blouse in place of a tunic, and he suddenly appreciated that she was beautiful. They were joined almost at once by O’Hagan and Sammy Yamoto, both of whom looked greyer and older than Garamond had expected. O’Hagan wasted no time on pleasantries.
“We’re at a big decision point, Vance,” he began. “Five of our ships have sub-standard propeller bearings and if we can’t get them upgraded there’s no point in continuing with the flight.” He tilted his head and assumed the set expression with which he always heard arguments.
“I have to agree.” Garamond nodded, rediscovering the fact that looking at Denise produced a genuine sensation of pleasure in his eyes.
O’Hagan twitched his brows in surprise. “All right, then. The first thing we have to do when we meet these aliens is to assess their engineering capabilities.”
“They can’t be at the level of gyromagnetic power or magnetic bearings — you saw their aircraft.”
“That’s true, but I think I’m right in saying a magnelube bearing can be considerably upgraded by enclosing it within another bearing, even one as primitive as a ball race. All we would have to do is commission the aliens to manufacture twenty or so large conventional bearings which we can wrap around our magnelubes.”
“They’d need to be of a standard size.”
O’Hagan sniffed loudly. “That goes without saying.”
“I think you’ll find…” Garamond broke off as an abrupt silence fell over the assembled crews. He turned and saw a fantastic cavalcade approaching the aircraft from the direction of the city. The aliens were humanoid — from a distance surprisingly so — and shared the human predilection for covering their bodies with clothes. Predominant hues were yellows and browns which toned in with sand-coloured skin, making it difficult to determine precise details of their anatomies. Some of the aliens were on foot, some on bicycles, some on tricycles, some on motor-cycles, some in a variety of open cars and saloons including a two-wheeled gyro car, some were perched on the outside of an erratic air-cushion vehicle. They approached to within twenty metres of the parked aircraft and came to a halt. As the heterogenous mixture of engines associated with their transport coughed, clanked and spluttered into silence, Garamond became aware that the aliens were producing a soft humming noise of their own. It was a blend of many different notes, continuously inflecting, and he tentatively concluded that it was their mode of speech. The aliens were hairless but had identifiable equivalents of eyes, ears and mouths agreeably positioned on their heads. Garamond was unable to decide what anatomical features their flimsy garments were meant to cover, or to see any evidence of sexual differentiation. He felt curiously indifferent to the aliens in spite of the fact that this first contact looked infinitely more propitious than the wordless futility of his encounter with the Clowns. No adventure in the outside universe held much significance compared to the voyage of discovery he was making within himself.
“Do you want to try speaking with them?” O’Hagan said.
Garamond shook his head. “It’s your turn to get your name in the history books, Dennis. Be my guest.”
O’Hagan looked gratified. “If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done scientifically.” He advanced on the nearest of the aliens, who seemed to regard him with interest, and the movement of his shoulders showed he was trying to communicate with his hands.
“There’s no
“Nothing, Sammy. I was talking to myself.”
“You should be careful who you’re seen speaking to.”
Garamond nodded abstractedly.
The aliens stayed for more than an hour and then, gradually but without stragglers, moved away in the direction of their city. They reminded Garamond of children who had been enjoying an afternoon at a funfair and had become so hungry they could not bear to miss the meal waiting at home. When the last brightly painted vehicle disappeared behind the trees there was a moment of utter silence in the meadow, followed by an explosive release of tension among the plane crews. Bottles of synthetic liqueur were produced and a party set off to swim in a nearby lake.
“That was weird,” Joe Braunek said, shaking his head. “We stood in two lines and looked at each other like farm boys and girls at a village dance on Terranova.”
“It went all right,” Garamond assured him. “There’s no protocol — what are you supposed to do?”
“It still was weird.”
“I know, but just think what it would have been like if there’d been any diplomats or military around. We met them, and stared at them, and they stared at us, and nobody tried to take anything that belonged to the others, and nobody got hurt. Things could have been worse, believe me.”
“I guess so. Did you see the way they kept counting our ships?”
“I did notice that.” Garamond recalled the repeated gesture among the onlookers, long golden fingers indicating, stepping their way along the line of aircraft.
“Seemed important to them, somehow. It was as if they’d never seen…”
“We’ve made genuine progress, Vance.” O’Hagan approached with a sheaf of hand-written notes and a recorder. “I’ve identified at least six nouns or noun-sounds in their speech and I believe I’d have done better if I’d had musical training.”
“Can’t you get somebody to help?” “I have. I’m taking Paskuda and Shelley and going into the city. We won’t stay long.”
“Take as long as you need,” Garamond said casually.
“All right, Vance.” O’Hagan gave him a searching stare. “I want to see something of their machine capability as soon as possible. I think that would be a good idea, don’t you?”
“Excellent.” Garamond had seen a flash of tangerine further down the line of aircraft and was unable to take his eyes away from it. He quickly disengaged from O’Hagan, walked towards Denise Serra but hesitated on seeing that she was involved in a discussion with the six other women of the flight crews. He was turning away when she noticed him and signalled that he was to wait. A minute later she came to him, looking warm, competent, desirable and everything else he expected a woman to be. The thought of lying with her caused a painful stab in his lower abdomen as glandular mechanisms, too long suppressed, found themselves reactivated. Denise glanced around her, frowned at the proximity of other people, and led the way towards an unspoiled area of tall grass. The quasi-intimacy of her actions pleased Garamond.
“It’s good to see you again,” he said.
“It’s good to see you, Vance. How do you feel now?”
“Better. I’m coming to life again.”
“I’m glad.” Denise gave him a speculative look. “That was an official meeting of Orbitsville Women’s League, detached chapter.”
“Oh? Carry on, Sister Denise.”
She smiled briefly. “Vance, they’ve voted to drop out of the flight.”
“Unanimously?”
“Yes. Five airplanes are going to have to give up eventually, and we might as well pick the spot. The Hummers seem friendly and making a study of their culture will give us something to do. Apart from bringing up babies, that is.”
“Do you know how many men will want to stay?”
“Most of them. I’m sorry, Vance.”
“Nobody has to apologize for the operation of simple logic.”
“But that leaves you only two aircraft, and it isn’t enough.”
“It’s all right.” Garamond wondered how long he could go on with the role of martyr before telling Denise he
