by Ben Bova
Luongo smiled, but asked again, “Then where did the gobblers come from?”
Grant spoke up. “There are rumors of secret nanolabs on Earth. Wealthy people use them for therapeutic reasons.”
“And cosmetic,” Luongo added. “I’ve heard such rumors also.”
“From Earth?” McClintock sounded totally incredulous. “You mean someone from Earth obtained destructive nanomachines from a secret laboratory and brought them here to Farside to cause these accidents?”
Grant said, “Sherlock Holmes.”
“What?”
“In one of the Sherlock Holmes stories, he says that once you’ve eliminated all the obvious possibilities, then whatever remains—no matter how unlikely it seems—has got to be the answer.”
“That’s not quite the correct quotation,” Luongo said, removing her glasses, “but I understand what you mean.”
McClintock still looked unconvinced. “A secret lab on Earth. It’s … it’s … melodramatic.”
“But it could be a possibility,” Luongo said, very seriously.
“Who would carry nanomachines all the way from Earth to cause disaster here at Farside?” McClintock demanded. “And why? What possible reason could he have?”
“Not he,” said Grant. “She.”
“She?”
“Anita Halleck.”
“Anita…?” McClintock’s jaw dropped open.
“She’s the only visitor from Earthside that we’ve had for the past few months. And she’s placed well enough, high enough, to have access to a rogue nanolab.”
“You’re forgetting that Swedish fellow,” McClintock said. “Palmquist.”
“What motive would he have for trying to harm us?” Grant demanded.
“What motive would Anita have?” McClintock countered.
“She’s still at Selene, isn’t she?” Grant pointed out. “Let’s get her here and ask her about this.”
“What good would that do?” McClintock groused. “Even if she’s the one, she’d just deny it all. And you don’t just tell Anita Halleck to haul her butt over here. She’d laugh in your face.”
“I would like to talk to her, however,” said Luongo.
“Lotsa luck,” McClintock said.
“Maybe Doug Stavenger could help us,” Cardenas suggested. “He still swings a lot of weight at Selene.”
Grant nodded. He saw that McClintock still looked utterly unconvinced.
But Luongo pulled out her pocketphone and said clearly, “Douglas Stavenger, at Selene.”
TÊTE-À-TÊTE
“This is pretty awkward for me,” said Douglas Stavenger.
Sitting beside him on the automated tractor that ran from Armstrong spaceport back to Selene proper, Anita Halleck appraised Stavenger coolly. He really is quite handsome, she thought: his face was youthfully taut, strong bone structure, and just a hint of some African ancestry in his light mocha skin tone.
And his body is filled with nanomachines, she reminded herself.
“It must be quite important for you to take me off the Earthbound shuttle,” she replied.
For long moments Stavenger said nothing. Halleck watched the shadows flicker across his face as the tractor trundled along below the tunnel’s overhead lights. He looked grim, troubled.
At last Stavenger spoke up. “You know about the accidents at Farside.”
“That rocket that blew up,” Halleck said.
“And earlier, a man was killed when his space suit failed.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
Shifting uncomfortably on the tractor’s thinly cushioned seat, Stavenger answered, “The chief of our accident investigation team wants to talk to you about it. At Farside.”
A pang of alarm surged through Halleck. “I don’t want to go to Farside! I’m due back in my office in Geneva tomorrow.”
“I’m afraid that will have to wait. You’re going to Farside.”
Anger flared. “You can’t force me to go to Farside! I have my rights!”
Trying to smile, Stavenger said, “You can go voluntarily or we can obtain an order from the governing council. It’s your choice.”
“An order?”
“This could turn out to be a homicide investigation, after all. We don’t have much of a crime rate here at Selene, but we do have the legal apparatus in place. And security people to enforce the rules.”
Halleck bit back the reply she started to snap out at him. For several heartbeats she stared at Stavenger. He’s not happy about this, but he’s concerned about what’s going on at Farside, she realized. He’s trying to put it gently, but the government of Selene will arrest me like some common criminal if I don’t cooperate.
“I understand,” she said at last. “I’ll call my office and tell them that I’ll be staying here a few days longer than I expected.”
Stavenger’s relief was palpable. “Thank you, Mrs. Halleck. Thank you for understanding.”
* * *
Six hours later Anita Halleck approached the same tractor, this time bound outward to the spaceport and a lobber waiting to fly her to Farside. She had chosen to wear a simple jumpsuit of pearl gray. No sense dressing up for Farside, she told herself. None of those techies would appreciate it.
But as she climbed up into the tractor, she remembered that Carter McClintock was at Farside. Carter appreciates the finer things in life, she thought, smiling inwardly.
To her surprise, Edith Elgin was already in the tractor, dressed in a coral pink floral camp shirt and comfortable twill shorts.
“Welcome aboard,” said Edith brightly.
“You’re going to Farside?” Halleck asked as she sat beside Edith.
“I surely am. I’m going to coordinate the news media interviews with Professor Uhlrich.”
“Interviews? About the accidents?”
As the tractor lurched into motion, Edith shook her head negatively. “No, no. About New Earth. Professor Uhlrich’s discovered the planet’s got an atmosphere like Earth’s.”
“Has he?”
“News bureaus Earthside are all a-twitter about it. They can’t send people to Farside ’cause of the lockdown, so I’m going to coordinate their requests for interviews and background info.”
“Really? I thought no one was allowed into Farside while the accident investigation is proceeding.”
Edith grinned, strong white teeth gleaming. “Almost no one,” she said. “But why’re you going?”
“Ask your husband,” Halleck grumbled.
* * *
By the time they landed at Farside, Edith and Halleck had exchanged their life histories. Up to a point.
As they trudged along the springy access tube to Farside’s minuscule reception center, Edith was saying, “You mean nobody’s ever done a documentary on your life? Cripes, it’d be spectacular!”
Halleck shrugged. “If you think it makes sense to do it…”
They stepped through the airlock hatch and into the reception area. Nate Oberman sprang to his feet the instant he recognized Anita Halleck.
“Mrs. Halleck,” he said, “I couldn’t believe it when I saw your name on the manifest.”
“Hello, Mr. Oberman,” she said sweetly. Turning to Edith, “Do you know Edie Elgin?”
“I’ve seen you on the vids a lot, Ms. Elgin,” said Oberman. “Welcome to Farside.”
“Thanks,” Edith said. “Could somebody take me to Professor Uhlrich’s office, please?”
“I’ll call his assistant, Dr. Yost.”
Halleck said, “And I’m supposed to meet a Dr. Luongo.”
“That is me,” said Latisha Luongo, entering the reception area from the corridor door. She too was in one-piece coveralls, burnt orange. “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Halleck.”
Resisting an urge to complain about being forced to come to Farside, Halleck said, “I’ll be happy to assist your investigation in any way I can, naturally.”
“I appreciate that. Allow me to show you to your quarters
.”
With a parting glance at Edith, Halleck followed the tall, leggy Luongo out into the corridor. Edith clutched her travelbag in both hands while Oberman sat back behind his desk and made a phone call.
He looked up at Edith, grinning. “Dr. Yost’ll be here in a coupla minutes.”
“Thanks.”
His grin widening, Oberman explained, “This place is so small it only takes a couple minutes to get anywhere.”
“I see.”
“Would you like to sit down?” Oberman pointed to the trio of sculpted plastic chairs against the far wall.
“It feels good to stand, actually,” said Edith. But she stepped to the chairs and dropped her travelbag on one of them.
Trudy Yost looked the tiniest bit flustered as she entered the room. “I’m Dr. Yost, Professor Uhlrich’s assistant.”
Edith saw that she was very young; her diminutive size and plain figure making her look almost like a child. She wore a drab pullover blouse and baggy slacks.
Sticking out her hand, “I’m Edie Elgin.”
“I’ll show you your quarters, and then take you to the professor,” Trudy said as they shook hands.
“Fine,” said Edith.
FLICKER RATE
Luongo led Anita Halleck down a dismal corridor and into one of the single-room cells that served as living quarters at Farside. Carter McClintock was sitting on the sofa.
Rising to his feet, McClintock forced a smile. “Hello again, Anita. I’m sorry we had to make you return—”
“You don’t look sorry, Carter,” she snapped.
Grant Simpson was at the desk, fiddling with the computer there. He too stood up. He looked weary, overburdened, his shoulders slumped, his eyes melancholy.
“Mr. Simpson,” Anita murmured. He nodded glumly by way of greeting.
This is Carter’s living quarters, Halleck recognized as she went to the recliner and sat primly on it. Simpson joined McClintock on the sofa while Luongo took the easy chair at the other end of the coffee table, facing the desktop computer.
“So?” Halleck asked. “Why have you made me come here?”
Luongo slipped on her eyeglasses before replying, “Analysis of the lobber’s wreckage shows that its explosion was caused by nanomachines.”
“As was the death of one of our technicians,” Simpson added.
With raised eyebrows, Halleck asked, “What has that to do with me?”
“You could have access to nanomachines,” Simpson said. Flatly. Not accusative. It was simply a statement of fact.
Halleck eyed the man. He looked haunted, she thought. Guilty.
As innocently as she could manage, she replied, “How could I have access to nanomachines? They’re banned everywhere on Earth. The only nanolab in existence is at Selene, isn’t it?”
McClintock nodded, but said, “The only nanolab that we know of.”
“Carter, surely you’re not accusing me of causing these accidents.”
“Somebody did,” Simpson said.
Before Halleck could reply, Luongo asked, “Have you been exposed to nanomachines, Mrs. Halleck? Anywhere, at any time? The exposure might have been accidental.”
“I most certainly have not,” Halleck said. Firmly.
“You’re certain?”
“Positive.” Then she added, “Oh … Douglas Stavenger. He’s filled with nanos, isn’t he?”
“Therapeutic nanomachines,” said Luongo. “We know about that.”
McClintock raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “This is getting us nowhere.” Turning to Luongo, he went on, “I told you that it was senseless to interrogate her. Anita isn’t a saboteur, a murderess.”
Luongo removed her glasses and closed her eyes for a moment. Then, “Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Halleck.”
Surprised, Halleck said, “That’s it? You dragged me all the way back here to ask me one question? We could have done this by phone.”
“Perhaps,” Luongo conceded. “I thought it would be better if we spoke face-to-face.”
Getting to her feet, Halleck said, “At least I’ll be able to call the lobber that brought me here and tell them to wait long enough to take me back to Selene.”
McClintock began to apologize, but Luongo interrupted him with, “I’m sorry if we inconvenienced you.”
Anita Halleck decided to be gracious. “I’m happy I was able to be of help to you.” If any of them detected the scorn in her tone, none of them showed it.
As she headed for the door, with the three of them watching mutely, Halleck remembered a dictum from some historic figure: If you’re going to kill a man it costs you nothing to be polite about it.
* * *
Grant watched Mrs. Halleck sweep grandly out of McClintock’s sitting room, her pocketphone to her ear.
Turning to Luongo, he asked, “Was that enough?”
“We shall see,” said the investigator. She got up from her chair and went to the computer on the desk.
McClintock looked disgusted. “It was a waste of time. We’ve ticked her off, for nothing.”
“Perhaps not,” Luongo said, tapping at the computer’s touchscreen. “Ahh … look here.”
Grant got up and went to the desk. Leaning over Luongo’s shoulder, he saw that the screen was filled with jagged curves in various colors: bright blue, cool green, bloodred.
Still seated on the sofa, McClintock said, “It looks like a child’s drawing of the Alps.”
“Hardly that,” Luongo murmured. Tracing the sawtoothed red curve with a lacquered fingernail, she said, “She was lying. It’s obvious.”
“Are you certain?” Grant asked. To him, the curves looked meaningless.
Leaning closer to the screen, Luongo commanded, “Display readout of Dr. Cardenas.”
A new set of curves appeared. Grant saw that they were clearly smoother.
“Flicker rate is a very reliable measure of truthfulness, much more reliable than polygraph or syntactical analysis,” said Luongo. To the computer she ordered, “Compare Dr. Cardenas’s responses to Mrs. Halleck’s.”
The display split in two. McClintock got up from the sofa and came over to the desk.
“This is from the sensors in those eyeglasses of yours?” he asked.
“Indeed,” said Luongo. “The sensors measure eyelid flicker rate, voice tremors, a dozen nonverbal signals that we unconsciously give out when we speak.”
“And this can tell you if she’s lying?” Grant asked.
Luongo said, “A person may be trained to control his or her breathing, even the pulse rate. But the rate that the eye blinks and the voice quivers is beyond conscious control.”
So far, Grant thought.
Frowning at the display, McClintock muttered, “So this shows that Kris Cardenas was telling us the truth?”
“It does,” said Luongo.
“And this,” Grant said, pointing at the other half of the screen, “tells us that Mrs. Halleck was lying through her teeth when she said she hasn’t had access to nanomachines.”
“She lied?” McClintock clearly was unconvinced.
“Like a trooper,” said Luongo.
“Like a criminal,” Grant amended.
BASKING IN THE LIGHT
Jason Uhlrich mopped sweat from his brow with a soggy handkerchief.
“You’re doin’ fine,” said Edie Elgin, smiling brightly at him.
Sagging back in his desk chair, Professor Uhlrich asked, “How many more? I never realized there would be so many—”
“Two more interviews,” Elgin said. “Science International and then Selene University’s news bureau.”
Uhlrich nodded. “Do I look all right?” he asked. He felt limp, exhausted. He had lost count of the reporters who had interviewed him during this long, wearying day. In the morning, when they had started, Uhlrich had felt fresh and eager, happy to explain to his interviewers the importance of the discoveries he had made about Sirius C.
Now, after a whole day of answe
ring the same tired questions, many of them dealing with trivial matters of personality, he wished they would all go away and leave him alone.
Be strong, he told himself. Some of these interviews will be watched by the Nobel committee. Be positive, be charming, be knowledgeable. Let them see you as you would be on the stage in Stockholm, accepting the prize.
Edie Elgin broke into his thoughts. “You’ll be talking to Patricia Seery, of Science International. They’re the absolutely biggest science-oriented news organization on Earth and she’s one of their top interviewers.”
Uhlrich nodded again as he brushed his fingers across his tactile screen. In his mind he saw a beefy-faced woman of stern expression. No nonsense. Strictly business.
With a nod, he said, “I am ready.”
He had no tactile image of Edie Egin’s face, so Uhlrich had to compose her features based on audio input alone. She sounded fresh and vivacious. His visual cortex drew an image of a young flaxen-haired student he had known in his earliest years as a teacher, back when he himself was a young and too-shy lecturer, long before he had lost his eyesight.
“Here’s Patricia Seery,” Elgin said softly.
Looking into his desktop screen with his sightless eyes, Uhlrich put on a smile and murmured, “Ms. Seery.”
“Professor Uhlrich.” Seery’s voice was girlishly high, a strange divergence from the image he’d already formed of her.
“Before we begin,” she said, “I want to tell you how great an honor it is to interview you, sir. I think the work you’re doing is very exciting.”
“Why, thank you,” he replied, breaking into a genuine smile. “It’s very kind of you to say so.”
“Now then,” her tone hardened, “the discoveries you’re claiming to have made about New Earth are based on a single observation. Don’t you think your announcement was premature, to say the least?”
Stunned by her change of attitude, Uhlrich stammered, “No … not at all. I … that is, we … my assistant and I … we decided to release the findings at once because … because they were so … so … important.”
“You wanted to claim priority of your discovery, didn’t you?”