“Why would anybody care what I thought?”

“Former star pilot. That carries some weight.”

“Okay,” he said. It would be simple enough. Painful, but easy. He was sure he could find something nice to say about her without bending the truth too far. “Of course,” he said. “Whatever I can do to help.”

“Good. It’ll mean some speaking engagements. And I’ll want you to appear with me occasionally at other public events.”

“Of course. Easily done.”

“I’m sure.” She finished her drink. “Also—”

“There’s more?”

“MacElroy needs a decent science lab. Update subscriptions aren’t all that expensive, but the equipment is. And the AI should be replaced. The school system is broke. We’re always broke.” She smiled. “It’s a good cause.”

“Wait a minute. You want me to do something to update the science program?”

“Yes. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just—”

“Maybe I’m not who you think I am, Mr. Darwin.”

“How much?” he said.

She thought about it. “We’ve been looking at the Eastman High Complex. In Arlington.”

“How much?”

“One-fifty should cover it. If it doesn’t, we’ll make up the rest.”

“Myra, you’re talking a lot of money.”

“I’m sure it’s far less than a lander would cost. But if you can’t manage it—”

“No. Let me see what I can do.”

“Excellent. Get it done, and we’ll name the lab for you.” She glanced at the time and got to her feet. “That was excellent. Have to go, Matt.” She thanked him for the lunch, for the company, and swept away.

“YOU HAVE THElander, Matt?” asked Silvestri.

“Not yet, Jon. I’m working on it.”

“It would be nice. If you get it, where will it be coming from?” He looked as if he’d just returned from a workout. Shorts, drenched T-shirt, towel around his neck.

“Let me worry about that. I have one question for you, and I need an honest answer.”

“Sure.” A woman appeared in the background. Young, slim, redheaded, good-looking. Also in a sweat suit.

“Will it work this time?”

“Matt, I can’t promise anything. But yes, there’s a good chance. I’ve figured out where it went wrong.”

Matt wondered if he’d allowed himself to get carried away. “How much will it cost to install the Locarno? In the lander?”

“It won’t be cheap. But I think I can talk Rudy into underwriting it.”

“Rudy Golombeck?”

“Yes.”

“What if he says no?”

“Then I’ll just cut a deal with one of the corporates. I don’t want to do that, but I will if I have to.” The woman had ducked out of sight. Silvestri glanced after her, and Matt wondered if he was more interested in getting to her than he was in the drive. “Anything else?” he asked.

“I guess that’s all.”

“Good. Talk to you later. Let me know how it goes.”

Silvestri broke the link, and Matt stared at the space where the physicist had been.

He called Crandall Dickinson, who coordinated speakers at the Liberty Club. “Crandall,” he said, “who’s the next scheduled speaker?”

Dickinson was in his office. Matt could hear a basketball game, the volume turned down. The display was obviously off to one side. Dickinson kept glancing at it while they talked. “Next speaker?” He passed the question to the AI, glanced at the game, looked down at the response. “Harley Willington. Why?”

Harley was a local banker. They brought him in every couple of years, and he talked about the national debt and global fiscal trends. It was never practical stuff that anybody could use. Harley had a degree in economics from Harvard and liked to show it off. “Could we move him to another time, do you think? If I came up with a celebrity speaker?”

There was a roar and Crandall sucked air between clenched teeth. The other side had scored a big one. He stared at it for a few seconds, then turned back to Matt. “I don’t know, Matt. That always creates a problem. You have any idea what kind of message a last-minute cancellation sends?”

“Crandall, I know. And I wouldn’t ask, but it’s important.”

“Why? Who’s the celebrity?”

“Priscilla Hutchins.”

“Who?”

“The star pilot. The woman connected with rescuing the Goompahs.”

He shook his head. “Who the hell are the Goompahs?”

“Okay, look. She’s a good speaker. If you plugged her in, she’d give you a serious performance.”

“Matt, I don’t mind adding her to the speaker list. But why don’t we let her wait her turn? We could put her on”—he turned aside, checked something, came back—“in September. That be okay?”

“Crandall, this is important. We need it to happen this month.”

The guy was really suffering. “Who is she again?”

“Priscilla Hutchins.”

He wrote it down. “You owe me,” he said.

“One more thing.”

“There’s more?”

“I just wanted you not to cancel Harley until I get back to you.”

That brought eye-rolling and a loud sigh. “You haven’t set it up with her yet, right?”

“I’m working on it now.”

“What’s the big hurry, Matt?”

“It’s important. I’ll explain it to you when I have a minute.”

The other team apparently scored again. Crandall looked again to the side, groaned, and disconnected. Matt’s AI congratulated him. “I thought you were very good,” he said. “I didn’t think he was going to go for it.”

“Everything’s politics. I’ve done him a few favors. Now, see if you can connect me with Priscilla Hutchins.”

“Ah, yes. Good luck.”

HUTCHINS WAS OFF somewhere, out of touch, and he needed two days to locate her. In the meantime, Crandall called and insisted on a decision. Matt told him to cancel the banker.

“What happens if we don’t get What’s-her-name?”

“We’ll get her. Don’t worry.” If not, he’d dig up a history teacher over at the school to come in and talk about the five worst presidents, or some such thing. It would still be a considerable improvement.

WHEN HE FINALLY caught up with Hutchins and explained what he was trying to do, she didn’t take it well. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “You’ve committed me to do a fund-raiser to equip a high school lab so they’ll let you have a lander that’s been sitting out on the grass for the last few years. Do I have that right, Mr. Darwin?”

“Yes, ma’am. As far as it goes.”

“And you’ve talked to Dr. Silvestri about using the lander to run the next Locarno test?”

“Yes.”

“And he thinks that’s a good idea?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tell me again who you are.”

Matt explained. Former star pilot. A number of years with the Academy. Worked for you briefly when you were director of operations. Want to see the Locarno program work.

“Why me?”

He thought, Because we’re kindred souls. But he said, “I’ve seen you speak. And I thought you’d be willing to help.”

Hutchins was an attractive woman. She’d been around a long time, but you had to look hard to see it. Black hair, dark eyes, fine cheekbones. She might have been thirty. But her manner suggested she was not someone to be jollied along. “Mr. Darwin, don’t you think it might have been a good idea to check with me first?” She was at home, seated on a sofa behind a coffee table. Behind her, a painting of an old-style starship dominated the wall.

“I wasn’t sure I could get you plugged in. I didn’t want to have you accept, then have to go back to you and explain that the club wouldn’t make the change.”

“What makes you think the Locarno will perform any better this time?”

“I’ve spoken with Jon.” The use of the first name was too familiar, and he regretted using it but couldn’t get it back.

“As have I. What’s your background in physics?”