Nuclear Power Liaison to UW, 2193-95
2195-97: Gained reputation as chief planner for the {partially] successful North African and Amazon basin reclamation projects.
Consultant to numerous environmental causes, and to Kosmik, 2197-99.
Has written extensively on greenhouse, and changing climatic conditions in the oceans. Longtime advocate of population reduction by government decree.
Arrested on four occasions for protesting wetland and endangered species policies.
The remarks section revealed that Truscott was a member of numerous professional organizations. Still active with the International Forest Reclamation Project, the Earth Foundation, and Interworld.
Once intervened in an attack by a gang of toughs on an elderly man in Newark. Was knifed in the process. Took a gun from one gang member and shot him dead.
During the Denver earthquake of 88, she'd directed traffic out of a collapsing theater.
No shy flower here.
Hutch brought up Truscott's image: she was tall, with a high forehead, and laser eyes. Dark brown hair and lush complexion. She might still be described as attractive, but she had somewhere acquired a hard edge. Accustomed to command. Nevertheless she looked like a woman who knew how to have a good time. More significant, Hutch could see no give in her.
She sighed and opened a channel to the orbiter. The screen cleared to the Kosmik emblem, the torch of knowledge within a planetary ring. Then a beefy, bearded man gazed at her. 'Kosmik Station,' he said. 'What do you want, WinckelmannT'
He was big-bellied, gruff. The sleeves of a loud green shirt were rolled to his forearms. His eyes were small and hard, and they locked on her. He radiated boredom.
'I thought you might like to know I'm in the area.' She kept her voice level. 'If you have ships operating nearby, I'd appreciate a schedule.'
He appraised her with cool disdain. 'I'll see to it.'
'I have commencement of blasting Friday, ten hundred hours Temple time.' She used the word «blasting» sweetly, suspecting it would irritate the beefy man, for whom the correct terminology was surgery. 'Confirm, please.'
'That is correct, Winckelmann. There has been no change.' He glanced aside, and nodded. 'The director wants to speak with you. I'm going to patch you through.'
Hutch mustered her most amicable smile. 'Nice talking to you.'
His expression hardened. The man lived very close to the surface. No deep contemplative waters.
His image gave way to a Melanie Truscott who looked somewhat older than the pictures Hutchins had seen. This Truscott was not so well-pressed, not quite so imperial. 'Glad you're here, Winckelmann.' She smiled pleasantly, but it was a smile that came down from a considerable height. 'You're—?'
'— Priscilla Hutchins. Ship's captain.'
'Good to meet you, Priscilla.' The older woman's tone was casual. 'Do you have any objection if I record the conversation?'
That meant this was going to be CYA. Get on the record in case there are court proceedings later. 'No,' she said. 'That's fine.'
'Thank you. We've been expecting you. Do you need assistance getting your people off?'
'Thanks. There are only a handful, and we have two shuttles.'
'Very good. You should be aware that the initial phase of Project Hope involves nuking the icecaps.' She looked pointedly at Hutch. 'The Academy team still seems to have most of their equipment at the site.'
'That could be. I haven't been down there yet.'
'Yes.' Her voice took on a confidential tone. As if there were foolishness abroad that required immediate attention by the two of them. 'I've spoken with Dr. Jacobi. He is aware that destruction at the Temple site will be total.' She paused. 'The Yakata is open water all the way to the cap. That entire coastline will be rearranged. You understand what I'm saying?'
'I understand.' Hutch did not need to inject concern into her voice. But she let the woman see she was doubtful. 'What you need to be aware of is that they are close to a major discovery down there. There's a possibility I may not be able to get them all off in time.'
Truscott's eyes momentarily lost their focus. 'Priscilla, they are always close to a major discovery. Always. You know how long they've been there?'
'Almost thirty years,' said Hutch.
'They've had plenty of time.'
'Not really.' Hutch tried to keep it light. Avoid being confrontational. 'Not when you're trying to excavate an entire world. The Quraquat have three hundred centuries of history behind them. That's a lot of digging.'
'Whatever.' Truscott dismissed the discussion with a wave. 'It doesn't matter. What is important is that I have no authority to postpone the start of the project. The Academy has agreed to evacuate; we've given them appropriate advance notification of operations. I am offering assistance, if you wish. And I will expect you to have your people safely away.'
'Dr. Truscott, they may have a key to the Monument-Makers.'
The director looked annoyed now. 'Please understand,' she said. 'I have no discretion here.' She found Hutch's eyes and held them. 'Do what you have to. But get them off.'
Ship's Log Johonn Winckelmonn
Monday, June 7
Melanie Truscott is overbearing, and takes herself quite seriously. She shows no flexibility about the timing of the evacuation. Nevertheless, I am hopeful that she will build an emergency delay into the operation—if she has not already done so. I have described our conversation to Dr. Wold, warning him that it is my opinion that the Friday deadline should be treated with the utmost respect.
PH
Kosmik Station. Monday, June 7; 1050 hours. Melanie Truscott would have liked to walk on real ground under a real sky. Leave the cramped spaces and gleaming walls and synth meals behind and stride off the station into the night. For God's sake, she was sympathetic, but where did the Academy get these people who thought the entire world should stand aside while they dug up pots and idols?
She stared at the blank screen. When Harvey broke in to inform her that he was talking to the pilot of the Academy ship, she had been paging through the most recent queries and demands for access to the New Earth: Islamic militants, white supremacists, Chinese nationalists, black separatists, One-Worlders, New Hellenes, a vast assortment of ethnic groups, tribes, oppressed peoples. Corporate interests. People with ideas for social experiments. Norman Caseway, who had forwarded the material, had his own plans. She was less opti-mistic than he. Actual settlement was far in the future. She would be long gone before it happened, as would Norman, and most of the others who had crusaded for the Project. Who knew how it would turn out?
She wondered whether the world's problems might be solved by access to the stars. Or simply exported.
'What do you think, Melanie?'
Harvey Sill stood in the doorway. He was the station chief, the beefy man with whom Hutch had spoken. Truscott had worked with Harvey on and off for years. She liked him; he was an able administrator, and he was a good judge of people. And he was that most valuable of all subordinates: a competent man who was not afraid to express his opinion.
Melanie rocked back in her chair. 'I'm not comfortable.'
Harvey sat on the table. 'They're going to be a problem right to the end.'
'There's something you should see, Harv.' She called up a two-week-old transmission.
Norman Case way's congenial features appeared. He was seated at his desk in front of the organizational banner. 'Melanie,' he said, 'I had a visit from Richard Wald recently. He tried hard to get a delay on Hope. Yesterday, I heard he had left for Quraqua. I don't know what he has in mind, but he may defy the deadline. He seems capable of doing it.' Caseway looked unhappy. 'I hope I'm wrong. But there is a possibility he will announce to us, and to the world, that he's going to stay at the Temple. And challenge us to proceed.'
