Saturn (7 page)

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.

"Gray goo is one thing," Jaansen replied. "Nanobugs have also been deliberately programmed to destroy proteins. Take them apart, molecule by molecule."

"So I've been told," said Eberly.

"We're made of proteins. Nanobugs can be designed to be killers. That's a real danger in a closed ecology like this habitat. They could wipe out everybody in less than a day."

Morgenthau gasped a disbelieving, "No! Less than a day?"

Jaansen shrugged his slim shoulders. "They can reproduce themselves out of the materials around them in milliseconds and multiply faster than plague microbes. That's why they're usually programmed to be de-functioned by near UV."

"De-functioned?" asked Eberly.

"Near UV?" Morgenthau inquired.

"De-functioned, deactivated, broken up, killed, stopped. Near ultraviolet light is softer
—
er, not so energetic
—
as ultraviolet light of shorter wavelength. So you can use near UV to stop nanobugs without causing damage to people." He broke into a toothy grin as he added, "Except maybe they get a suntan."

Eberly steepled his fingers. "So nanomachines can be controlled."

"If you're
verrry
careful," Jaansen replied.

"But the risks are frightening," Morgenthau said.

Jaansen shrugged again. "Perhaps. But take the EVA we had to do on the solar mirrors a few days ago. Nanomachines could have been inserted into the mirror motors and repaired them without anyone needing to go outside."

"Then they could be very useful," said Eberly.

"They'd be extremely helpful in all the maintenance tasks, yes, certainly," Jaansen replied. "They would make my job much easier." Before either of the other two could speak, he added, "If they're kept under strict control. That's the hard part: keeping them under control."

"Can they be controlled well enough to do only what they're programmed to do, without running wild?" Morgenthau asked.

"Yes, certainly. But you've got to be
verrry
careful with the programming. It's like those old fairy tales about getting three wishes, and the wishes always backfire on you."

"We'll have Dr. Kristin Cardenas to be in charge of the nanotechnology group," Eberly said.

Jaansen's ash-blond brows rose a respectful few centimeters. "Cardenas? She's here?"

"She will be, in a few months."

"That's good. That's extremely good."

"Then it's settled," Eberly said. "You will work with Cardenas to draw up guidelines for using nanomachines."

Jaansen nodded enthusiastically. "I'll be glad to."

"I don't like it," Morgenthau said, grim-faced. "It's too dangerous."

"Not if we can keep them under control," said Eberly.

Jaansen got to his feet. "As I said, it's a two-edged sword. Cardenas is the top expert, though. We'll be lucky to have her."

"I don't like it," said Morgenthau, once the engineer had left. "Nanomachines are dangerous ... evil."

"They're tools," Eberly countered. "Tools that could be useful to us."

"But-"

"No buts!" Eberly snapped. "I've made my decision. Dr. Cardenas will be welcome, as long as she works under our guidelines."

Looking doubtful, almost fearful, Morgenthau said, "I'll have to discuss this with my superiors in Amsterdam."

Eberly glared at her. "The Holy Disciples asked
me
to direct things here. I won't be second-guessed by a board of elders sitting back on Earth."

"Those elders asked me to assist you," said Morgenthau. "And to make certain you didn't stray off the path of righteousness."

Eberly leaned back in his desk chair. So that's it. She's the link back to Amsterdam. She's here to control me.

Keeping his voice calm, he said to Morgenthau, "Well, I've made my decision. Dr. Cardenas will be joining us in three months, and there's nothing that Amsterdam or Atlanta or anyone else can do about it."

She looked far less than pleased. "You still have to convince Wilmot to let you introduce nanotechnology into the habitat."

Eberly stared at her for a silent moment. Then, "Yes, so I do."

EYES ONLY

TO: M. Eberly.

FROM: R. Morgenthau.

SUBJECT: Surveillance of living quarters.

Dr. Eberly:

I discussed the problem of installing surveillance cameras in every living space in the habitat with H. Jaansen, of Engineering. He informed me that microcameras, no larger than a pinhead, have been developed for the probes that the planetary scientists plan to send to Titan. Such cameras are also used by the medical department for examining patients' innards. They can be manufactured in large numbers with existing facilities.

Jaansen suggests having the medical department initiate a program of spraying each apartment in the habitat with a broad-based disinfectant or aerosol antibiotic, under the guise of preventing the outbreak of airborne diseases. The cameras would be installed in each apartment during the spraying procedure.

This program will require the cooperation of several lower-level personnel from the medical, maintenance, engineering, and security departments. It will also require a significant amount of time to complete.

If you can recruit satisfactory personnel for this program, I suggest we begin the "spraying" effort as soon as feasible.

In addition, Vyborg has successfully tapped into the communications net and is now routinely recording phone conversations and the video programming that individuals watch in their homes. The amount of information is enormous, as you may well imagine. Vyborg will need guidelines from you as to who should be monitored on a regular basis. He will also need personnel and/or automated equipment to accomplish said monitoring.