No, you don't, Duncan told himself. It was an excruciatingly complicated situation. He was quite
sure now why Calindy had been avoiding him. Karl would have warned her that he was coming to Earth
and would have advised her to keep out of his way. Yes, Karl must have been very worried, up there on
little Mnemosyne, lest Duncan stumble upon his activities.
It was essential to keep completely out of the picture; Calindy must never guess that he knew. There
was no way in which she could possibly link him with Mandel'stahm, with whom she was already dealing
through her own exceedingly discreet intermediary.
Yet still Duncan hesitated, like a chess master over a crucial move. He was analyzing his own
motives, and his own conscience, for his personal and official interests were now almost inextricably
entangled.
He was anxious to find out what Karl was doing, and if necessary frustrate him. He wanted to make
Calindy ashamed of her deceit, and possibly turn her embarrassment to his emotional advantage. (This
was a rather forlorn hope; Calindy did not embarrass easily, if at all...) And he wanted to help Titan, and thereby the Makenzies. All these objectives were not likely to be compatible. Duncan began to wish that titanite had never been discovered. Yet, undoubtedly, there was a brilliant opportunity here, if only he had the wit to make his moves correctly.
Their autojitney was now gliding, at the breathless speed of some twenty klicks, between the Capitol
and the Library of Congress. The sight reminded Duncan of his other responsibility; already it was the last week in June, yet his speech still consisted of no more than a few sheets of notes. Overpreparation was one of the Makenzie failings; the “all right on the night” attitude was wholly alien to their natures.
But even allowing for this often valuable fault, of which he was well aware, Duncan was beginning to feel a mild sense of panic.
The problem was a very simple one, yet its diagnosis had not suggested a remedy. Try as he could,
Duncan had still been unable to decide on a basic theme, or any message from Titan more inspiring than the usual zero-content official greetings.
Mandel'stahm was still waiting patiently when they passed the Rayburn Building — now encrusted
with a vast banyan tree brought all the way from Angkor What; it was hoped that within the next fifty
years, this would do the job of demolition at virtually no public expense. There were times when
aesthetics took precedence over history, and it was generally agreed that — unlike the old Smithsonian —
the Rayburn Building was not quite hideous enough to be worth preservation. (But what would that
vegetable octopus do next, the professional alarmists had worried, when it had finished this task? Would the monster crawl across Independence Avenue and attack the hallowed dome?)
Now the jitney was cruising past the prone hundred meters of the Saturn V replica lying on what had
once been the site of NASA Headquarters. They could not spend all day orbiting central Washington;
very well, Duncan told himself with a sigh...
"I have your promise that my name won't come out, under any circumstances?"
"Yes."
"And there's no risk that — my friend — may get into trouble?"
"I can't guarantee that he won't lose any money. But there will be no legal problems — at any rate, under Terran jurisdiction."
"It's not a ‘he.’ I leave the details to you, but you might make some tactful inquiries about the vice-president of Enigma Associates, Catherine Linden Ellerman."
34
Star Day
Though he tried to convince himself that he had done the right thing — even the only thing —
Duncan was still slightly ashamed. Deep in his heart, he felt that he had been guilty of betraying an old friendship. He was glad that some impulse had kept him from mentioning Karl, and with part of his mind he still hoped that the whole investigation would collapse.
Meanwhile, there was so much to be done, and so much to see, that for long periods of time Duncan
could forget his twinges of conscience. It seemed ridiculous to have come all the way to Earth — and
then to sit for hours of every day (in beautiful weather!) in a hotel room talking into a Comsole.
But every time Duncan thought he had completed one of the innumerable chores they had given him
before he left home, there would be a back-up message reopening the subject, or adding fresh
complications. His official duties were time-consuming enough; what made matters worse were all the
private requests from relatives, friends, and even complete strangers, who assumed that he had nothing else to do except contact lost acquaintances, obtain photos of ancestral homes, hunt for rare books,
research Terran genealogies, locate obscure works of art, act as agent for hopeful Titanian authors and artists, conjure up scholarships and free passages to Earth — and say "Thank you" for Star Day cards received ten years ago and never acknowledged.
Which reminded Duncan that he had not sent off his own cards for this quadrennial occasion. Since