Uranus

by Ben Bova

  “They destroyed the Chemlab facilities,” Waxman was saying, in a low dismal tone. “Everything’s smashed.”

  Umber started to nod, winced with pain. “So I’ve been told.”

  “It’s all gone,” said Waxman.

  “And good riddance to it.”

  Drawing himself up a little straighter, Waxman said, “There was nothing illegal about it. We have no laws against narcotics here in Haven.”

  “That was my oversight,” Umber responded. “I should have had the Council outlaw narcotics.”

  “I saw to it that none of it was sold here. The local population—”

  “Rust was used here, Evan. Don’t try to deny it.”

  Waxman’s head sank lower.

  Umber said gently, “You know I can’t keep you as chief administrator.”

  “I didn’t do anything illegal.”

  “But immoral.”

  Waxman raised his head and stared into Umber’s eyes. “You didn’t care about that as long as I was bringing in the money to keep this habitat going!”

  “Yes, that’s true enough. I share the responsibility.”

  “So?”

  “So we’ll start over. Clean and new.”

  “And be bankrupt before the year is out.”

  “The Lord will provide.”

  Waxman’s expression soured. “Kyle, you can’t expect people to eat hope. Haven is heading for catastrophe.”

  For a long moment Umber said nothing. Then, in a whisper, “I know it.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know … yet.”

  “You’re a dreamer! A hopeless dreamer!”

  “I am a dreamer,” Umber admitted. “But I’m not without hope.”

  Waxman shook his head.

  “But what about you? I presume you’ll return to Earth.”

  For the first time, Waxman’s face showed fear. “I … I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “I can’t give you much of a recommendation.”

  “They’ll kill me!” Waxman burst out. “I owe them a shipment of Rust that I can’t deliver now. If I return to Earth they’ll have me killed.”

  Umber’s eyes went wide. “Kill you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of people have you been dealing with, Evan?”

  With a bitter smile, Waxman replied, “Not your churchgoing type.”

  * * *

  Gordon Abbott frowned at the image on his office wall screen. It showed Harvey Millard, executive director of the Interplanetary Council, sitting in his office in Copenhagen, on Earth.

  He doesn’t think the data are conclusive, Abbott almost growled to himself.

  The distance between Uranus and Earth made normal conversation impossible. It took more than two hours for light to travel one-way between the two. Abbott fidgeted with impatience as he tried to do some work on the report he was writing while he waited for Millard’s response to his message.

  In the image frozen on his screen, Millard was smiling slightly. He was a smallish man. Even seated in his desk chair he looked undersized, diminutive: shoulders slim, torso slender, trim little moustache. But the expression on his face was intelligent, inquisitive, with light brown eyes alert and probing.

  Abbott knew that one does not become executive director of the IC through family connections or the good will of friends. Beneath his nearly frail appearance, Harvey Millard was a veritable lion.

  “Not conclusive,” Millard replied at last. “Not entirely. Very suggestive, of course, but the astronomers aren’t going to rip up their cherished theories without overwhelming evidence.”

  “Gomez and Zworkyn are working night and day to provide the evidence,” Abbott said, somewhat testily. “They could use some help.”

  And then the inevitable wait. Abbott had been at this “conversation” since early morning. It was maddening.

  At last Millard nodded minimally. “So I understand. But your facilities out there at Uranus are rather limited, aren’t they?”

  Before Abbott could frame a reply, Millard went on, “Pity.” Pursing his lips momentarily, he went on, “I suppose I should take a jaunt out to where you are and look things over for myself.”

  “You’d come all the way out here?” Abbott blurted.

  And then waited.

  At last Millard replied, “I believe I have to. See the evidence, talk with this Gomez fellow and the engineer. They’ve stirred the pot rather vigorously, haven’t they?”

  Abbott nodded wordlessly.

  “Very well, then,” Millard said, with just the hint of a grin touching his lips. “It’ll do me good to get away from the office for a while. I should be able to reach Uranus within a week.”

  Within a week, Abbott echoed in his mind. When the IC’s executive director wants to go someplace, he has one of the commission’s private ships at his beck and call.

  I’ll have to tell Reverend Umber about this right away, Abbott thought. And Waxman. We’ve got to—

  Millard interrupted his thoughts. “My people will fill you in on my schedule, Gordon. See you in a week or so.”

  The wall screen went blank.

  Well, Abbott said to himself, he’s not one to waste words.

  * * *

  Kyle Umber was sitting up on his hospital bed. The bandage that had covered his left cheek was gone, replaced by a translucent covering that clearly showed the scar running from his temple to his jaw.

  “Harvey Millard is coming here?” he asked.

  Standing at the reverend’s bedside, Gordon Abbott nodded vigorously. “He’s already on his way.”

  “Because of this discovery that Gomez and Zworkyn made?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he bringing many people with him?” Umber asked. “Will we have enough space to house them all?”

  Abbott replied, “Knowing Millard, he’s probably coming alone, or with one or two aides, at most.”

  “We can accommodate them on Haven II then.”

  “I should think so.”

  “Good.”

  “He’s scheduled to arrive the day after tomorrow.”

  “I’ll have to get up from this bed to greet him.”

  Abbott held himself back from shaking his head. “Millard isn’t a great one for formalities.”

  “Still … he’s the Interplanetary Council’s executive director.”

  “True enough.” Abbott took a step back from the bedside and turned to leave.

  But Umber stopped him with, “This discovery that Gomez has made, what does it mean, Gordon?”

  Abbott paused and turned back to face the minister. “It might mean that our solar system was visited by an intelligent alien race some two million years ago.”

  “An intelligent alien race,” Umber repeated.

  “And they sterilized Uranus. Completely sterilized the entire planet.”

  “My God.”

  “That’s what Gomez thinks.”

  “Do you believe it?”

  Abbott shrugged wearily. “It’s an outlandish hypothesis, on the face of it. But it accounts for the facts that we’ve uncovered.”

  “My God,” Umber repeated.

  HARVEY MILLARD

  The trip to Uranus should have seemed like a vacation to Harvey Millard. He was away from his office; underlings were handling the niggling details of the day-to-day affairs of the Interplanetary Council. But he realized that he was heading into a new problem, a question that might well involve the future of the entire human race.

  As he stood in the otherwise empty observation blister of the spaceship Icarus racing out to Uranus, he stared at the universe of stars emblazoned across the black infinity while the enormity of the situation weighed on his slim shoulders.

  All life on Uranus was wiped out, extinguished some two million years ago. How? By alien invaders? The idea was preposterous on the face of it.

  But is it right? He remembered a bit of wisdom from his university days: Jus
t because an idea sounds crazy doesn’t mean it’s wrong.

  But is it right?

  Millard shuddered in the chilly emptiness of the observation blister. Could there be an alien race out there that sterilized Uranus? How? More important: Why?

  Will they return? Will they want to drive us into extinction?

  He stared out at the stars. And found no answer.

  * * *

  Evan Waxman sat in his office, unconsciously counting the minutes he had left to live.

  I can’t stay here on Haven, he told himself for the thousandth time. Umber will force me to leave. To go where? Back to Earth? Dacco and his bosses will want me dead. Returning to Earth will be a death sentence. Even Mars or the research stations orbiting Jupiter and Saturn won’t be safe for me.

  Maybe I should just kill myself and get it over with.

  But he didn’t move, couldn’t move, could not force his hands to open the desk drawer and pull out the vial of Rust he had cached in it.

  It won’t be a bad way to go, he thought. Drug overdose. You’ll be floating on a cloud when the end comes.

  Still, he could not force his hands to open the desk drawer.

  * * *

  Raven opened her eyes slowly. Tómas was already up and dressed, she saw: a steel-gray tunic over darker slacks. He looked handsome, she thought. His face so serious, so intense.

  As he stood before the mirror, smoothing down the tunic he had just put on, he noticed her stirring in the bed. And smiled.

  “Good morning.”

  “You’re up early,” Raven said.

  “You’ve slept late,” he answered.

  In a mock-accusative tone, Raven replied, “You kept me up half the night.”

  A wide grin flashed across Tómas’s face. “I could say the same about you.”

  Raven tossed a pillow at him.

  He stepped to the bed, bent over and kissed her.

  “I’ve got to go,” Tómas said, almost apologetically. “The IC’s executive director will be arriving tomorrow, and we’ve got to be prepared to show him our findings.”

  Raven nodded. “I suppose I should open the boutique. It’s been shut since the riot.”

  “You’ll need help, won’t you?”

  “I’ll find somebody.”

  “Sure. Good luck.”

  “Same to you, Tómas,” said Raven.

  He went to the bedroom door, turned and blew her a kiss, then departed. Raven sat on the rumpled bed, telling herself she should get up and start the day. Yet she didn’t move.

  The phone buzzed. “Phone answer,” she called out.

  Reverend Umber’s round, slightly pinkish face appeared on the screen. Raven pulled the bedclothes up to her armpits. Then she noticed that the left side of the minister’s face was covered by a translucent bandage.

  “Raven…” He hesitated.

  “Yes, Reverend,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

  Umber was silent for a moment, then he answered, “I need your help.”

  * * *

  Raven showered and dressed quickly, then hurried to Umber’s office. The minister was alone amidst the ornate furniture and decorations, sitting at his desk, looking somewhere between worried and expectant. A livid scar ran down one side of his face. Raven tried to keep from staring at it.

  As soon as she took one of the chairs in front of his desk, Umber said, “I need an assistant.”

  “An assistant?”

  “The executive director of the Interplanetary Council will arrive here tomorrow, and I need someone to help me with the arrangements … and the agenda for our meeting.”

  “Isn’t that what Mr. Waxman does for you?” she asked.

  “Evan has resigned,” Umber said. Then he amended, “Actually, I expect him to resign. I’m sure he’s going to.”

  “But I’m not trained to do his job,” Raven protested. “I don’t know a fraction of what he knows about how to run your office.”

  “You can learn,” said Umber, his face dead serious. “And you have one important trait that I find indispensable.”

  “Indispensable?”

  “I can trust you.”

  ARRIVAL

  Harvey Millard sat in the bridge of the Icarus, the Interplanetary Council ship that had carried him from Earth orbit to the twin habitats orbiting Uranus. He watched as the ship’s six-person crew went through the final moments of countdown to the berthing at the orbiting station.

  In the bridge’s sweeping display screens, Millard could see the rim of the bluish-gray planet and the two circular man-made habitats hanging side by side in orbit around it.

  Millard felt tense as the ship approached the docking port. Haven II was obviously unfinished, bare skeletal metal ribbing making up half its circular structure. He saw flashes of what must have been welding torches here and there along the structure.

  Then they passed Haven II and aimed at the original station, Haven.

  From his command chair at the focal point of the bridge’s control stations, the ship’s captain announced, “Rendezvous in six minutes. Confirmed.”

  The six-person crew sat at their stations, relaxed, at ease, as the ship’s master computer guided it into the docking berth of Haven.

  Seated behind the crew members, Millard nodded, even though none of the crew had turned to look at him. His palms felt sweaty, his fingers gripped his thighs rigidly. Although he enjoyed traveling, even over interplanetary distances, this business of docking a spaceship with a rotating habitat was something he had never been able to feel comfortable about.

  The time stretched interminably, then Millard felt a barely noticeable tremor and finally a slight thump.

  “Docking confirmed,” announced the master computer.

  The captain turned in his seat and smiled at Millard. “That’s it, sir. We’re docked.”

  The crew all got to their feet, grinning at one another. Each was dressed in a ceremonial uniform, black with silver trim. The captain’s shoulders were heavy with braid. Millard, in a civilian’s undecorated jacket, turtleneck shirt and slacks, pushed himself to his feet, happy that he hadn’t wet himself during the approach.

  * * *

  Reverend Umber was determined to stand when he met Millard. Sitting in a hospital-provided wheelchair, with a fresh-faced doctor and an even younger nurse behind him, Umber tensed as the reception area’s hatch swung open.

  Gordon Abbott stood at one side of the minister’s chair, wearing a crisp hip-length sky-blue tunic and sharply creased darker slacks. On Umber’s other side stood Raven Marchesi, in a simple buttercup-yellow sleeveless mid-thigh dress.

  The first man through the hatch was the ship’s captain, smiling and looking splendid in his black-and-silver uniform. Right behind him was a civilian, modestly dressed, smiling gently.

  Abbott stepped forward and put out a beefy hand. “Harvey,” he said, loud enough to have his voice echo off the reception area’s metal walls. “Good to see you again! Welcome to Uranus and Haven.”

  Millard allowed Abbott’s hand to engulf his. “It’s good to see you, Gordon.”

  Umber pushed himself to his feet as Abbott half turned and introduced the minister. “This is the Reverend Kyle Umber, founder and leader of the Haven habitat.”

  As he shook hands with Umber, Millard said, “Please sit down, sir. There’s no need for formalities.”

  Umber smiled at the smaller man. “I prefer to stand, actually. I’ve been sitting far too much.”

  Millard dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “As you wish.”

  “You’re alone?” Umber asked. “No staff?”

  Millard grinned, almost maliciously. “‘He travels fastest who travels alone,’” he quoted. Then he added, “I can reach my staff when I need to.”

  The ship’s captain and crew were led toward a shuttle that would take them to Haven II as Umber introduced Raven. Scarcely taller than Raven, Millard took her hand in his and smiled radiantly at her. Raven muttered a greeting.
>
  Turning back to Umber, Millard glanced at the scar running down his cheek and said, “I heard you had some unpleasantness here a fortnight ago.”

  Umber nodded as he pointed toward the moving stairs that led down into Haven’s living quarters. “My attempt at a nonviolent demonstration turned bloody,” he said, his voice going low, guilty. “Thirty-eight persons were killed.”

  “Something about narcotics?” Millard asked.

  His face grim, Umber said tightly, “Yes,” as he slowly, haltingly led Millard and the others to the moving stairs.

  Millard listened in silence as Umber—clearly embarrassed—explained Waxman’s drug manufacturing and sales.

  By the time they reached Umber’s offices, the minister was saying, “Unfortunately, we never outlawed narcotics here in Haven. It never crossed my mind. I thought that the refugees we took from Earth would want to be free of drugs here in Haven. And most of them did! The only real trouble we’ve had has come from the top, not from the refugees but from my own staff!”

  Millard nodded sympathetically. “That’s often the way. The rich don’t really believe that the law applies to them.”

  DISPOSITIONS

  Once the little group reached Umber’s office, the reverand sank gratefully onto his desk chair while Millard ensconced himself on one of the comfortable armchairs in front of the minister’s desk.

  “Now where is this man Gomez? I want to hear what he has to say.”

  As if answering a cue, Tómas and Zworkyn entered Umber’s office. Umber introduced them and they sat down.

  Without preamble, Millard asked, “You believe you have evidence that several of Uranus’s moons were torn from their orbits around the planet some two million years ago?”

  “Conclusive evidence,” said Gomez.

  Millard raised an eyebrow. But he smiled as he said, “Show me.”

  Nearly two hours later, Millard was nodding agreeably as he said, “I’ve got to admit, you seem to have it nailed down quite conclusively.”