by Ben Bova
“We have no further need of her. Perhaps the dolphins can be of help in your attempts to establish meaningful contact with the Jovians, but Sheena is too much like us to be of any aid in your work.”
“What’s going to happen to her?”
Wo sighed heavily. “The simplest thing to do would be to sacrifice her. Then we could dissect her brain and—”
“No!” Grant shouted.
Raising both his hands placatingly, Dr. Wo said, “I agree. It would be a criminal act. I am taking Sheena back to Earth with me, to a primate research center in Kinshasa. They are quite eager to have her, in fact.”
“She’ll be all right there?”
“She will be welcomed. They have augmented several other apes. Sheena will not be an anomaly there. If all goes well, she will be the mother of a new breed of creatures, the founder of dynasties. And another challenge to the fundamentalists.”
“By force of arms, if necessary. She is an extremely valuable entity.”
Grant felt a glow of satisfaction. “She’ll be among her own.”
“I believe so,” said Wo.
“I wish…” Grant could not finish the sentence. He swallowed hard and fought back tears, feeling embarrassed to be emotional about a gorilla.
Wo touched the keypad built into his chair’s armrest, and the overhead lights brightened to their daytime level.
“I can make the sun rise,” he said wryly. “One of the privileges of being station director.”
And Sheena wakes up with the sun, Grant remembered. He turned expectantly toward the entryway to her pen. Will she still be angry at me? he wondered.
Very gently, Wo said, “She asked to see you.”
“She did?”
“When I told her you had been injured, she became rather upset.”
Grand didn’t know what to say.
He heard her shambling out of her pen, huffing and snuffling like anyone who’d just awakened from a good night’s sleep. As he scrambled to his feet he caught a trace of the thick animal scent of her. Then Sheena appeared in the entryway, massive hairy shoulders brushing both edges of the open hatch.
“Grant,” the gorilla rasped.
“Hello, Sheena.”
She turned her eyes briefly to Dr. Wo but immediately looked back at Grant. “Grant hurt.”
“I’m all right now, Sheena. I’m fine.”
“No hurt?”
“Not anymore,” said Grant. “It’s good to see you, Sheena.”
“Sheena no hurt.”
She remembers the neural net, all right, Grant realized. But maybe she’s forgiven me for it.
The gorilla glanced at Dr. Wo again, then took a knuckle-walking step toward Grant. Grant extended his hand to her, palm up. Sheena reached out her enormous hand and touched Grant’s palm lightly.
“And Sheena is my friend,” he replied.
“Yes. Friends.”
Dr. Wo broke in, “Sheena and I are going to a new place where Sheena will make many new friends.”
The gorilla seemed to consider this for a moment, then said, “New friends. Grant, too?”
“I’m afraid not, Sheena. I’ve got to stay here for a while. Maybe later I’ll come and see you.”
“You come. See new friends. See Sheena.”
“I will,” Grant promised, hoping that he would one day be able to keep his word.
THE BEAUTY OF THY HOUSE
Surprised at how difficult it was for him to bid farewell to Sheena, Grant returned to the infirmary where he and Karlstad stood patiently for a final checkup by the little martinet who headed the medical staff. Once officially released, they dressed quickly and headed for their quarters, both of them walking awkwardly, their electrode-studded legs still feeling alien, barely under their own control.
Grant went past his own door.
Karlstad, tottering along beside him, said, “Have you forgotten where you live?” things, come to think of it”
“The only thing I want to do is get a decent meal and get the medics to shut down these damned biochips, so I can feel like a whole human being again.”
Grant nodded absently and kept on going as Karlstad stopped in front of his own door.
“And then I’m going to look up Lainie,” Karlstad called after him. “For real.”
Grant paid him no attention. Tamiko. All this time, Tamiko has been working for Beech. Really working for him, not just going through the motions the way I did. She’s a Zealot. She’s dangerous.
He went to Hideshi’s quarters and rapped on the door. It rattled slightly. Funny, Grant thought, I never noticed how flimsy these doors are.
“Who is it?” Hideshi’s voice called.
“Grant Archer.”
She slid the door back and ushered Grant into her compartment with a silent gesture. As he stepped in he saw a garment bag lying open on the bed, clothes scattered around it. The drawers of her desk hung open and empty.
“You’re leaving?” he asked.
“With Beech, yes.”
“You’re one of his agents, aren’t you?”
“That’s obvious,” Hideshi said, walking back to the bed and sitting on it, among the clothes.
“And you’re a Zealot.”
Hideshi did not answer.
“You’d kill me if Beech told you to, wouldn’t you?”
She made a sour face. “He won’t. It’d be pointless now. You’ve done your damage. No sense making a martyr out of you.”
“How could you kill a human being?” Grant asked, incredulous despite himself.
“To prepare the way for His kingdom,” she said, as if reciting from rote. “To do His work. I’m willing to give my own life, if needed.”
“But that’s not what God wants.”
“How would you know?” she sneered. “You’re on their side. You’ll all burn in hell.”
Grant went to her desk and sank into its chair. “Tami, this isn’t about religion.”
“Oh, no?”
“No,” said Grant, feeling weary, drained. “It’s politics. Don’t you see? The New Morality is using religion as a cover for its political agenda. It was never about religion. It was always politics.”
“You’re dead wrong, Grant. We’re doing God’s work. You secularists are on the side of the devil.”
“By their fruits—”
“Don’t quote Scripture at me!” Hideshi snapped. “Don’t try to convert me to your atheist ways!”
“But I’m a Believer!”
“So you say.”
It was like talking to a statue, Grant thought. Then he recalled his real reason for coming to her.
“You killed Irene Pascal, didn’t you?”
Hideshi looked surprised, almost shocked. “Me? Why would I do that?”
“To wreck the deep mission.”
She laughed at him. “Brightboy, are you ever wrong! I didn’t kill anybody.”
“Then who did?”
“Kayla.”
“Kayla! She’s one of you?”
With a satisfied smirk, Hideshi said, “Go ask her.”
Grant prowled through the station, searching. Kayla, he was telling himself. She’s one of the Zealots. The whole station must be infested with them. I’ve got to find her before she does any more damage. Before she kills someone else or tries to blow up the whole station.
The more Grant thought about it, the more he was convinced that Tamiko had told him the truth. The Panther, with her perpetual angry scowl, had been alone with Irene that last night. Kayla fed her the amphetamines that killed her.
At first he had thought it must have been Devlin. The Red Devil has access to all kinds of drugs, and he’d sold some to Irene, Grant knew. But Irene was too intelligent to take a harmful dose. She would never do that to herself. No, the overdose had to be slipped to her unknowingly, by someone she knew and trusted. Someone she loved.
Kayla Ukara. A Zealot. A fanatic. A murderer.
He searched the station for her, starting with
her usual workstation in the sensor lab and combing labs and maintenance shops until at last he pushed through the doors of the mission control center.
The center was silent, dimly lit, the big wallscreens blank, the consoles dead. Except for the one at which Ukara sat, staring into one small screen, hunched over, elbows on the console keyboard, head resting in her hands, eyes locked on the single glowing screen.
Grant padded softly down the ramp that had been built to accommodate Dr. Wo’s wheelchair. He stopped when he could see, over Ukara’s shoulder, that the screen she was watching displayed a video of Irene Pascal.
“You killed her,” Grant said.
She wheeled around, shock showing clearly on her face.
“You murdered Irene.”
For an instant Grant thought she was going to leap at him, fingers curled into claws. Then she relaxed, the anger and surprise in her face faded away, and she slumped back in the little wheeled chair.
“I killed Irene,” Ukara admitted. “It wasn’t murder, but I killed her, yes.”
“You tried to wreck the deep mission,” said Grant.
Ukara shook her head. “All I wanted to do was to save Irene. I didn’t want her to go on the mission. She herself was frightened of it, terrified almost, but she was too loyal to refuse the assignment.”
“Save her?” Grant snapped. “By feeding her enough amphetamines to kill her?”
“It wasn’t a fatal dose,” Ukara replied, looking miserable now. “I didn’t know it would kill her. I just wanted her to get sick enough to be taken off the mission.”
Grant pulled up one of the other chairs and sat down next to her. “I wish I could believe that.”
“I didn’t know it would affect her so strongly in that soup they were living in. I didn’t want to kill her. I loved her.”
Grant studied her face. Ukara didn’t look like a panther now. She looked desperately unhappy, close to tears.
“But you’re a Zealot, aren’t you?” he asked.
Ukara’s eyes flashed wide. “A Zealot? One of those fanatics?” She broke into a bitter, angry laugh. “Oh, yes, certainly. A black lesbian. They have troops of us in their ranks. Whole battalions full!”
She jumped to her feet. “I killed the person I loved! Isn’t that punishment enough, without an idiot like you asking stupid questions? Dr. Wo understands what happened. Who appointed you to be the prosecutor-general around here?”
Again Grant thought she was going to strike him, but instead Ukara strode angrily out of the control center, leaving him sitting alone, stunned, with Irene Pascal’s face still framed on the single working console screen.
He sat there for a long time, thinking, remembering, replaying the hours and days and weeks. So much has happened, Grant said to himself. Everything’s changed so much. The whole world has changed.
He turned to the console and powered up its communications systems.
The screen showed one of the young men who had accompanied Beech in the infirmary. He was still dressed in a somber dark suit, clean shaven, hair neatly combed.
“I want to make a call to my wife,” he said.
The young man shook his head. “You are being held incommunicado. That means no outgoing calls. Be grateful that we allowed you out of the infirmary.”
Grant nodded curtly and cut the connection.
“Red Devlin,” he told the communications computer.
The screen remained blank for a few moments, but at last Devlin’s youthful, mustachioed face grinned back at him.
“Hey, there, Grant, what can I do for you?”
Devlin appeared to be in the kitchen area. Grant could see tall stainless-steel freezer doors behind him and the corner of what looked like an electric stove.
“I need to make an outgoing call,” Grant said, “and the powers-that-be want to keep me incommunicado.”
Devlin arched a brick-red eyebrow. “You want me to skirt around the New Morality blokes, is that it?”
“Yes. Can you do it?”
“For you, chum, damned right I’ll do it. You’re a bloody hero and those silly bastards are a major pain in the backside.”
Grant hesitated. “Uh, it’ll be a personal message. To my wife.”
Devlin nodded. “I understand. Compress it and squirt it to me on the regular phone system. I’ll send it to a pal of mine Earthside along with my usual purchasing list. He’ll shoot it off to the proper party for you.”
“Thanks, Red,” said Grant. “I owe you one.”
Laughing, Devlin replied, “Hey, you’re gonna be a big mucky-muck around here one o’ these days. I’ve gotta be on your good side, don’t I now?”
Grant kept his message to Marjorie brief. He told her he was fine, but there were some problems with the official red tape that kept him from calling her directly.
“We’ll get it all straightened out pretty quickly, I’m sure,” Grant said, thinking of the shiploads of journalists heading for the station.
“But…” He hesitated, licked his lips, then made the decision. “But I’m going to be staying here at Jupiter, at the station here, for a long time, Marjorie. I want you with me. I need you with me. Will you come out here? I know it means dropping your work with the Peacekeepers, but your two years of Public Service are almost finished anyway. Come here, please. I love you, Marjorie. I miss you terribly. Come work with me, live with me. This is where I’ve got to be, and I’ve got to have you here, too.”
Not daring to review his message, Grant data-compressed it and fired it off to Devlin.
Red will get it through to Marjorie, he told himself. It might take a day or two, but she’ll get my message.
He got up from the console and walked slowly up the ramp and out into the corridor. Then we’ll see, he thought. Will she come out here to be with me?
Grant felt confident that she would. Despite the time and distance between them, he still loved his wife. Does she still love me? Enough to come all the way out here?
Yes, he answered silently. I think she does. But even if she doesn’t, I’ve got to stay here. I’ve got to.
He walked aimlessly along the station’s main corridor. People greeted him with smiles and hellos and even pats on the back. Grant smiled and helloed and waved at them all.
And found himself at last in the station’s observation lounge. Alone, he stepped inside and softly closed the door behind him. The lounge was dark, with only tiny lights on the floor to mark where a couch and a pair of padded chairs stood. Its long windows were shuttered. Almost like a blind man, Grant went to the faintly glowing switch that activated the shutters.
They peeled back smoothly, without a sound except the muted hum of an electric motor.
Light from Jupiter’s massive globe flooded into the lounge. Grant felt the breath catch in his throat as he saw the colorful roiled clouds rushing across the face of the giant planet. There are living creatures beneath those clouds, he reminded himself. And in the ocean there are intelligent creatures.
Of that he was certain. He also realized that he was ready to spend the rest of his life trying to prove it.
So much work to do. So much to learn, to discover.
The view of Jupiter slid by as the station turned slowly and Grant saw the curve of the glowing planet give way to the blackness of infinite space. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust, and then he saw the stars, thousands of stars, staring back at him.
“O Lord,” said Grant, remembering the ancient psalm, “I love the beauty of Thy house and the place where Thy glory dwelleth.”
Then he smiled. They can try to keep us incommunicado. They can try to silence us. But knowledge is more powerful than ignorance. Curiosity is more powerful than fear.
Grant laughed aloud, then turned and left the observation lounge, heading for his new tasks, his new responsibilities, ready to do God’s work.
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