alone, Daniel. The sound activates the house’s intercom system.” In a louder voice, he called his son’s name.
Dan reached for his teacup again. It was blood red, with a tiny white heron painted in flight. Before he could put the cup down, the light paper shoji screen to his right slid back and a tall, slim, smiling Japanese youth in his early twenties stepped into the room. For an instant Dan blinked in surprise. The young man’s face was exactly how Saito had looked years ago, when Dan had first met him, up at the construction site of the first solar power satellite project.
Nobuhiko Yamagata made a deep bow. Dan scrambled to his feet, grateful to stretch his legs after sitting on the floor so long.
“Nobo … you’re a grown man!”
Nobuhiko grinned and bowed again. “Mr. Hamilton, it is such a pleasure to see you once again.”
The young man wore skintight ski pants and a windbreaker, both bright blue with white stripes running down the sleeves and legs. His face was youthfully lean, but still the round, flat-nosed shape of his father’s. His cheeks were reddened by a morning spent out in the cold and wind of the ski slopes.
Nobo sat on his father’s left, facing Dan, with his back to the view of the mountains. The robot servant rolled in with a fresh pot of tea and a cup for the young man. Yamagata did the pouring in silence, with great care.
After they had each sipped the scaldingly hot tea, Yamagata said, “Nobo has been working for the past year as a deep-space pilot. But there is little for him to do at Yamagata Station.”
“I’ve flown our orbital ferries,” Nobo said. His voice was a clear, pleasant tenor, full of energy and eagerness.
“But the Russians won’t let you handle any of the lunar craft, will they?”
“No, they won’t allow anyone to pilot a spacecraft between geosynchronous orbit and the Moon. They handle all those missions themselves.”
“I thought,” his father said slowly, “that perhaps you might find useful employment for Nobo at Nueva Venezuela.”
Dan glanced at his friend. The old fox is making his son part of our deal, he realized. Is he doing it to keep an eye on me, or does he just want to get a rambunctious son out of his hair for a while? Probably some of both, he decided.
Aloud, he asked Nobuhiko, “Are you qualified to pilot a shuttle?”
Nobo’s nod turned into a small bow. “Hai!” In his excitement, he lapsed into Japanese to tell Dan of his various professional pilot’s ratings.
“Excellent,” Dan replied in Japanese. Turning to Saito, he said, “I am certain that we can find interesting work for your worthy son at Astro Manufacturing. Perhaps there will even be an opportunity for him to pilot a deep-space vehicle even farther than the Moon, one day.”
Nobuhiko hissed with pleasure and gratitude. His father merely smiled and said, “We should prepare for dinner now.”
Chapter ELEVEN
Lucita looked doubtfully at the little wooden tray placed on the table before her. It held half a dozen small pieces of what looked suspiciously like raw fish. She glanced at Teresa and saw that she was hesitating, also.
No one had warned her about the rigors of a Japanese dinner. Both she and Teresa had dressed in their usual informal evening wear. Lucita wore a simple but elegant full-skirted chiffon dress of soft lavender with beautifully embroidered sleeves. Teresa had wanted to wear something equally eye-catching, but Lucita had insisted that her chaperon should not compete against her for attention. So Teresa wore a plain white outfit with a pleated skirt and high mandarin collar, and a gold rope belt that twined around her waist twice. It was attractive enough, Lucita thought.
But she had not expected to sit on the floor! Dan had not warned her. In fact, he had paid her no attention whatsoever since they had taken off from Caracas. Lucita and Teresa had found themselves in the care of Japanese house servants, about evenly divided between squat
Dan reached for his teacup again. It was blood red, with a tiny white heron painted in flight. Before he could put the cup down, the light paper shoji screen to his right slid back and a tall, slim, smiling Japanese youth in his early twenties stepped into the room. For an instant Dan blinked in surprise. The young man’s face was exactly how Saito had looked years ago, when Dan had first met him, up at the construction site of the first solar power satellite project.
Nobuhiko Yamagata made a deep bow. Dan scrambled to his feet, grateful to stretch his legs after sitting on the floor so long.
“Nobo … you’re a grown man!”
Nobuhiko grinned and bowed again. “Mr. Hamilton, it is such a pleasure to see you once again.”
The young man wore skintight ski pants and a windbreaker, both bright blue with white stripes running down the sleeves and legs. His face was youthfully lean, but still the round, flat-nosed shape of his father’s. His cheeks were reddened by a morning spent out in the cold and wind of the ski slopes.
Nobo sat on his father’s left, facing Dan, with his back to the view of the mountains. The robot servant rolled in with a fresh pot of tea and a cup for the young man. Yamagata did the pouring in silence, with great care.
After they had each sipped the scaldingly hot tea, Yamagata said, “Nobo has been working for the past year as a deep-space pilot. But there is little for him to do at Yamagata Station.”
“I’ve flown our orbital ferries,” Nobo said. His voice was a clear, pleasant tenor, full of energy and eagerness.
“But the Russians won’t let you handle any of the lunar craft, will they?”
“No, they won’t allow anyone to pilot a spacecraft between geosynchronous orbit and the Moon. They handle all those missions themselves.”
“I thought,” his father said slowly, “that perhaps you might find useful employment for Nobo at Nueva Venezuela.”
Dan glanced at his friend. The old fox is making his son part of our deal, he realized. Is he doing it to keep an eye on me, or does he just want to get a rambunctious son out of his hair for a while? Probably some of both, he decided.
Aloud, he asked Nobuhiko, “Are you qualified to pilot a shuttle?”
Nobo’s nod turned into a small bow. “Hai!” In his excitement, he lapsed into Japanese to tell Dan of his various professional pilot’s ratings.
“Excellent,” Dan replied in Japanese. Turning to Saito, he said, “I am certain that we can find interesting work for your worthy son at Astro Manufacturing. Perhaps there will even be an opportunity for him to pilot a deep-space vehicle even farther than the Moon, one day.”
Nobuhiko hissed with pleasure and gratitude. His father merely smiled and said, “We should prepare for dinner now.”
Chapter ELEVEN
Lucita looked doubtfully at the little wooden tray placed on the table before her. It held half a dozen small pieces of what looked suspiciously like raw fish. She glanced at Teresa and saw that she was hesitating, also.
No one had warned her about the rigors of a Japanese dinner. Both she and Teresa had dressed in their usual informal evening wear. Lucita wore a simple but elegant full-skirted chiffon dress of soft lavender with beautifully embroidered sleeves. Teresa had wanted to wear something equally eye-catching, but Lucita had insisted that her chaperon should not compete against her for attention. So Teresa wore a plain white outfit with a pleated skirt and high mandarin collar, and a gold rope belt that twined around her waist twice. It was attractive enough, Lucita thought.
But she had not expected to sit on the floor! Dan had not warned her. In fact, he had paid her no attention whatsoever since they had taken off from Caracas. Lucita and Teresa had found themselves in the care of Japanese house servants, about evenly divided between squat
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