him to escort her to a wedding she had been invited to of an old friend from college days. It had all gone very pleasantly, and he in turn enlisted her as his dinner companion for Owen's retirement dinner at the Carnarvon. She appeared promptly when he collected her shortly after six o'clock, tall and shapely, her honey-blond hair worn high, and wearing a white stole over a sparkling orange gown, high-necked and sleeveless, Oriental style. "Susie Wong tonight, are we?" Hunt quipped as she took his arm to walk to the airmobile that he had arrived in-rented.

"It goes with the tuxedo image of this James Bondish-looking Englishman. Are you packing a gun, too?"

"I knew I'd forgotten something." Hunt saw her in to the passenger seat, closed the door, and walked around to the driver's side.