Titan

by Bova, Ben

  The party grew louder and wilder. People splashed fully clothed into the lake. Others followed, after stripping. Finally, when midnight was announced by electronic chimes, everyone kissed everyone within reach: friends, lovers, strangers—it didn’t matter. A new year was beginning. A new opportunity. A fresh start.

  Alone in his apartment, Malcolm Eberly watched the party on television, thinking, Bread and circuses, that’s what they want. Keep them amused and distracted, just like a stage magician does to keep the audience from seeing how he does his tricks.

  Eduoard Urbain worked in his apartment until midnight, when Jeanmarie burst in from the kitchen with a bottle of actual champagne and a tray of caviar. Placing them on the coffee table, she sat herself squarely on Urbain’s lap and kissed him soundly.

  “Bon année, mon cher,” she said.

  Urbain was briefly irritated that she interrupted his work, but he quickly decided that this was one occasion when the work could wait.

  “Bon année, ma précieux,” he whispered happily, hoping desperately that it truly would be a good year.

  Kris Cardenas could not get drunk. No matter how much she drank, the nanomachines inside her quickly broke down the alcohol into harmless molecules, mainly carbon dioxide and water. She burped a lot and made several trips to the row of portable toilets that had been set up behind the lakeside bandstand. She met Wunderly there each time.

  “How’s it going?” she asked Nadia brightly, as they headed yet again toward the toilets.

  “Goin’ a lot,” Wunderly slurred. Then she giggled.

  Cardenas nodded happily to herself: the diuretics she had given the physicist were working. Nadia looked pretty good; not svelte, it was too soon for that, but she had slimmed down noticeably. Best of all, she seemed happy with herself. She had a nice-looking guy for the party and she was having a good time.

  Manny Gaeta, on the other hand, could get drunk but didn’t. Even on New Year’s Eve, Cardenas noted, Manny was careful about his drinking. By one A.M. they left the party—which was now roaring louder than ever—and headed home. As they walked hand in hand from the lake, the blare of the live band dwindling to an insistent thumping bass beat, Cardenas asked:

  “Have a good time?”

  He shrugged his strong shoulders. “Yeah, sure. You?”

  “It was awfully noisy.”

  “Hey, it’s New Year’s. People let off steam, what the hell.”

  “You didn’t. You’re as sober as I am.”

  With a weak, almost apologetic smile, Gaeta said, “Habits are hard to break, guapa. All those years I was doing stunts, couldn’t drink and drive, you know what I mean.”

  “But you’re retired now.”

  “Yeah, but still …”

  They walked along the curving pathway for some moments. Then Cardenas asked, “You’re not thinking of going back to the rings, are you?”

  He looked away from her.

  “Well, are you?”

  “I’m not going to do it,” he said firmly.

  “Good,” she replied with equal resolution.

  But hours later, as they lay together in bed, sticky and musky from making love, Gaeta said into the darkness, “You learn to live with it.”

  “It?” she asked in a whisper.

  “The fear. It’s always there, but you learn to live with it. You find ways to deal with it.”

  Of course, Cardenas said to herself. Of course he’d feel fear. How could he not? His whole life was built around those terrifying stunts.

  “Fritz helped a lot,” Gaeta went on, almost as if talking to himself. “I knew he wouldn’t let me get into anything unless he was satisfied we could get through it okay.”

  “And now he’s gone,” Cardenas said.

  “Yeah. But you know what he told me before he left? He said I was smart to quit the business. He said I was a fugitive from the law of averages: sooner or later I’d do a stunt that would kill me. He was actually glad I quit.”

  “I am, too.”

  “I really can’t do it anymore, Kris. You put your butt on the line just so many times, and then your number comes up. You’ve gotta quit while you’re ahead, while you’re still alive. Don’t push your luck.”

  Cardenas heard the guilt and conflict in his voice and felt the heat of anger surge through her. Damn Nadia! Why did she have to make him feel like this?

  THE ICE LAKE

  By stopping its drive engines Titan Alpha slowed its sinking into the ice-covered lake. Still it slid sluggishly, inexorably, deeper into the frigid water. The central computer swiftly reviewed its damage tolerance specifications and confirmed that its body was designed to be watertight. Checking internal sensors, it determined that structural integrity was being maintained: no leakage could be detected.

  Its slow downward slide stopped abruptly. The vehicle’s forward treads had bumped into a ridge of ice. A quick sensor check of the ridge’s density showed that it should be able to hold Alpha’s weight indefinitely, particularly since Alpha was now partially buoyed by the water.

  Other programs within the computer complex tested the water. It was liquid water, despite the frigid -180-degree-C. temperature of the atmosphere. Logic circuits concluded that the water could remain liquid because its sheathing of ice protected it from the air’s freezing temperature.

  But how did the water become liquid in the first place? the master program demanded. Reviewing the geology program, the central computer inferred that the water was heated deep below Titan’s surface by tidal friction, the relentless squeezing of the moon’s interior by the inexorable gravitational pull of massive Saturn.

  The biology program, activated by the detection of liquid water, directed the sensors in the sunken forward part of Alpha to scan the water for biological activity and to take samples.

  For hundreds of billions of nanoseconds Alpha remained half immersed in the ice-covered lake, its forward sensors busily recording the activities of the protocellular organisms drifting lethargically in the frigid water. But the sensors also reported that the lake surface around Alpha was swiftly refreezing. Within another two trillion nanoseconds Alpha would be locked in the ice. The drive engines were powerful enough to break the ice, according to the propulsion specifications and a sensor scan of the ice’s tensile strength, but the data on the ice were tenuous enough to raise a warning flag for the master program’s attention.

  The master program weighed the importance of acquiring additional data against the importance of avoiding being locked permanently in the ice. With the incoming data safely recorded and the water samples adequately stored in sealed and heated containers, Alpha engaged its drive treads in low-low reverse gear and slowly began inching backward out of the lake.

  Data was of primary importance, of course—second only to survival.

  2 JANUARY 2096: MORNING

  To Urbain, Eberly’s office looked ascetic, almost sterile. The walls were bare, not a picture or decoration anywhere—although, of course, they were smart walls, Urbain thought, and could be programmed to show anything. But Eberly had them totally blank. His desk was bare also, except for the phone console and a stylus resting with geometrical precision beside the desktop touchpad. The man must be pathological, Urbain told himself.

  Eberly himself was neatly dressed in charcoal gray slacks and a lighter gray tunic that disguised his bulging belly. He stood behind his utterly cleared desk, smiling handsomely as he gestured Urbain to one of the chrome and leather visitor’s chairs. Supplicant’s chairs, Urbain said to himself.

  “I’m terribly sorry that we couldn’t meet yesterday, as you asked,” Eberly said, as Urbain sat in the slightly yielding leather seat.

  “It was the holiday,” said Urbain, as he sat down. “I understand.”

  With a shake of his head, Eberly replied, “It wasn’t merely the holiday. Believe it or not, my calendar was just impossible. In fact, I had to move several appointments around to make room for you this morning.”

  Hi
s voice was soft, ostensibly friendly. His smile looked unforced, although Urbain was certain that the man had practiced it for many years. His eyes, though, were hard as a glacier’s ice.

  “I appreciate your taking the time to see me,” Urbain replied stiffly, as they both sat down, the desk between them.

  “So,” Eberly said, steepling his fingers and tapping the fingertips ever so gently, “what can I do for you?”

  “For the scientific research team, not for myself alone,” Urbain said.

  “Of course.”

  Feeling edgy, uncertain, Urbain said, “You know that we have lost contact with Titan Alpha.”

  “I heard that the rover has gone off on its own, yes.”

  “We will shortly be placing a dozen observation satellites in orbit around Titan.”

  “To find your wandering probe. I understand.”

  Urbain could see the light of suppressed laughter in Eberly’s eyes. It amuses him that I must come crawling. He bristled at the man’s insolent attitude. “This is a very serious matter.”

  “I understand that.”

  “It is necessary that we build more spacecraft platforms and instrument them.”

  “To restock your stores,” Eberly said.

  “To do so, we will require materials, equipment and trained personnel.”

  “And to obtain them you need the approval of my department heads in logistics, supplies and human resources.”

  “Yes.”

  Eberly’s cold blue eyes shifted away from Urbain for a moment. “I haven’t received any such requests from those department heads.”

  “I have not spoken to them,” Urbain said. “I came directly to you. Time is of the essence, and I—”

  With a slight sigh, Eberly said, “The correct protocol is to make your requests to the proper department heads.” Before Urbain could sputter a protest, he raised a hand and went on, “However, in your case I’m more than willing to cut through as much of the red tape as I can.”

  “You will help us?”

  “I’ll do everything I can,” Eberly said, with apparent sincerity.

  “I … I am grateful. Very grateful.”

  “You must realize, though, that it will be difficult, perhaps impossible, to abruptly shift personnel and material priorities to accommodate your request.”

  “But it must be done!” Urbain insisted. “You don’t understand how important this is. What does it matter if a few dozen technicians are moved from their ordinary jobs? This is for science! For knowledge!”

  “Dr. Urbain, you may not believe that I fully support your scientific work. But I do. I truly do. Please believe me.”

  Urbain bobbed his head up and down. “I would hope so. I would appreciate your complete support.”

  “As I said, I’ll do what I can.”

  Urbain tried to hold on to his swooping temper. I am in need, and he plays cat-and-mouse with me. Aloud, he said to Eberly, “We must have those replacement spacecraft. It is vital.”

  Eberly’s placid smile waned. “When we ran against each other for this post of chief administrator,” he said, his tone hardening slightly, “I campaigned on the position that this habitat should not be governed by a scientist.”

  “Yes, I well recall.”

  “Well, that doesn’t mean that I’m against science. I’m all in favor of your work.”

  “Perhaps so.” Grudgingly.

  “As I said, I’ll do what I can for you,” Eberly went on smoothly, “but you can’t expect me to turn this habitat upside down for you. I’m responsible for the well-being of all ten thousand of our inhabitants, not merely the scientists.”

  In a cold fury Urbain replied, “Science is not merely one of the pursuits of this habitat. I remind you, sir, that the reason this habitat exists, the reason we have come to Saturn, is for scientific research and study.”

  They both knew that was not exactly true. The reason that habitat Goddard existed was to serve as a place of exile for thousands of dissidents and malcontents. The scientific exploration of ringed Saturn and its moons was an excuse, a rationale, and little more. Urbain hoped to turn that rationale into a triumph of discovery, to make the habitat truly a center of scientific triumph.

  “Yes, of course,” Eberly agreed easily. “But let me remind you that more than ninety-five percent of our inhabitants are not scientists, and I must think of them, too.”

  Too enraged to say what he truly felt, Urbain muttered, “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Good. I’m glad we had this chance to talk.” Eberly got to his feet.

  Urbain realized he was being dismissed. He rose slowly from his chair. “Then you will give the necessary orders to the department heads?”

  Eberly pursed his lips, as if thinking it over. “I’ll set up a meeting for you. It would be best if you sat down with the department heads and talked this through with them face-to-face.”

  Understanding that this was the best Eberly was willing to do for him, Urbain said, “Very well, if you think so. But it must be done quickly.”

  “I’ll get them together this afternoon. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”

  “Today,” Urbain urged. “It must be done today.”

  “If it’s humanly possible.”

  Standing uncertainly before Eberly’s desk, Urbain could think of nothing more to say. He turned and headed for the door.

  As Eberly watched the scientist, he thought, He wants a favor. All right, but he’ll have to give me a favor in return. How can I use this situation to my benefit?

  The answer came to him before Urbain reached the door.

  “By the way, Dr. Urbain,” he called, “are you planning to run against me in the elections coming up?”

  Urbain stopped and turned back toward him, brows knitted. “Run in another election? No. Impossible. I have far too much work to do.”

  Eberly nodded. Then I’ll have to figure out some other way for you to pay me back for helping you, he said to himself.

  They look like two little porcelain dolls, Holly thought, as she sat behind her desk. Sitting before her, Hideki and Tamiko Mishima looked tiny, almost delicate, dressed in identical tunics of dark blue with lighter slacks. They also looked—not worried, but terribly concerned. And determined.

  “Mr. Eberly promised us, when he held the post you now have,” said Mrs. Mishima in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

  “Chief of human resources,” her husband added.

  “I remember your conversation with him,” said Holly. “At least the last part of it.”

  “Yes, you were there,” Tamiko said.

  “Nearly two years ago, right here in this office.” Mishima nodded for emphasis.

  The office had been Eberly’s when habitat Goddard began its long flight to Saturn. Once Holly had become chief of human resources she had brightened the ascetically bare walls with holoviews of flowers and reproductions of famous paintings. The smart wall behind her displayed a real-time view of Saturn, its glittering rings framing her head neatly.

  “We have waited long enough,” Mishima said. “We want to bring our baby into the world.”

  “We want our child,” said Tamiko.

  She was a technician in the electrical maintenance section, Holly knew from a quick scan of their dossiers; he was a chef for the cafeteria. Both from California, they had voluntarily joined the Saturn mission to get married because neither of their families approved of their union. The ultimate elopement, Holly thought, jumping all the way out to Saturn to get out from under their families. Now they’re bumping up against the protocols of the habitat and trying to fight their way through our rules.

  Holly tried to make a pleasant, placating smile for them as she mentally reviewed their case. Tamiko Mishima had become pregnant almost as soon as Goddard had left the Earth/Moon system, despite the agreement about zero population growth that all the habitat’s personnel had signed. The habitat’s protocols called for terminating the pregnancy, but Eberly had allowed them t
o cryonically freeze the fetus in the expectation of thawing it one day and bringing the baby to term.

  One day is now, Holly realized. Malcolm’s little bird has come to roost—on my shoulders.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Mishima,” she heard herself saying gently, “you understand that we’re still under the ZPG protocol.”

  “But Mr. Eberly said that once we had established the new government such restrictions would be removed,” said Mishima.

  “Reviewed,” Holly corrected. “Not necessarily removed.”

  Mishima’s face settled into a scowl. “That was not our understanding.”

  “The habitat is so large,” said his wife. “Much of it is empty. There are entire villages that are unoccupied by anyone at all. Surely there is room for a few children now that we are firmly established in our final orbit.”

  “There should be,” Holly agreed. “But we have to proceed carefully.”

  “I want my baby,” Tamiko said firmly.

  “You can’t keep the fetus frozen indefinitely,” Mishima said. “Cryonic preservation isn’t perpetual. There are long-term risks.”

  “I know,” said Holly. “I’m a reborn myself.”

  Their eyes widened and they both sucked in air.

  “I understand how you feel,” Holly went on. “I truly do. I’ll do my best to help you.”

  Once they left her office, practically bowing as they backed to the door, Holly understood that it really was time to take up this entire ZPG protocol. With something of a shock she realized that some day she’d want to have a baby herself.

  5 JANUARY 2096: AFTERNOON

  Urbain stared unhappily at Eberly and his three department heads, sitting across the small conference table from him. One very young-looking woman, two nondescript men. Except for Eberly he knew none of them. Both the men had golden complexions, almost yellow, even though they were obviously not Asians. The woman’s skin was light brown, like toasted bread.