the simplest key. Better still, a word that did no even exist — then it could never accidentally trigger the
‘Sec's memory.
Suddenly, he had it. There was one name he would never forget; and if he deliberately misspelled it...
He carefully pecked out KALINDY, followed by the sequence of instructions that would set up the
memory. Then he unplugged the tiny radiomike, pinned it on his shirt, spoke a test message, and checked that the machine would play it back only after it had been given the correct order.
Duncan had never kept a diary, but he had decided to do so as soon as he arrived on Earth. In a few
weeks he would meet more people and visit more places than in the whole of his preceding life, and
would certainly have experiences that could never be repeated when he returned to Titan. He was
determined to miss nothing that could be helped, for the memories he was storing now would be of
inestimable value in the years ahead. How many times in his old age, he wondered, would he play back
those words of his youth...?
“2276 June 12. I'm still adapting to Earth gravity, and don't think I'll ever get really used to it. But I can stand for an hour at a time now, without developing too many aches and pains. Yesterday I saw a
man actually jumping. I could hardly believe my eyes...”
“George, who thinks of everything, has arranged a masseur for me. I don't know if that's helped at all, but it's certainly an interesting experience.”
Duncan stopped recording and contemplated this slight understatement. Such luxuries were rare on
Titan, and he had never before had a massage in his life. Bernie Patras, the amiable and uninhibited
young man who had visited him, had shown a remarkable (indeed, startling) knowledge of physiology,
and had also given Duncan much useful advice. He was a specialist in treating off-worlders, and
recommended one sovereign cure for gravitational complaints. "Spend an hour a day floating in a bath —
at least for the first month. Don't let your schedule squeeze this out, no matter how busy you are. If you have to, you can do a lot of work in a tub — reading, dictating, and so forth. Why, the Lunar Ambassador used to hold briefings with just his nose and mouth above water. Said he could think better that way..."
That would certainly be an undiplomatic spectacle, Duncan told himself — unique even in this city,
which had probably seen everything.
"I've been here three days now and this is there first time I've had the energy — and the inclination —
and the opportunity — to put my thoughts in order. But from now on, I swear, I'll do this every day...
"The first morning after my arrival, General George — that's what everyone calls him — took me to the Embassy, which is only a few hundred meters from the hotel. Ambassador Robert Farrell apologized
because he couldn't come to the spaceport. He said, ‘I knew you'd be in good hands with George — he's
the world's greatest organizer.’ Then the General left us, and we had a long private talk.
“I met Bob Farrell on his last visit to Titan, three years ago, and he remembers me well — at least, he gave that impression, which I suppose is an art all diplomats have to acquire. He was very helpful and friendly, but I got the feeling that he was sounding me out, and not telling me everything he knew. I
realize that he's in an ambiguous position, being a Terran yet having to represent our interests. One day this may cause difficulties, but I don't know what we can do about it, since no native-born Titanian can ever live on Earth...”
“Luckily there are no urgent problems, as the Hydrogen Agreement isn't due for renegotiation until
‘80. But there were dozens of little items on my shopping list, and I left him with plenty to think about.
Such as: why can't we get quicker deliveries of equipment, can anything be done to improve shipping
schedules, what went wrong with the new student exchange? — and similar Galaxy-shaking questions.
He promised to set up appointments for me with all the people who could straighten these things out, but I tried to hint that I wanted to spend some time looking at Earth. And after all, he's not only our man in Washington but also our representative on Terra...”
“He seemed quite surprised when I told him that I expected to stay on Earth for almost a year, but at
this stage I thought it best not to give him the main reason. I'm sure he'll guess it quickly enough. When he tactfully asked about my budget, I explained that the Centennial Committee had been a great help, and there was still some Makenzie money in the World Bank which I was determined to use. ‘I understand,’
he said, ‘Old Malcolm's over a hundred and twenty now, isn't he? Even on Earth, leaving as little as
possible for the Community Fund to grab is a popular pastime.’ Then he added, not very hopefully, that any personal balances could be legally bequeathed to the Embassy for its running expenses. I said that was a very interesting point and I'd bear it in mind...”