“I can do that,” said MacAllister. He didn’t like to think of it quite that way. And he considered informing the producer there might be a middle ground somewhere. But in the larger scale of things, his opinion didn’t count anyhow. The politicians made the decisions, and the voters paid no attention.

Marge came in, carrying a copy of Guts, Glory, and Chicken Soup. She had changed clothes and was smartly set out in shades of brown and blue, white collar, gold bracelet. “They told you we were going national?” she said.

“No. Why? What happened?”

“The Heffernan. It’s become a big story.”

“And I’ve become an expert?”

“Oh, Mac, it’s not you. Valentina is an Academy pilot.” She glanced at a clock. “Our segment will be twenty-two minutes plus break time.”

“I assume Valentina is the other guest?”

“Yes. It turns out to be nice timing.”

“I assume they haven’t heard anything yet? About the Heffernan?”

“Not a word. Our sources tell us things are a bit rattled at the Academy. This may not have a happy ending.”

MacAllister tried to remember the details. “Five on the ship. Was that what I heard?”

“Yes. It’s one of the research missions.”

“Pity. I’m sorry to hear it.”

She looked down at the book. “My people tell me this is hell on wheels,” she said. She’d probably read it, but she was sending MacAllister a message. You don’t intimidate me, big fella. “How’s the tour been going?”

“Okay.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “How’s life in showbiz?”

“Same as always.” She was all warmth and charm. “I suspect you’ll be glad to get home, Mac. Are you free for lunch today?”

MacAllister thought about it. Actually he’d prefer to eat alone, but it was to his benefit to keep Margie happy. “Sure,” he said, “that would be nice. I know you’re very popular here, though.” A little stroking never hurt. “Can we find a place where the peasants won’t recognize you?”