Harriman pulled up a chair. "Bagels and lox! That's a really low blow. They've loaded this table with foods we can't get in Selene."
Kinsman found that his contour chair had a series of toggle switches set into its right arm. The first one he tried adjusted the back. The second rolled the chair forward. Like an airplane's joystick, he thought. He deftly maneuvered the chair up to the table.
Landau pulled his chair to the table, looked everything over, and murmured, "Caviar."
"Don't worry," Kinsman said. "We'll be getting this kind of stuff in trade goods within a few months."
"And what'll we trade them back?" Harriman groused. "Oxygen?"
Kinsman nodded unconsciously, and the whir of electric servomotors startled him. "Oxygen's already an important export item for the factories in near-Earth orbit, Hugh. If things go our way, those factories will start manufacturing peacetime goods. They'll need lunar aluminum, silicon, other raw materials from us. We also have tourist accommodations and research facilities. We've got lots of things for trade."
"I still think it's damned shitty of them to lay all these goodies in front of us," Harriman muttered.
Landau reached for the tea. "They are probably trying to be very polite to us."
"Or the fucking American and Russian security people are bribing the UN to make us homesick." 531
"All right," Kinsman said. "Let's get down to work. What did I miss yesterday?"
"Nothing much," Harriman replied. "A bunch of report- ers and photographers crashed through the police cordon at the garage, but they were hustled off before we could say much to them. Then we met a lot of UN staff people in the afternoon. In the evening they trotted a dozen of the immi- grants past us. They all wanted to meet you, of course, but they had to settle for my charming self."
"The people who are coming to live in Selene?" Landau asked.
Harriman nodded as he munched a mouthful of bagel, cream cheese. Nova Scotia salmon, and onion. "Uh-hmm." He swallowed mightily. "Fascinating group of people, all of them rather stupefied that their governments are allowing them to leave. They fly out of Kennedy tomorrow; they're on their way down there now."
"On their way down to where?" Kinsman asked.
"Kennedy Space Center."
"In Florida? Not the JFK Aerospaceport here?"
Harriman blinked. "No, they told me the American government was taking them to Florida."
"Why wouldn't they take off from here?" Kinsman wondered.
"Damned if I know. Probably some bureaucratic red tape somewhere along the line. Anyway, that's not the important thing. The Secretary General is scheduled to meet you at ten this morning—less than an hour from now. Are you up to it?"
Kinsman started to nod, thought better of it. I'm getting to hate the sound of electric motors, he thought. "I'm fine. Where will the meeting be?"
"Right here. Mohammed's coming to the mountain."
Kinsman raised his eyebrows. At least I can still do that for myself.
A few minutes before ten Ted Marrett barged into the room unannounced, with Beleg Jamsuren trailing behind him. "Best meteorologist Mongolia's ever produced," he said by way of introduction.
"For your information," Jamsuren said softly as he shook 532 hands with the seated Kinsman, "Mongolia produces compar- atively few meteorologies. And actually, my training was in fluid dynamics."
"Well, the best in Asia," Marrett amended. "You seen the morning news? Your performance at the garage yesterday really's getting the big splash."
