by Ben Bova
By force of habit Pancho glanced up at the image floating in the middle of her office. Instead of Kris Cardenas’s face, it showed only her own neatly typed words.
“I’ll personally pay all your expenses and add a big bonus,” Pancho went on. “I’ll pay for a major expansion of your habitat out there at Ceres. She’s my little sister, Kris, and she needs somebody to watch over her. I can’t do it; I’m hoping that you can. Will you do this for me? Just for a year or so, just long enough so Sis gets squared away and can stand on her own feet without doing anything foolish. Will you help me on this, Kris? I really think it’ll be to your advantage and I’d appreciate it enormously.”
Pancho realized she was practically begging. Almost whining. So what? she asked herself. This is Susie I’m talking about.
But she took a breath and said more evenly, “Please get back to me as soon as you can on this, Kris. It’s important to me.”
In her cozy quarters aboard the habitat Chrysalis in orbit around the asteroid Ceres, Kris Cardenas intently watched Pancho’s earnest face as the Astro Corporation board chairman paced back and forth across her plushly furnished office. Cardenas noted the tension in every line of Pancho’s lanky body, every gesture, every word she spoke.
I don’t owe her a thing, Cardenas told herself. Why should I uproot myself and trundle out to Saturn on that weird expedition?
Yet, despite herself, she felt intrigued. Maybe it’s time for a change in my life. Maybe I’ve done enough penance.
Despite her calendar years, Dr. Kristin Cardenas looked no more than thirtyish, a pert sandy blond woman with a swimmer’s shoulders and strong, athletic body, and bright cornflower-blue eyes. That was because her body teemed with nanomachines, virus-sized devices that acted as a deliberate, directed immune system that destroyed invading organisms, took apart plaque forming in her blood vessels atom by atom, and rebuilt tissue damaged by trauma or aging.
Cardenas had won a Nobel Prize for her research in nanotechnology, before the fundamentalist governments of Earth succeeded in banning all forms of nanotech on the planet. She had carried on her work at Selene for years, helping the lunar nation to win its short, virtually bloodless war against the former world government. But because she had taken nanomachines into her own body she was not allowed to return to Earth, even for a brief visit. She lost her husband and children because they dared not come to Selene and risk being exiled from Earth with her. Cardenas bitterly resented the shortsighted attitudes of the “flatlanders” who had cost her her children and grandchildren, a bitterness that had led her to homicide. She had allowed her knowledge of nanotechnology to be used to sabotage a spacecraft, which caused the death of industrialist Dan Randolph.
The government of Selene locked her out of her own nanotech lab. She fled to the mining station on Ceres, in the Asteroid Belt, where she remained for many years, serving as a medical doctor and eventually as a member of Ceres’s governing board. Penance. She helped to build the miners’ community at Ceres, and she had refused to do any nanotech work since fleeing from Selene.
Am I being foolish? she now asked herself. Should I apply for a slot on the Saturn expedition? Would they take me if I did apply?
Staring at Pancho’s engrossed image frozen on her wallscreen, Cardenas decided to try. It’s time to begin a new life in a new world, she thought. Time for a new start.
The cafeteria was a strange place to hold such a sensitive meeting, Eberly thought. Yet, on the other hand, the clattering, bustling cafeteria was one of the few places in the habitat that would be virtually impossible to bug with listening devices. Too much background noise, too many people moving about.
“I understand that you are from Rwanda,” Eberly said pleasantly, as he picked at the salad on the table before him.
“Col. Kananga was a high official in the national police force,” said Morgenthau, whose plate bore an arrangement of fresh fruit slices.
“So I gathered from your dossier,” Eberly said, with a smile. “It’s unfortunate that you were asked to leave the country.”
If the barb hurt Kananga, the tall, lean Rwandan gave no indication of it. He said merely, “I was asked to clear up a difficult situation, and once I did so, I was rewarded with a choice between a public trial for police brutality or permanent exile.”
Eberly pursed his lips sympathetically. “Politicians,” he murmured.
“Yes,” said Kananga, his voice like the rumble of a lion. “Politicians.”
Morgenthau forced a smile. “Col. Kananga is interested in working with us, Malcolm.”
“Good,” said Eberly, without taking his eyes from the Rwandan’s dark, impassive face. “You could be useful in the government we will set up once we arrive at Saturn.”
“I would expect to keep my position as chief of security,” Kananga said flatly.
“I don’t see why you shouldn’t,” Eberly replied. Then he added, “If you can follow my orders absolutely and without fail.”
Kananga allowed the trace of a smile to curl his lips slightly. “I know how to follow orders.”
“Good. If you are loyal to me, I will be loyal to you. You’ll find me a trustworthy leader. I won’t turn on you for doing your job.”
The Rwandan’s smile broadened enough to show some teeth. “Even if I am … eh, zealous, let us say, in carrying out your orders?”
“Zeal is no sin,” Morgenthau said, “when you’re doing God’s work.”
Eberly said, “Just follow my orders, do your work well, and you won’t have to worry about being shipped back to Rwanda once we’ve arrived at Saturn.”
Kananga nodded wordlessly.
When she received Cardenas’s request, Holly raced from her desk to find Eberly. He was in the office complex’s cafeteria, sitting with Morgenthau and a lean, skeletally thin man whose complexion was darker than her own, the nearly purple black of the true African. They were deep in an intense discussion, their heads leaning forward like conspirators.
Holly scurried up to their table and stood at Eberly’s elbow. None of them paid any attention to her. They continued to talk in hushed, confidential tones, too low for Holly to hear their words over the clatter and conversations that clanged off the bare walls of the busy cafeteria.
She waited several moments, fidgeting impatiently, then broke into their tête-à-tête with, “Excuse me! Malcolm, I hate to interrupt but—”
Eberly looked up sharply at her, clear displeasure in his piercing eyes.
“I’m sorry, Malcolm, but it’s important.”
He took a breath, then said, “What is important enough to intrude in my discussion?”
“Dr. Cardenas wants to join us!”
“Cardenas?” asked Morgenthau.
“Kristin Cardenas,” Holly said, grinning enthusiastically. “The nanotech expert. She won the Nobel Prize! And she wants to come with us!”
Eberly seemed less than pleased. “Do we need an expert in nanotechnology?”
“That’s a dangerous area,” said the black man. His scalp was shaved bald, Holly saw, although there was a fringe of a beard outlining his jawline.
“It’s outlawed on Earth,” Morgenthau agreed, adding a muttered, “Unholy.”
Holly was surprised at their obtuseness. “Nanotech could be really helpful to us. We could use nanomachines to do most of the habitat’s maintenance work. And healthwise, nanomachines could—”
Eberly stopped her with an upraised finger. “Nanomachines are outlawed on Earth because they could run wild and devour everything in their path.”
“Turn everything into gray goo,” Morgenthau muttered.
“Only if somebody programs ’em to do that,” Holly countered. “Those flatlanders back Earthside are scared of terrorists or nutcases going wild with nanomachines.”
Morgenthau glared at her but said nothing.
“Shouldn’t we be concerned about that, as well?” Eberly asked mildly.
“We’ve screened everybody aboard,” Holly said.
“We don’t have any violent types here. No fanatics.”
“How can we be sure of that?” Morgenthau was obviously unconvinced.
Looking at Eberly, the black man said slowly, “Properly used, nanomachines could be of great help to us.”
Eberly stared back at him for a long moment. “You believe so?”
“I do.”
“Would Dr. Cardenas agree to work under our terms, I wonder?” Eberly mused.
“We could ask her and find out,” Holly prompted. “She’s on Ceres now. We could pick her up when we go through the Belt. I checked the flight plan; we’ll be within a day’s flight of Ceres. She could buzz out to us on a torch ship, no prob. I could get my sister to set up a flight for her, betcha.”
Eberly stroked his chin. “Even though we have a full compliment now, I suppose we could make room for one person of Dr. Cardenas’s caliber.”
“If Wilmot approves of it,” said Morgenthau.
“Wilmot.” Eberly almost sneered. “I’m in charge of human resources decisions, not Wilmot.”
“But something like this—”
“I’ll take care of it,” he insisted. Turning to Holly, he said, “Inform Dr. Cardenas that I would like to discuss this with her personally.”
“Cosmic!” Holly blurted.
She was about to turn and head back to the human resources office when Eberly grasped her wrist.
“You haven’t met Colonel Kananga, have you?”
The black man got to his feet like a jointed scaffolding unfolding. He was almost two meters tall, a full head taller than Holly.
“Our director of security, Colonel Leo Kananga, from Rwanda,” said Eberly. “Holly Lane, from Selene.”
Kananga extended his hand. Holly took it in hers. His long fingers felt cold and dry. His grip was strong, almost painful.
Kananga smiled at her, but there was no warmth in it. Just the opposite. Holly felt an icy shudder run down her spine. It was like looking at a skull, a death’s head.
DEPARTURE PLUS 145 DAYS
As she climbed the stairs to the roof of the administration building, Holly wondered why Eberly had summoned her to the rooftop. She stepped through the metal door and looked for him. No one else was there. She walked to within two steps of the roof’s edge and turned full circle. She was alone.
He’s always so prompt, she thought. Why isn’t he here?
Then she realized that she was more than a minute early, and she relaxed somewhat. He’ll be here, she told herself, right on the tick.
Gazing out from the three story-high roof, Holly could see the other buildings of the village, low and gleaming white in the sunlight. The long slash of the solar window overhead was too bright to look at for more than a momentary glimpse. Even so, the after image of its glare burned in her eyes.
Everything is going well, Holly thought. The habitat is functioning smoothly, everybody doing their jobs as they should. Some trouble with one of the solar mirrors a few days ago, but the maintenance crew went out in spacesuits and fixed it. Now it was swiveling properly again, keeping sunlight streaming through the long windows while the habitat rotated along its axis.
We need sunshine, Holly thought. No matter where we go, no matter how far from Earth we travel, human beings need sunshine. It’s more than simple biology, more than the need for green plants at the foundation of the food chain. Sunlight makes us happy, drives away depression. Must be awful back Earthside when they have clouds and storms and they don’t see the Sun for days and days. No wonder the flatlanders are a little crazy.
She glanced at her wrist again. He’ll be here, she told herself. He’s always on time. Why’s he want to see me up here, though? Just the two of us. She felt a nervous thrill race through her. Just the two of us.
Maybe he feels about me the way I feel about him. Maybe just a little, but -
“There you are.”
She whirled and focused her attention on Eberly, who was walking slowly across the rooftop’s slightly rubbery surface toward her. He really is handsome, she saw. So full of energy. But he ought to dress better, Holly thought, scrutinizing the baggy gray slacks and darker shapeless tunic that hung a size or so too big from his shoulders.
“I wanted to have a word with you outside the office,” he said as he stopped an arm’s length from her.
“Sure, Malcolm.” She had to make a conscious effort to keep her hands from fidgeting.
“There are too many listening ears down there,” he went on, “and what I have to say is for you only.”
“What is it?” she asked, trembling.
He looked over his shoulder, as if expecting to find someone hiding behind him.
Turning back to Holly, he said, “I see from your reports that you are ready to launch the naming contests.”
Business, Holly realized, crestfallen. He wants to talk about business.
“You are ready, aren’t you?” he asked, oblivious to her letdown.
“Right,” she said, thinking, Nothing but business. I don’t really mean a thing to him.
“You’ve set up the rules for each contest?”
Holly nodded. “It was pretty easy, f’real. And I think that using a lottery to pick the committees for judging each individual contest is the best way to go.”
“I agree,” Eberly said. “You’ve done a fine job.”
“Thanks, Malcolm,” she said glumly.
“I’ll have to get Wilmot’s approval, and then we can launch the contests. I should be able to make the announcement within a few days.”
“Fine.”
His face grew serious. “But there is something else, Holly.”
“What is it?”
He drew in a breath. “I don’t want you to think of this as a reprimand—”
“Reprimand?” A pang of alarm raced through her. “What did I do?”
He touched her shoulder with one extended finger. “Don’t be frightened. This is not a reprimand.”
“But… what?”
“You and I have been working together for several months now, and in general your work has been excellent.”
She could see there was bad news coming. She tried not to cringe or let her fear show in her expression.
“However, there is one thing.”
“What is it, Malcolm? Tell me and I’ll fix it.”
The corners of his lips curled upward slightly. “Holly, I don’t mind you addressing me by my given name when we’re alone,” he said softly, “but when we are with other people, that is altogether too familiar. You should call me Dr. Eberly.”
“Oh.” Holly knew from Eberly’s dossier that his doctorate was honorary, awarded by a minor Web-based college that sold courses on languages and public speaking.
“When I introduced you to Colonel Kananga a few days ago,” he went on, “it was altogether improper for you to address me by my first name.”
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I didn’t realize…”
He patted her shoulder in a fatherly manner. “I know. I understand. It really isn’t all that important, except that for persons such as Kananga and Morgenthau and such, respect is very essential.”
“I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, Mal — I mean, Dr. Eberly.”
“You can continue to call me Malcolm when we’re alone. But when there is a third person present, it would be better if you observed the formalities.”
“Sure,” Holly said. “No prob.”
“Good. Now, we’d both better be getting back to work.”
He turned and started for the door that led back inside the building. Holly scampered after him.
“About Dr. Cardenas,” she said.
“Yes?” Without turning or slowing his pace.
“She’s agreed to work under our guidelines. She’ll be joining us at our closest approach to Ceres. It’s all set.”
“Good,” Eberly said, unsmiling. “Now we need to draw up the guidelines that will regulate her work.”
“We’
ll need Professor Wilmot’s approval for that, won’t we?”
He grimaced. “Yes, we will. Unless…”
Holly waited for him to finish the thought. Instead, Eberly yanked open the door and started down the metal stairs toward his office.
Two days later, Eberly sat behind his bare desk studying the face of Hal Jaansen, head of the habitat’s engineering department.
Ruth Morgenthau sat beside Jaansen, looking worried. She wore one of her colorful tunics and enough jewelry, Eberly thought, to tilt the entire habitat in her direction. She’s paying absolutely no attention to the dress codes, he said to himself. She’s flaunting her independence, making me look like a fool. But he kept the distaste off his face as he watched Jaansen.
The man doesn’t look like an engineer, Eberly thought. Jaansen was one of those pale blond Norsemen; even his eyelashes were so light that they were practically invisible. He had a clean, pink, well-scrubbed look, and instead of the engineer’s coveralls that Eberly had expected, Jaansen wore a crisply starched old-fashioned shirt with an open collar and neatly creased chocolate brown trousers. The only clue to his profession that Eberly could see was the square black palm-sized digital information processor that rested on his thigh, balanced there precariously. Jaansen touched it every now and then with the fingers of his left hand, as though to reassure himself that it was still there.
“Nanotechnology is a two-edged sword,” he was saying, somewhat pompously, Eberly thought. “It can be used for a tremendous variety of purposes, but it also poses grave dangers.”
“The gray goo problem,” Morgenthau murmured.
Jaansen nodded. His face was square-cut, stolid. Eberly decided that the man had very little imagination; he was a walking bundle of facts and information, but beyond his technical expertise he had no interests, no knowledge, no ambitions. Good! Eberly said to himself.