Farside

by Ben Bova

  “We were taking apart the mirror frame,” the young woman said, her olive-skinned face taut, her dark eyes wide with anxiety, focused on the unconscious man.

  “And?” the doctor prompted.

  “We were breaking it down into segments for shipment to Selene.”

  “What the hell happened to him?” Kapstein snarled.

  “He tried to carry one of the segments to the tractor all by himself,” the young woman said, her words tumbling out almost breathlessly. “I told him to wait and let one of the robots do it, but he toted it by himself and it slipped out of his gloves and banged his foot.”

  The doctor puffed out a weary sigh. “Dumb sonofabitch should’ve known better. Just because things only weigh one-sixth up here they forget they’ve still got the same mass.”

  “I tried to tell him.…” The young woman seemed on the brink of tears. “He was in a rush to get in for dinner.”

  A voice in the crowd of onlookers said in a stage whisper, “Hurry-up Harvey ain’t gonna hurry for a while.”

  As if he’d heard the comment, the injured Harvey Henderson stirred slightly and moaned.

  “Take it easy,” said Dr. Kapstein, placing a gentle hand on Henderson’s arm. “You’re a lucky man, Harvey. Good thing your boot wasn’t penetrated. Then we’d have to suck your body out of the suit with a vacuum cleaner.”

  Harvey Henderson grinned weakly. “I screwed up, huh?”

  Kapstein nodded, then said, “We’ll have to ship you back to Selene for stem cell treatment. Get that mangled foot back in shape.”

  McClintock straightened up and Trudy got up from her knees.

  “It can be dangerous out there,” Trudy said, her voice low, hollow.

  “So I see,” said McClintock. The crowd was starting to dissipate as the medical team gently lifted Henderson onto a gurney.

  Looking around, McClintock realized that Anita Halleck was nowhere to be seen. She probably went back to the cafeteria, he thought, to pick up some dessert. Coldhearted bitch.

  Then he realized that Professor Uhlrich was not there, either.

  “TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE”

  Glad to be free of Halleck, McClintock walked Trudy back to her quarters. She seemed shaken by the accident, subdued.

  “He’ll be all right,” McClintock assured her. “With stem cell therapy they can rebuild his foot even if it’s crushed flat.”

  “I guess,” Trudy said.

  They arrived at her quarters. McClintock saw that someone had inserted a plastic tag in the slot on her door: YOST, T.

  “Well, it’s been an eventful evening,” he said.

  She nodded. McClintock knew that this was the moment when he should make his move if he wanted the evening to go on.

  Before he could make up his mind to say anything, Trudy spoke. “Thanks for taking me to dinner. And introducing me to Mrs. Halleck.”

  “You’re entirely welcome, Trudy,” he said.

  She looked up at him with the almost-bewildered expression of a lost waif.

  “Good night, Trudy,” he heard himself say.

  “Good night, Carter.” Then, impulsively, she stood on tiptoes and pecked at his cheek. Before he could respond she turned, slid her door open, and slipped inside.

  Standing suddenly alone in the corridor, McClintock felt slightly ridiculous. Almost angry. But then he laughed at himself. What the hell, he thought. We just met yesterday. I shouldn’t rush her.

  As he started down the corridor, he told himself, Besides, I haven’t had a chance to really look over the available crop here. I might be able to do better.

  His pocketphone buzzed.

  Yanking it out, he saw Professor Uhlrich’s name spelled out on the tiny screen.

  McClintock thumbed the REPLY button and lifted the phone to his ear. “Yes, Professor?”

  “Did you see the accident?” Uhlrich’s voice sounded calm—relaxed, almost.

  “I saw them bring in the technician, and the medical team’s emergency treatment of him.”

  “I observed the surveillance camera record of it. Could you come to my quarters, please? We need to discuss this.”

  Thinking to himself that working with Uhlrich was going to be a twenty-four-hour-a-day job, McClintock said, “Now, Professor? Or in the mor—”

  “Now,” said Uhlrich. And he clicked off the connection.

  With a grim smile, McClintock muttered, “No wonder they call him the Ulcer.”

  * * *

  Uhlrich’s quarters were exactly the same size as McClintock’s own, but his furnishings were much more comfortable. There was a new-looking couch beneath the wide wall screen, with a low metal coffee table in front of it, flanked by two plushly upholstered chairs. Actual paintings in gilt frames hung on the walls: McClintock thought they might have been done by Old Masters. They looked like portraits from centuries ago, stiff white-bearded men in colorfully ornate military uniforms, complete with sashes and swords at their sides.

  The professor was sitting at the foldout table in the kitchen area, a stemmed wineglass in his hand, when McClintock stepped in. He got to his feet, a little stiffly, McClintock thought.

  “I’m sorry if I interrupted your dinner,” Uhlrich said, like reciting a school lesson.

  “The accident did that,” McClintock said.

  Gesturing to the couch, Uhlrich said, “Please, sit down. Would you like a drink? Schnapps, perhaps?”

  Surprised at the offer, McClintock answered, “A little whisky, please, if you have it.”

  “Yes,” said Uhlrich. “I think so.” He turned back into the minuscule kitchen and delved into one of its cabinets. “Ah! A single-malt scotch,” he announced, his fingers fondling the bottle. “Would that be satisfactory?”

  “Perfectly. On the rocks, please.”

  Uhlrich popped a couple of ice cubes into a tumbler and poured a meager splash of whisky over them.

  He came over and handed the glass to McClintock, then sat himself on the armchair to his left, holding his wineglass in one hand and smiling mechanically.

  McClintock sat on the couch and sipped at the scotch, thinking that although Uhlrich obviously disapproved of allowing liquor at Farside for his staff, he kept a stash for himself. He’s not a prig, he’s a despot.

  After taking a sip, he said to the professor, “Your medical team handled the emergency quite well, I thought.”

  “It shouldn’t have happened,” said the professor. “Carelessness, pure and simple.”

  “All accidents can be prevented,” said McClintock, “in hindsight.”

  Uhlrich nodded unhappily. He took a gulp of his wine, then stared at McClintock for several long, silent moments. McClintock stared back, saying nothing. This is your party, he thought. You make the opening move.

  Abruptly, Uhlrich said, “The accident would not have happened if Simpson had been there, where he should have been.”

  So that’s what this is all about, McClintock said to himself. A test of wills. “I’m afraid I’m responsible for sending Simpson off to Selene. I want him to work closely with Dr. Cardenas on this nanotechnology effort.”

  “I see,” said Uhlrich.

  “The man can’t be two places at the same time,” McClintock said.

  The professor nodded, then lapsed back into silence. At last he offered, “The past two days have been very—eventful.”

  “Yes. Very.”

  “Trying.”

  “Yes.”

  “Two accidents,” said the professor. “Perhaps you are a Jonah?”

  Feeling suddenly nettled, McClintock shot back, “Me? You’ve never had any accidents here before I arrived?”

  Uhlrich replied, “Of course. Of course. I was merely joking with you.”

  McClintock made himself smile.

  “How long will Anita Halleck stay here?” the professor asked.

  Aha, thought McClintock. So that’s what this is about. “She’s leaving tomorrow, I believe,” he said.

  With a slight
shake of his head, Uhlrich replied, “There is no lobber scheduled to arrive tomorrow.”

  “She can requisition a vehicle whenever she wants one,” said McClintock. “Rank hath its privileges.”

  “She saw the accident.”

  “Only if the surveillance camera views are shown in the cafeteria.”

  “She didn’t go to the airlock?”

  “She started to, but actually I don’t think she was the slightest bit interested.”

  Uhlrich rubbed his trim little beard absently. Then, “She came here to spy on us.”

  “I think her real reason for coming here is to meet with Dr. Cardenas in Selene and recruit her help in using nanotech to build her telescope mirrors.”

  “But why is this set of telescopes so important to her?” Uhlrich wondered. “Why is she so interested in Sirius C? She’s not an astronomer.”

  McClintock knew his father’s explanation: Halleck was using the New Earth program to throw lucrative contracts to Dan Randolph’s Astro Manufacturing Corporation. But he said nothing. No sense telling the professor that she cuckolded my father with Randolph.

  To McClintock’s surprise, Uhlrich answered his own question, “She wishes to defeat me.”

  “Defeat you?”

  “To prevent me from getting the Nobel. That’s her motivation.”

  McClintock started to tell him that he was being silly, but hesitated. Be careful here, he told himself. If you say that he’s not important enough for her to be bothered with, he’ll hate you for it.

  “Perhaps that’s it,” he said. But he still thought his father was closer to the truth.

  Uhlrich straightened in his chair and asked, “What will be your recommendation to the board of the McClintock Trust? Will you support my work here?”

  Slightly surprised at his direct thrust, McClintock temporized, “Professor, I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks. I can’t make up my mind so quickly.” Inwardly he reasoned that his father expected him to stay exiled at Farside for at least a month before making a recommendation.

  “Time is of the essence.”

  “Still … give me a chance to get a firm impression of the work you’re doing here.”

  “Selene’s funding only allows us to proceed at a snail’s pace. I need your help.”

  “I understand,” said McClintock.

  “Time is of the essence,” Professor Uhlrich repeated.

  UHLRICH’S QUARTERS

  Professor Uhlrich looked in McClintock’s direction, seeking some clue, some hint of hope, that the man understood how important, how crucially vital, the work of the Farside Observatory was.

  It was like gazing at a frosted window: he could discern nothing but the opaque surface. Uhlrich knew from the level of McClintock’s voice how tall the man was, and the information from his dossier and various net sites said he was a strikingly handsome man in his early thirties. Uhlrich’s visual cortex drew a picture that vaguely suggested a vid star from many years earlier.

  McClintock knows how to keep his thoughts hidden, Uhlrich realized. The man just sits there saying nothing, knowing that he has the power of life and death over the Farside Observatory, over me, myself.

  At last he asked McClintock, “Is it absolutely necessary to keep Simpson at Selene?”

  McClintock started to reply, hesitated, then answered, “He’ll only be there a day or so. If you want Cardenas to help you, we should keep Simpson reasonably close to her.”

  The man understands nothing, Uhlrich thought. Patiently, he tried to explain, “With Mr. Henderson incapacitated, I need Simpson here to direct the technical crew. They must take apart the mirror frame so it can be shipped to Dr. Cardenas’s laboratory. I need Simpson here to direct them.”

  “Couldn’t one of the other—”

  “No,” Uhlrich said flatly. “Simpson. He’s the only one who can get the job done. The others are not equal to the task. Believe me, I know them well.”

  “None of them?”

  Struggling to remain calm despite McClintock’s obtuseness, Uhlrich replied, “You saw how lacking the man Oberman is. I’ve tried others before him: None of them were competent enough to head the technical team. Simpson is my last hope—unless I could hire someone else from Selene. Or perhaps even from Earth. But that would be expensive.”

  McClintock said, “You know, Simpson has his own problems.”

  “It’s rumored that he’s a drug user, I know.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  “Of course it bothers me!” Uhlrich snapped. “But what choice do I have?”

  “There’s no one else among your entire technical team that can handle the work?”

  Dolt! thought Uhlrich. I’ve told the man twice that I need Simpson here and he still doesn’t understand.

  “Mr. McClintock,” he said, very slowly, as if speaking to a child, “you don’t seem to realize how limited we are here. I have a mere fifty-some engineers and technicians—even less than that now, with Henderson out of action. They must run the mirror laboratory, do all the construction work out on the surface, and all the other technical tasks that are necessary. There are another eighteen specialists struggling to construct the Cyclops radio telescope array. Eighteen people! Eight dozen would be barely enough.”

  McClintock shifted in his chair but said nothing.

  “Selene’s governing council has given us only the barest minimum of funding,” said Uhlrich.

  “Which is why you need help from the trust,” McClintock said, finally understanding.

  “Which is why I need help from the McClintock Trust,” Uhlrich echoed. “Yes.”

  “Well … as I said, Simpson can’t be in two places at the same time.”

  “He is needed here. He can maintain contact with Dr. Cardenas over phone links.”

  “I suppose so,” McClintock said doubtfully.

  “Then it is settled,” said Uhlrich. “Simpson returns here at once.”

  Sounding reluctant, McClintock said, “I’ll tell him so.”

  “Good.”

  McClintock seemed to understand that he was being dismissed. Uhlrich sensed him taking a final sip of his scotch, then getting up from the couch. The professor stood up beside him, barely as tall as McClintock’s shoulder.

  The two men walked to the door and shook hands.

  “Thanks for the drink,” McClintock said unenthusiastically.

  “You are entirely welcome,” said Uhlrich, with equal warmth. “I hope we can work together fruitfully.”

  “So do I, Professor.”

  McClintock left and Uhlrich slid his door shut, leaned against it for a moment, then threaded his way back to the chair he’d been sitting in. He found his wineglass, drained it, then brushed his fingers along the tabletop until he found McClintock’s tumbler. The professor carried both glasses to the dishwasher in the kitchenette.

  As he slipped the glasses into the half-full machine, Uhlrich thought, Simpson is the key to everything. He’s the only one who can get those technicians to do their jobs properly. He may be dependent on the medications he takes, but as long as he gets the job done I don’t care if he eats dogs and drinks vinegar. I need him!

  The professor went to his desk and sat wearily in its little wheeled chair. He called up the latest data on the Sirius system and told the computer to display it in the audio mode.

  “Sirius C will begin transit number thirty-eight in thirty-two hours, seven minutes, and fourteen seconds,” the synthesized voice began.

  The planet will pass across the blazing face of the Dog Star, Uhlrich understood. From the minuscule dip in the star’s brightness, the planet’s size could be calculated to a finer precision. My new assistant, this young woman, Dr. Yost, will do that, he thought. Then he remembered that he had ordered her to report to his office again at 0730 hours.

  I’d better get to bed, he told himself.

  Simpson, he repeated silently. He’s the key to getting the work done. And McClintock: he’s the key
to getting the funding to carry out the work.

  Uhlrich shook his head as he began to get undressed. A drug user and a spoiled rich brat. He sighed, thinking that it was almost criminal that the great things he wanted to achieve depended upon such people.

  DOSSIER: JASON MAXIMILLIAN UHLRICH

  He was born to genteely impoverished nobility in the Austrian city of Linz, which was famous for the pastry called Linzertorte and for being the childhood home of Adolf Hitler.

  Tales of the family’s bygone splendor filled his childhood, and his father still had enough influence to place young Jason in good schools. Because he was bookish and got better grades than his classmates, and because he was pompously proud of his family heritage, but most of all because he was slightly built and physically frail, Jason became a favorite target for the bigger and more rugged boys. He got his revenge against them by consistently being first in his classes, despite occasional swollen lips or bruised ribs.

  It was at the prestigious University of Vienna that Jason Uhlrich turned to the study of astronomy. He had won a full scholarship and started in the physics curriculum, inspired by one of the university’s most illustrious alumni, the Nobel laureate Erwin Schrödinger. But astronomy lured him away from theoretical physics: Uhlrich fell in love with the study of the stars. Nobel Prizes rarely went to astronomers, he knew, but Uhlrich burned with an ambition to be among the rare few who achieved that lofty goal.

  Alas, reality was very different from his dreams. Uhlrich was a gifted teacher, but only an ordinary researcher. A generation of students adored him, some of them going on to outstanding careers in astronomy. Uhlrich himself remained virtually anonymous: a slim gray figure in the background, not the forefront, of astronomical research. He was the person to whom his students dedicated the books that made them famous.

  Then came the accident. He was working with a graduate student, a pretty young Hungarian woman with thick honey-blond hair who was specializing in infrared astronomy—at Uhlrich’s suggestion. She was building a sensitive IR detector and—again at Uhlrich’s suggestion—using liquid hydrogen for its coolant rather than liquid helium. When she worried about the dangers of the highly flammable hydrogen, Uhlrich assured her that the increase in the instrument’s sensitivity would be well worth the risk.