By Friday morning, everyone on the team had read the book manuscript.
Several professors had arranged with Doctor Ko-silma for an extra read on Thursday. The chemist herself was on her third read.
At a few minutes after nine o’clock, Heather stood with a strange expression on her face. Some thought they saw tears glistening in her eyes.
Others perceived strength and determination they could hardly describe.
“Yes, the book we read on Wednesday is the book I remember. In the future I know, it will have no equal until it is updated in about 3705. That will spawn many new books, some of them perhaps a little better, but all of them indebted to this book.”
She paused for a deep breath and noticed several professors anxiously looking at the empty table in the middle of the circle. “Fear not — Rachael’s at the air base making a copy so we’ll have one here and one in Betty’s office.”
Everyone
relaxed.
“The team must decide what it should do about this book. I open the floor to discussion.”
Every member of the team had questions about the book publishing process. Luckily, most of the professors had titles of their own in print, and could answer.
By eleven o’clock, the new copy of the manuscript was in its place of honor.
Hands immediately shot into the air with questions about the contents of the book. Heather let the professors answer most of those questions, especially
NEBADOR Book Nine: A Cry for Help 202
about the underlying science. She sat at the manuscript and looked up passages or illustrations whenever they wanted, and made sure everyone got a chance to speak, but sensed it was time to step out of the process as much as possible.
At half past noon, Maria stood in the dining room doorway with hands on her hips. “I can’t keep it hot forever!”
Time started to move faster and faster for Heather. She kept her body and mind in good condition out of habit, and ran the P-Seventeen sessions as well as ever, but they seemed to come and go almost before she realized it.
An entire week was consumed by questions and discussions related to the book manuscript that remained in the center of the circle. During that week, a Contact Team of three professors was formed, with Doctor Ko-silma as their leader. By the end of the week, she had a response from the authors — they would be thrilled to receive the comments and endorsements of such well-known professors. They were surprised, but wanted to know more about a possible endorsement by the Department of Defense.
Heather felt a growing sense of unreality, as if somehow the world was leaving her behind. She talked about it with Susan, but they couldn’t identify the cause. Heather’s knowledge of the future was as good as ever. Her ability to lead the team was unaffected. Dancing and skating, and the sweet kisses of a certain boy, continued to bring her comfort almost daily.
The following Monday, the Contact Team had good news. The authors of the book had found a publisher on their own, an academic printing house that sold mostly to university libraries from a catalog they put out once a year.
“Absolutely useless!” Heather blurted out, standing up and interrupting Doctor Ko-silma. “That will get a few hundred copies gathering dust on deep, dark shelves in gloomy library sub-basements. This book had that the first time . . . the time I lived through . . . the time the world ended.”
Seeing her passion on the issue, and her point, the team silently forgave Heather’s outburst. After an hour of discussion, the Contact Team was entrusted with the task of convincing the authors to not sign a contract with that publisher.
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When the generals and colonels emerged from General Bo-seklin’s office after lunch, Betty and her fellow professors received a carrot they could dangle — an invitation for the authors to meet with the full team that Friday, with travel expenses covered by the Department and all the arrangements handled by Colonel Ma-soran.
Heather could almost feel the world spinning around her, knew with certainty that she could not lead Friday’s session, and sensed that her role as voyant — or something like that — was coming to an end.
A part of her wished she wasn’t aware of so many other things she still needed to do.
Wednesday was primarily a planning meeting for the upcoming visit.
Colonel Ma-soran reported that all travel arrangements had been completed, and the authors would arrive at the airport between zero-five and zero-seven hundred on Friday morning. A member of the Contact Team would meet each flight, and blind transports would whisk them to the facility. Maria was planning an international breakfast.
Heather hardly had to say a word during that entire meeting.