Free Prelude to Space by Arthur C. Clarke Page B

looked after me excellently and helped me all they could.”
    “There goes young Hassell,” said his companion. “He looks a bit worried, but so would
     I in his shoes. Have you got to know the crew at all well?”
    “Not yet, though I hope to do so. I’ve spoken to Hassell and Leduc a couple of times,
     but that’s all.”
    “Who do you think’s going to be chosen for the trip?”
    Dirk was about to give his not-very-well-informed views on this subject when he saw
     Matthews frantically signaling to him from the other side of the room. For a moment
     alarming possibilities of sartorial disaster raced through his mind. Then a slow suspicion
     dawned, and with a mumbled excuse he disengaged himself from his companion.
    A few moments later, Matthews confirmed his fears.
    “Mike Wilkins is one of the best—we used to work together on the
News
. But for goodness’ sake be careful what you say to him. If you’d murdered your wife
     he’d get it out of you by asking leading questions about the weather.”
    “Still, I don’t think there’s much I could tell him that he doesn’t know already.”
    “Don’t you believe it. Before you know where you are, you’ll be featured in the paper
     as ‘an important official of Interplanetary’ and I’ll be sending out the usual ineffective
     disclaimers.”
    “I see. How many other reporters have we got among our guests?”
    “About twelve were
invited
,” said Matthews darkly. “I should just avoid all heart-to-heart talks with people
     you don’t know. Excuse me now—I must go back on guard duty.”
    As far as he was concerned, thought Dirk, the party was hardly going with a swing.
     The Public Relations Department seemed to have an obsession about security, which
     Dirk considered they had pushed to extremes. However, he could understand Matthews’
     horror of unofficial interviews—he had seen some of their gruesome results.
    For quite a time after this Dirk’s attention was fully occupied by an astonishingly
     pretty girl who appeared to have arrived without an escort—a fact somewhat surprising
     in itself. He had just, after much vacillation, decided to step into the breach when
     it became all too obvious that the escort had merely been engaged on convoy duties
     elsewhere. Dirk hadn’t missed his opportunity: he had never had one. He turned once
     more to philosophical musings.
    His spirits, however, revived considerably during dinner. The meal itself was excellent
     and even the Director-General’s speech (which set a limit for all the others) only
     lasted ten minutes. It was, as far as Dirk could remember, an extremely witty address
     full of private jokes which produced roars of laughter in some quarters and sickly
     smiles in others. Interplanetary had always been fond of laughing at itself in private,
     but only recently could it afford the luxury of doing so in public.
    The remaining few orations were even shorter: several speakers would clearly have
     liked more time, but dared not take it. Finally McAndrews, who had acted throughout
     as a very efficient Master of Ceremonies, called a toast for the success of the “Prometheus”
     and her crew.
    Afterwards there was much dancing to the gentle, nostalgic rhythms so popular in the
     late ’70s. Dirk, who was a very bad dancer at the best of times, made several erratic
     circuits with Mrs. Matthews and the wives of other officials before an increasing
     lack of muscular co-ordination warned him off the field. He then sat watching the
     proceedings through a benevolent glow, thinking what nice people all his friends were
     and tut-tutting slightly when he noticed dancers who had obviously taken aboard just
     a little too much “fuel.”
    It must have been around midnight when he suddenly became aware that someone was speaking
     to him. (He hadn’t been asleep, of course, but it was refreshing to close one’s eyes
     now and then.) He turned sluggishly and found a tall, middle-aged man watching