The Sparrow - Mary Doria Russell [62]
"The country’s already tried Texans," George protested.
"And you cowards keep throwin’ ’em back to us after just one term!" D.W. hollered.
"Lyndon Johnson, George Bush," George soldiered on.
"No, no, no. You can’t blame Bush on Texas," D.W. insisted. "Real Texans never use the word ’summer’ as a verb."
Wordlessly, Emilio handed a napkin to Anne, who wiped her nose.
"Gibson Whitmore," George continued.
"Awright. Awright. I admit that was a mistake. He couldna poured water out a boot if the instructions was on the heel. But Sally’s good people. Y’all’re gonna love her, I guarantee."
"And if you believe that," Emilio said informatively, "D.W. has a very nice piece of the True Cross you might like to invest in."
It was three hours after they sat down to eat when Yarbrough pushed himself reluctantly away from the table, declared that he was stuffed insensible, and then told three more stories that left everyone else at the table worn out and breathless, stomachs and cheeks aching. And it was yet another hour before the four of them got up and started moving glasses and dishes into the kitchen. But there, finally, in the hard bright light of that room, the real reason for D. W. Yarbrough’s visit came out.
"Well, folks, where I come from the only thing in the middle of the road is yellow stripes and dead armadillos," D.W. announced, hooking his hands over the top of the door frame and stretching like a gorilla. "So I’ll tell y’all right now, I plan to recommend to the Father General, bless his narrow ole Portugee ass, that Emilio go ahead on this asteroid bidness and that the two of you go along, if you’re willin’. I talked to the Quinn boy this mornin’ and he’s okay, too."
George stopped putting plates into the dishwasher. "Just like that? No tests, no interviews? Are you serious?"
"Serious as snakebite, sir. Y’all been researched, I guarantee. Public records, and so forth." There had, in fact, been hundreds of man-hours expended in studying their qualifications, and a rancorous in-house debate over including non-Jesuits in the party. There was ample historical precedent for a mixed crew and solid logic in selecting people with a broad range of experience, but with that established, Father General da Silva had, in the end, simply decided the issue in favor of what appeared to him to be God’s will.
"And tonight was the interview," Anne said shrewdly.
"Yes, ma’am. You could say that." The accent and color abated somewhat as D.W. continued, "Emilio had it straight from the start. The skills are mostly all there. The relationships are already in place. We could dick around some, pickin’ nits and lookin’ at ever’ kind of possibility, but I think she’ll fly. Assumin’ y’all can stand lookin’ at me for months on end."
Anne pirouetted abruptly, finding that the glassware in the sink suddenly required her undivided attention. She tried not to let her shoulders shake.
"You’re coming?" George asked, with admirable restraint.
"Yessir. That’s part of what makes the Father General so sure this bidness is ordained, so to speak. See, somebody’s got to get the crew up and down, couple-three times. You recall, there’s still the open problem of landin’ on the planet. If we find it."
"We could ask Scotty to beam us down," Anne suggested brightly, finally able to face her guest as Emilio, carrying a load of plates into the kitchen, ducked under D.W.’s arm.
"I thought it pretty much has to be a standard Earth-to-dock spaceplane," George said. "Of course, just because the Singers’ve got radio, there’s no reason to assume they’ve got airports—"
"So, the task becomes findin’ some kind of flat land or desert to land on because they ain’t no guarantee of a runway. And then