by Bova, Ben
“Not without a fight. And it could get real nasty, Kris. Goddard against the IAA. The rock rats’ll come in on our side. Maybe Selene, too. All of us, fighting against Earth.”
She stared at him. “You mean really fighting? Like a war? Bloodshed?”
“Like a war. With bloodshed.”
That silenced Cardenas for several moments. Gaeta could see the emotions conflicting across her face.
“Better to get out to the rings now and find out what’s what before they start mining,” he said.
Cardenas still sat in silence, her thoughts churning.
“Otherwise there could be real fighting. People could get killed,” Gaeta went on.
At last she looked up at him. “So you’re going to risk your life.”
He smiled at her. “That’s what I do for a living. Remember?”
“You retired.”
“I’m making a comeback.” He tried to make it sound light, almost funny. But Cardenas did not smile back at him.
“You want to go, don’t you?”
He hesitated, but then, “No, I don’t. I’m not some macho shithead. This thing scares me. It really does. But I’ve got to do it. There’s nobody else: not Pancho or Jake or Raoul or Wunderly herself. I’m the guy who can do it. The only guy. I love you, guapa, but it’s come down to this.”
Cardenas said, her voice low, “I love you, too.” She added silently, But right now I wish I didn’t.
They made love fiercely that night, as if it were the last time they’d ever be together.
Afterward, lying on his back and staring up into the shadows of their bedroom, Gaeta said to himself, Fool! Goddamn piojoso idiot. To risk all this: this woman who loves you, this life she’s given you. For what? Why? But he knew the answer: because nobody else can do it. At least I’ve got a chance of getting through this alive. I’d be killing Pancho and Jake if I let them try it. This way at least the only one who’ll get killed will be me.
Lying beside him, Cardenas was thinking, If Manny dies on this damned mission I’ll kill Nadia. I’ll tear her apart with my bare hands.
Wanamaker told Pancho and Pancho, of course, told her sister. Holly was in her apartment trying to write a speech when Pancho phoned. Holly had put in a grueling day that culminated with meeting the committee that Estela Yañez was setting up to get the required number of signatures for the repeal of the ZPG protocol. Mrs. Yañez had proudly shown the women that her husband’s signature led all the others.
Feeling slightly annoyed at the interruption, Holly was about to let the automated answering chip take the message when she saw that it was her sister calling.
Pancho’s face replaced the words of her unfinished speech on the wall screen.
“Got news for you,” Pancho said, grinning like a canary-stuffed cat.
“Hope it’s good news,” said Holly, stifling a yawn.
“Manny’s gonna go into the rings. I’ll fly the bird with Jake as my number two.”
Holly blinked once, twice.
“The guys were gonna strong-arm Tavalera into flying with Jake, but now they don’t have to.”
“Oh,” said Holly. “I didn’t realize they wanted to drag Raoul into this.”
“He’ll run mission control. From here in the habitat.”
“Oh,” Holly said again, feeling dense, foggy.
Pancho’s grin widened. “If I were you, sis, I’d give your boyfriend a call, congratulate him. Mission control’s an important assignment.”
Holly shook her head. “He’d see through me.”
“So what?”
“I couldn’t, Panch. It’d just make things worse.”
Pancho put on a mock frown. “Listen, little sister. You come down offa that high horse and call the guy. You want him, don’tcha? Then let him know it!”
“Thanks for the advice, Panch.”
Her sister knew when she was being dismissed. “Getting advice is easy, kid. Taking advice is smart.”
The screen went dark.
Holly returned to her speech. Jeeps, she said to herself, if I’d known that running for office was this tough I would never have done it. She had asked Zeke Berkowitz to help her with the speech writing, but Berkowitz had declined as graciously as he could manage. “I’m running the news coverage, Holly,” he explained. “I’ve got to be impartial.”
Holly decided to look through the personnel files and see if there were any writers or journalists in the habitat who might help her. The names blurred as she studied them on the smart wall screen. I oughtta go to bed, Holly told herself, before I fall asleep here at my desk. Then the phone chirped again.
Raoul Tavalera, she saw printed on the screen’s info bar. Suddenly she wasn’t sleepy or groggy at all.
“Raoul!” she exclaimed, as his glum face appeared on the screen.
“Hi,” he said. “What do you want to talk to me about?”
Surprised, Holly replied, “You called me.”
“Yeah. Your sister said you needed to talk to me about something important.”
Pancho! Holly’s first reaction was a flash of anger. But then she saw Raoul looking at her, his dark eyes focused on her. Pancho told him to call me and he did, even at this hour of the night.
Recovering her poise, Holly said evenly, “I wanted to congratulate you on taking the job as mission controller for the ring mission. It’s a very important position.”
Tavalera almost smiled. “Gaeta’s going to go into the rings. Your sister and her boyfriend are going to fly the spacecraft.”
Nodding, Holly said, “Yes, Pancho told me.”
Neither of them spoke for several heartbeats. Then Tavalera asked, “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”
She started to nod, then caught herself. “No, Raoul. There’s something more.”
“What?”
Gathering her courage, Holly sat up straighter and said to him, “Raoul, I’m sorry that I made you think I was only interested in you because I wanted you to fly the ring mission. I fell in love with you before the silly mission ever came up.”
There! she thought. I’ve said it. I’ve used the L word. She held her breath, waiting for his response.
Tavalera’s stony expression melted. His eyes seemed to glow. “Jesus, Holly, I love you, too.”
She felt like dancing across the room. “Come on over here, Raoul. And bring a bottle of wine.”
“Champagne!” he said, grinning a mile wide.
PROFESSOR WILMOT’S ORAL DIARY
This entire habitat is reverberating with campaign politics. I never expected these apathetic, disaffected rejects from Earthly society to become so excited about a political campaign. But they are organizing petition drives, setting up parades, filling the news broadcasts with speeches and speculations about who will be our next chief administrator.
There, even I have fallen into the spirit of things. I said “our,” didn’t I? Let me go back and check. Yes, “our.” Fine attitude for an anthropologist who’s supposed to be studying these people dispassionately.
Eberly has everyone excited about the prospects of getting rich from mining Saturn’s rings for their water ice. He’s already getting bids for water deliveries from the miners’ habitat at Ceres, in the Asteroid Belt, and there are rumors that Selene is willing to enter into a long-term contract for purchasing water.
Holly Lane, on the other hand, has most of the women energized over the zero-growth protocol. It looks as if she’ll easily get enough signatures to force its repeal. Plenty of men are signing the petition, probably because their women are denying them sex unless they do. It’s Lysistrata come true. Old Aristophanes would be splitting his sides with laughter.
There’s only one small voice objecting to Eberly’s plan for mining the rings: the woman who claims there are organisms living in the ice. There are rumors that she’s trying to send a mission to the rings and collect samples to prove her point despite Eberly’s opposition.
Meanwhile, poor old Urbain
is still trying to reestablish contact with his vehicle on Titan’s surface. The machine has not sent up any data since it landed, four months ago.
29 MARCH 2096: EBERLY’S OFFICE
I think I know why you asked for this meeting,” said Eberly, with a trace of smugness in his expression.
Jake Wanamaker and Manuel Gaeta sat on the two leather and chrome chairs before Eberly’s desk. Neither man looked cowed or subservient in the slightest. On the contrary, Gaeta seemed determined, Wanamaker downright belligerent.
“We’ve come to inform you that we’re going to use one of the transfer craft,” said Wanamaker.
“For another ride out to the rings,” Eberly said. “I found out about your little mission. It’s for Dr. Wunderly, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Wanamaker replied.
“And why should I help you to conduct a mission that might confirm that there are living creatures in the rings? That wouldn’t be in the best interests of this habitat.”
“It wouldn’t be in your best interest, perhaps,” Wanamaker said evenly.
Smiling at them, Eberly said, “My only interest is the welfare of this habitat. As chief administrator, I am responsible—”
“Never mind the mierditas,” Gaeta muttered. “We’re not gonna vote for you anyway.”
Eberly broke into a bitter laugh. “So why should I help you?”
“As you said,” replied Wanamaker, “for the good of the habitat.”
“And how would finding living creatures in the rings benefit this habitat? Except to bring another horde of scientists here? We’re going to mine those rings for their water content; we don’t want any interference from scientific do-gooders who think every little bug in the solar system is too sacred to touch.” Looking at Gaeta, he added, “You wanted to go to the surface of Titan and Urbain wouldn’t let you, remember? Why should you help the scientists?”
Before Gaeta could reply, Wanamaker leaned his broad-shouldered body toward the desk; Eberly reflexively tipped his chair back away from him.
“Let me draw a picture for you,” Wanamaker said, raising his big-knuckled right fist. Extending his index finger, “First, let’s say we don’t go to the rings and you start mining operations. The scientists will examine some of the ring particles your miners bring back. They find organisms in the ice. They call the ICU. The ICU asks the International Astronautical Authority to put a halt to the mining.”
Eberly’s chiseled jaw went up a notch, “Just because those Earthbound bureaucrats—”
Wanamaker silenced him by raising his next finger. “Okay, you tell the IAA to stick it where the sun don’t shine. They send a ship full of Peacekeepers to enforce their ban on mining. What do you do then?”
Frowning, stalling for time to think, Eberly temporized, “They wouldn’t send troops. Not right away.”
“Maybe not right away, but sooner or later. The whole scientific community, from Mercury to this habitat, would be raising a howl about killing off the ring creatures.”
“We’d fight them in the Worlds Court.”
“And lose.”
“We’d declare ourselves an independent nation, not subject to the IAA’s regulations.”
Nodding, Wanamaker said, “You could do that. The rock rats over at Ceres would probably support you: they need the water. Maybe even Selene would come in on your side. And what would you have?”
“A war,” Gaeta answered. “An interplanetary war.”
“Which you couldn’t win,” Wanamaker said grimly. “This eggshell could be blown away before you could blink an eye.”
Eberly’s voice went hollow. “They wouldn’t do that.”
“Are you sure? Are you willing to take the risk?”
For a long, long moment the office was absolutely silent except for the whisper of the air hissing through the ventilation ducts.
Wanamaker raised a third finger. “On the other hand, suppose we go out to the rings and find that Wunderly’s wrong, there aren’t any bugs living in the ice particles. Then you’re free and clear.”
“But if there really are ice creatures out there …”
“If the rings harbor living creatures it’s going to come out sooner or later,” Wanamaker insisted. “You can’t keep it a secret forever. Isn’t it better to know now, before you start making promises that you can’t keep?”
“Before you start a fuckin’ war,” Gaeta threw in.
Eberly was thinking as fast as he could. A war. This habitat could be destroyed, just like the rock rats’ habitat at Ceres was wiped out. We could all get killed. I could get killed!
“We need your approval to use one of the transfer craft,” Wanamaker said. “The form is in your mail. It needs your signature.”
If they find living creatures in the rings, Eberly was thinking, I can blame the scientists for not letting us mine the rings. I can blame the ICU and the IAA. The people will see that it’s not my fault. They won’t blame me. They’ll still vote for me.
“Well?” Wanamaker demanded. “What’s it going to be?”
I’m trapped. No matter what I do I’m trapped.
“What’s it gonna be?” Gaeta repeated.
I can show the voters that I’ve been forced to give up on the ring mining idea, Eberly thought. Or maybe ask them if they want to fight for their rights. Yes! That’s it! I’ll lead them in a battle for our independence. I’ll appeal to the people of Earth not to destroy us, not to kill ten thousand men and women over some microscopic bugs. That could work. It doesn’t have to come to a war. And if it does, I can negotiate a peace agreement, become the peacemaker. The man who saved the habitat from destruction.
Wanamaker cleared his throat.
Eberly called out, “Computer!”
The smart wall to the left of his desk began to glow. Eberly asked for the permission document that Wanamaker had sent. It appeared on the wall. He picked up the stylus on his desk and signed his name on the desktop touchpad. His signature appeared on the document displayed by the wall screen, bold and flowing.
Wanamaker got to his feet, satisfied. “Thank you, sir. You’ve done the right thing.”
“Yes,” said Eberly. “We’ll see.”
Gaeta rose, too. “Now all we gotta do is fly out to the fregado rings.”
Eberly nodded, thinking to himself, I hope you get yourself killed out there. You and your whole crew. Including Pancho Lane.
12 APRIL 2096: MORNING
We’re going to miss the big debate,” Tavalera said, as he watched Gaeta climb into the hulking excursion suit.
“Not to worry,” Timoshenko called from behind the suit, where he was helping Gaeta worm through the hatch in the back. “They’ll replay it on the news broadcasts six hundred times, at least.”
They had trundled Gaeta’s excursion suit on its dolly, like the sarcophagus of a giant, down to the outer chamber of the airlock at the habitat’s endcap, the only airlock big enough to accommodate the ponderous armored suit. Then, with Gaeta himself helping, they’d used the overhead winch to stand the suit up on its thick-soled boots. Gaeta opened the hatch in the suit’s back and clambered inside. The transfer craft that would carry him to the rings was docked outside the airlock. Pancho and Wanamaker were going through the prelaunch countdown. Tavalera had brought a quartet of roll-up computers to monitor the suit’s sensors and run communications, and he stuck them on the scuffed metal bulkhead because there were no smart walls in the airlock area. Once Gaeta’s head appeared in the helmet visor, Tavalera turned on the intercom.
“Can you hear me, Manny?”
“Loud and clear. You can turn down the volume a smidge.”
Timoshenko checked the suit’s hatch to make certain it was sealed, then walked back to the row of roll-ups with Tavalera.
It took several minutes for the two men to run through the checklist. Finally Tavalera said, “You’re okay to enter the airlock.”
Gaeta turned slowly, like a monster out some old horror flick, while Timo
shenko trotted to the airlock’s inner hatch and pecked out the combination on the wall plate that opened it. The hatch swung smoothly inward and Gaeta clumped carefully over its sill. Once the hatch closed again, with Gaeta inside the airlock, Timoshenko hurried back to the pasted-up computers where Tavalera waited.
“Pumping down the airlock,” Tavalera called out.
They heard Gaeta’s voice from the fabric computer that was handling communications, “Copy pumping down.”
Glancing up from the screens to Timoshenko, Tavalera said, “I really appreciate your helping us out here.”
Timoshenko shrugged. “I’m a big boss now, I’ve got lots of time. Not much for me to do except sit at a desk and listen to excuses.”
And hope for the future, he added silently.
Timoshenko had known, when Eberly summoned him to his office, that the chief administrator was going to twist his arm again. The habitat had suffered an hour-long power outage earlier in the day, the third in the past six weeks. Now it was night, well past the dinner hour, and the desks in the outer office were empty. The overhead lights were off; only a small desktop lamp here and there broke the darkness.
He knocked once on Eberly’s door and then opened it. Eberly was at his desk. As usual it was immaculately clear, its surface glistening in the full light of the overheads.
“Precisely on time,” Eberly said, smiling brightly, as he gestured Timoshenko to one of the chairs before his desk.
Timoshenko sat without speaking a word.
“I fired Aaronson this afternoon,” Eberly said without preamble. “We can’t keep having these blackouts. I’m appointing you director of the entire maintenance department.”
“I decline the honor.”
Still smiling, Eberly opened his desk drawer and pulled out a single sheet of plastic. “Your wife is quite beautiful,” he said, sliding the sheet across his desk.
Timoshenko did not dare to pick it up. Merely a glance at Katrina’s lovely face was enough to make his heart thunder.