"Good enough," he answered himself. His mirror image assumed a sarcastic look, then added, "For an old man with no dog."
Hawkes's face darkened. Suddenly he hated the thought of the dinner again, of leaving his room, of doing anything except finding out who had set him up.
Taking one last look into the mirror, he told himself, "You know, I don't see you being much of a comfort to me in my old age."
And then he simply turned and left the room, giving his reflection no chance to retaliate.
WELL, THOUGHT HAWKES, LOOKING AROUND THE TABLE, I've been to worse functions in my time.
"Okay, Mr. Ambassador, let's hear it. How does our table here on the Bulldog stack up?"
"Captain," Hawkes answered, "I'm a bit of a culinary dabbler myself, so I'm always willing to take into account every factor for or against a chef."
"Uh-oh," interjected Carl Jarolic, an environmental researcher. "This sounds bad, Captain."
"He's going to tramp you, Captain," joked Pensaval, a cost containment expert headed up to check over some of Red Planet, Inc.'s less productive branches.
"No, no," the ambassador offered. "Quite the contrary. On one of my first excursions around the ship, I inspected the Bulldog's galley from top to bottom. Seeing what our chef was up against, as far as I'm concerned, preparing anything beyond beans and mush down in that hole would take a genius and a saint." Hawkes lifted his glass, giving the captain an honest nod of the head.
"I compliment your kitchen crew, sir." The ambassador took a sip of his drink, then added, "If I didn't have my own genius and saint, I might try to steal yours."
The captain beamed, saluting Hawkes with his glass before taking his own healthy slug. Resting his glass on the table, the captain then said, "I'm glad to find you like the food, Mr. Ambassador. But tell me, what do you think of the trip so far?"
"Tranquil," answered Hawkes diplomatically.
"Is that a euphemism for 'slow'?" asked Glenia Waters, the wife of a Red Planet manager returning from a stay on Earth.
"I guess it could be taken that way," Hawkes admitted with an honest grin.
"I see the ambassador is straining to get to Mars and down to business," said Colin Harrod, one of the Bulldog's officers.
Tracey Sherman, another officer at the table, asked, "What do you think, Mr. Ambassador? Does it look as if you'll be able to settle this quickly?"
"You want my honest answer, Mr. Sherman—or the one that would look best in print?"
"Oh, please," interjected Jarolic, "favor us with a bit of honesty. Fresh air is so rare in space."
Hawkes nodded and gave the researcher a thin smile while everyone else laughed politely. Having spent no small amount of time during the trip so far going over the facts as they were known to Washington, the ambassador summed up how he felt, telling the assembly, "No, Mr. Sherman, Mr. Jarolic . . . I don't think a quick settlement is possible."
"Why not?" asked the captain.
"I'm sure the facts have shown Mr. Hawkes that the workers are too unreasonable to be dealt with quickly."
"Actually, Mr. Jarolic," answered the ambassador, a tiny bit taken aback by the man's bitterness, "I've found my information so incomplete that I plan to put a great deal of time into assessing the situation for myself."
The researcher pursed his lips, put off by Hawkes's answer. Before Jarolic could comment, Hawkes added, "To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure I trust much of the data I've received so far. This is a new kind of situation for me. I'm used to having everything at my fingertips. Instantaneous communications. Now I'm working with reports that are weeks old. Weeks. Coming from people whose honesty I can't even begin to gauge . . ."
"Because they're just low-class labor, Mr. Hawkes?"
"Because they're from a culture I've never encountered before. They live on another planet, Mr. Jarolic. And another thing . . ."
Hawkes had been surprised by the environmentalist's attacking statements. He had wanted to answer, but before he could, Waters cut him and everyone else off.
"Oh, now, stop. Stop. I'm going to hear nothing but this kind of talk once I get back home." Staring at the others imploringly, she said, "Dessert is on the way. Everyone has a drink. Let's not get on about business." She gave everyone a moment to turn her words over in their minds, then added, "Let's play a game."
Jarolic smiled. Hawkes held himself from sighing. Mar-tel and the captain shared mixed feelings.
"Let's play Quote."
The crowd reacted with varying degrees of enthusiasm. When Hawkes protested that he did not know the game, everyone agreed that it was easy and fun and that he should try. Martel said, "The rules are very simple, sir."
Hawkes nodded, adding his own commentary: "They always are," he told her. His first reaction was to call it a night, but suddenly, something within him changed. The little voice inside he always trusted told him to stay. His mind thus changed, he said, "All right. Somebody explain these simple rules to me."
"Certainly," Jarolic offered, something in his manner seeming less hostile than before. "We pick a topic—nature, God, taxation—whatever. Then, one of us will throw out the name of a famous person. Let's say the subject is . . . 'the enemy,' and the first name called is Richard Nixon. Everyone then tries to come up with a quote from Nixon on that subject. Whoever comes up with one gets the point and gets to throw out the next name."
" 'Those who hate you don't win unless you hate them—and then you destroy yourself.' " Mrs. Waters beamed at the others. Jarolic recognized the quote and smiled.
Then he put his hand to his brow and nodded his head, saying, "Very good. I'd say you've been practicing."
"Oh, you know, so little to do, so much time to do it in." She turned to Hawkes, telling him
