by Ben Bova
“There is not that much to see today, anyway,” he said. “Our people are disgustingly healthy.”
He walked Holly outside the two-story hospital building and around the courtyard’s carefully planted flower garden. Holly thought of how Don Diego would have made the gardens look wilder, more natural.
Pushing his hands into the pockets of his white jacket, Yañez said, “Don Diego’s death puzzles me. He must have tripped and fallen into the water and drowned.”
“Why didn’t he just get up?” Holly asked.
He shrugged. “He might have hit his head. He might have fainted — low blood pressure, a minor stroke. He was a pretty old man.”
“Were there any signs of a stroke?”
“No, but a minor stroke doesn’t leave a lot of damage to be seen. We’d have to look specifically for it, and even then we might not catch it. This isn’t New York or Tokyo, you know. We don’t have expert pathologists on the staff.”
“I guess.”
“It’s a great tragedy. A great loss.”
“You’re certain it was an accident?” Holly asked.
Yañez looked startled momentarily. “Yes. Of course. What else could it be?”
“I don’t know.”
The physician looked up at Holly. “He was my friend. If there had been foul play I would have found it, I assure you. It was an accident. Unfortunate. Regrettable. But just an accident, nothing more.”
The more the doctor talked, the more Holly wondered if it really had been an accident. But that’s crazy, she said to herself. How could it be anything except an accident? Who would want to kill Don Diego?
Yet she heard herself ask, “Can I see the record of your examination?”
Yañez said, “It’s a lot of medical jargon. Plus photos of the body.”
“I don’t have any pictures of Don Diego,” Holly realized aloud. “No mementoes at all.”
“The images of a dead man are rather grisly.”
“I don’t care. I’d like to see them.”
The doctor sighed heavily. “Very well. I’ll give you the access code and you can call up the complete record at your convenience.”
“Thank you,” said Holly.
“De nada,”replied Yañez automatically.
Eberly could barely control his fury. He stood behind the desk in his apartment, red-faced, almost snarling at Vyborg and Kananga.
“Murder!” Eberly raged. “You couldn’t wait for me to remove the old man, so you went ahead and murdered him.”
“No one knows about it,” Vyborg said, whispered actually. “He’s been buried and forgotten.”
“Iknow about it!” Eberly snapped. “It’s my duty to report this crime to Wilmot. What will you do if I try to do so? Murder me, too?”
Kananga said, “No, never.”
“Murderers. My closest friends and supporters are a pair of murderers.”
“He wasn’t a Believer,” Vyborg said. “Just a lapsed Catholic.”
“And that excuses murder?”
Kananga said, “I thought it was your desire to get rid of the old man. That’s what Sammi told me.”
“You agreed that he was to be removed,” Vyborg pleaded. “I thought that—”
“You thought! You decided to act on your own, without consulting me. Without asking how your actions might impact on my master plan. I don’t want you to think! I want you to follow my orders! To obey!”
“Yes, we understand,” said Vyborg, “but—”
“No buts!” Eberly shouted. “Either you are part of my team or you are not. There is no third possibility. Either you follow my orders explicitly or you leave me once and for all.”
Kananga glanced down at Vyborg as Eberly thought, I don’t have to tell them that if they leave me I will immediately report them to Wilmot. They understand that well enough.
“Well?” he demanded. “Make your choice.”
“I will stay with you, of course,” Vyborg said. “I’m sorry that I acted so… precipitously.”
“And you, Colonel?”
It was obviously harder for Kananga to kowtow, but he visibly swallowed once, then said quietly, “I am at your service, sir, now and forever.”
Eberly allowed himself a small smile. “Very well then. The incident is forgotten. Vyborg, I want you to be patient enough to allow me to remove Berkowitz in my own way.”
“I will.”
“Once that is accomplished, you will take over total control of the Communications Department.” Turning to Kananga, he said, “And you, my dear Colonel, will be my chief of security once we form the new government.”
Kananga began to reply, but Eberly added, “Providing, of course, that you follow my orders and don’t go striking off on your own.”
Kananga bit back a reply and nodded dumbly.
Eberly dismissed them and they walked glumly to the door and left his apartment. Then he sank back into his chair, his mind — and his insides — churning. It’s not so bad, he thought. Everyone accepts the old man’s death as an accident. And I have something to hold over Vyborg and Kananga, something to tie them more tightly to me. Total loyalty, based on fear. He rubbed at the ache in his stomach. And Morgenthau has me the same way. I’m riding on a tiger, on a team of tigers, and the only way to keep from being eaten alive is to get them what they want.
He leaned back in the desk chair and tried to will the pain in his innards to go away. How to get rid of Berkowitz? he asked himself. Without another murder, preferably.
Who can I talk to? Holly asked herself, over and over. And the answer always came back: Malcolm. Talk to Malcolm about this.
But I can’t see Malcolm without Morgenthau getting in the way. She guards my access to him like a bulldog. Holly had sent several phone messages to Eberly, asking for a private chat, only to have Morgenthau inform her that Eberly was too busy to talk to her at the moment.
“Anything you want to discuss with Eberly you can tell to me,” Morgenthau said.
“It’s… uh, personal,” Holly temporized.
A flash of displeasure glinted in Morgenthau’s eyes, quickly replaced by a sly look, almost a leer. “My dear, he’s much too busy for personal entanglements. And much too important to allow himself to be distracted.”
“But I’m not—”
“Perhaps after the new government is set up, perhaps then he’ll have some time for a personal life. But not until then.”
Holly said numbly, “Kay. I click.”
“Now then,” Morgenthau said briskly, “how are the contests coming along? When do we move to phase two?”
Surprised that Morgenthau hadn’t asked about Cardenas’s dossier, pleased that her brief and incomplete addition to Cardenas’s file apparently satisfied her boss, Holly began to explain the progress she’d made on the contests for naming the habitat’s features.
Professor Wilmot studied the graphs hovering before his eyes.
“Astounding,” he muttered. “Absolutely astounding.”
Despite all the efforts he and his staff had put in to keep the habitat under the protocol that had been designed before they left Earth, the people were breaking away from it more and more. The changes were minor, he saw, most of them merely cosmetic. Some of the women had taken to adorning their clothes with homemade patches and press-on insignias, many of them of a blatantly sexual nature; it was a fad that seemed to be growing in popularity, despite Eberly’s suggested dress code. A few of the men were following suit. Wilmot grunted: Youth will be served, even if some of the “youths” are the calendar age of grandparents.
Then there was this contest business, naming every building and bush in the habitat. Incredible how much time and energy everyone seemed to be spending on it. There were reports of scuffles and even actual fistfights in the cafeteria over the naming contests. Perhaps I should cut off their liquor supplies, Wilmot mused. Then he shook his head. They’d simply cook up their own in the labs, one way or another.
At least the use of nar
cotics seems to be low, unless the hospital staff isn’t reporting drug abuse. Perhaps they’re the worst offenders. He sighed. As long as it doesn’t interfere with their work there’s no sense trying to sniff out every recreational drug these people cook up.
There were personnel changes, Wilmot observed. People shifted from one job to another, even moved from one department to another. This Eberly chap in human resources is approving far too many changes, Wilmot thought. But he decided against interfering. Let the experiment play itself out. Don’t meddle with it. The lab rats are performing some interesting tricks. I wonder what they’ll do once we reach Saturn.
Then a new question formed in his mind. I wonder what they think in Atlanta about all this. Should I even report these details to them? He nodded to himself. I’ll have to. I’m certain they’re getting reports from other sources. For the kind of money they’ve invested, the New Morality must have seeded this habitat with plenty of snoops.
BOOK II
About three years ago I wrote that to my great surprise I had discovered Saturn to be three-bodied: that is, it was an aggregate of three stars arranged in a straight line parallel to the ecliptic, the central star being much larger than the others. I believed them to be mutually motionless, for when I first saw them they seemed almost to touch, and they remained so for almost two years without the least change. It was reasonable to believe them to be fixed with respect to each other, since a single second of arc (a movement incomparably smaller than any other in even the largest orbs) would have become sensible in that time, either by separating or by completely uniting these stars. Hence I stopped observing Saturn for more than two years. But in the past few days I returned to it and found it to be solitary, without its customary supporting stars, and as perfectly round and sharply bounded as Jupiter. Now what can be said of this strange metamorphosis?
That the two lesser stars have been consumed, in the manner of the sunspots? Has Saturn devoured its children? Or was it indeed an illusion and a fraud with which the lenses of my telescope deceived me for so long — and not only me, but many others who have observed it with me? Perhaps the day has arrived when languishing hope may be revived in those who, led by the most profound reflections, once plumbed the fallacies of all my new observations and found them to be incapable of existing!
Galileo Galilei, Letters on Sunspots, 1 December 1612
VISION OF SATURN
Manny Gaeta’s rugged face appeared on Holly’s desktop screen.
“Hi,” he said, grinning. “When do you close up shop?” He called her once a week, as punctually as if he had ticked it off on his calendar. Holly kept putting him off. She had no desire to complicate her life. Since Don Diego’s death Holly had buried herself in work, running the naming contests, keeping the office functioning despite Morgenthau’s utter indifference to departmental duties. Her nights she spent thinking about Don Diego, going over the medical record time and again, picturing in her mind every detail of the scene down at the culvert when she first came across the old man’s dead body. It wasn’t an accident, Holly convinced herself. It couldn’t be an accident. There’s no evidence of any physical trauma: His heart was sound, he didn’t have a stroke, he didn’t even have a bump on his head or a bruise anywhere on his body. But he drowned. How? Why?
She hardly saw anyone except Kris Cardenas now and then. They had lunch together every few days. Holly asked Kris to help her go over Don Diego’s medical records. Cardenas looked them over and then told Holly she could find nothing amiss.
“You’ve got to accept the fact that people die, Holly,” Cardenas told her over lunch in the bustling cafeteria. “It doesn’t happen often, but it happens. People die.”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Holly insisted.
“Give it up, Holly,” Cardenas said gently. “He was a sweet old man, but he’s dead and you can’t bring him back.”
“Someone killed him.”
Cardenas’s eyes went wide. “Murder?”
Holly nodded, knowing she was being cosmically stupid about this but unable to back away from it.
“I think you need to get your mind off this, kid,” said Cardenas. “You’re getting … well, you’re getting almost paranoid about it.”
“But he couldn’t have just walked down the embankment and stuck his head in the water and drowned. That’s impossible!”
“Get off it, Holly. This is consuming too much of your time and energy. Go out tonight and have a good time. Take your mind off it. Have some fun for yourself.”
Holly saw that Cardenas was in earnest. “Momma Kris,” she murmured. And smiled.
“There must be plenty of young men who’d be happy to take you out for the evening,” said Cardenas.
Trying to push Don Diego out of her mind, Holly replied, “Manny Gaeta’s been calling me.”
“There you go. He’s a chunk of Grade-A beef.”
Holly nodded.
“Do you like him?”
“I went to bed with him once,” Holly blurted.
“Really?”
“That night he rescued the injured astronaut.”
“Oh yeah,” Cardenas said, remembering. “He must’ve been on an emotional high. Pumped up with adrenaline.”
“I guess.”
“And testosterone.”
Despite herself, Holly laughed. “Plenty of that.”
“And he’s been calling you?”
“Uh-huh. But I don’t want to get involved with him. I don’t think I do, but if I go out with him I guess he’ll expect me to do it again.”
Cardenas glanced down at her salad, then said, “You don’t have to do what he expects. You can have dinner and nothing more. Just don’t give him the wrong signals.”
“Signals?”
“Be pleasant, but no touchy-feely.”
“I don’t know if that would work,” Holly said uncertainly.
“Meet him at the restaurant. Stay in public places. Walk yourself home.”
“I guess.”
“Unless you want to go to bed with him again.”
“I don’t! Well, not really. It’s like, I want him to like me, but not too much.”
With a shake of her head, Cardenas dug her fork into the salad. “Men aren’t subtle, Holly. You have to set the rules clearly. Otherwise there’ll be a problem.”
“See,” Holly confessed, feeling confused, “I really want Malcolm to notice me. I mean, he’s the reason I signed up for this habitat in the first place but I’ve hardly even seen him in the past few months and Manny’s flaming nice and all but I don’t want to get myself involved and…” She didn’t know what more to say.
“Malcolm?” Cardenas asked. “You mean Dr. Eberly?”
“The chief of human resources, yes.”
Cardenas looked impressed. “You’re interested in him.”
“But he’s not interested in me.” Holly suddenly felt close to tears.
“Isn’t that always the way?”
“I don’t know what I should do.”
Cardenas glanced around the busy cafeteria, then said firmly, “Have as much fun as you can with the stunt stud. Why not?”
“You think it’ll make Malcolm jealous?”
With a huff that was almost a grunt, Cardenas replied, “No, I don’t think he’ll pay any attention to it. But why shouldn’t you have some fun? He seems to be a nice guy.”
“F’sure.”
“Then have some fun with him while you can. He’ll be leaving for Earth after he’s done his stunt, so you won’t have to worry about a long-term commitment.”
“But I want a long-term commitment,” Holly blurted, surprising herself. She immediately added, “I mean, maybe not right now, and not with Manny, I guess, but sometime.”
“With Eberly?”
“Yes!”
Cardenas shook her head. “Good luck, kid.”
Nadia Wunderly had dieted stringently, exercised regularly, and lost four kilos. Her tireless work on her research proposal
had paid off, too: Dr. Urbain had approved her study of Saturn’s rings. His approval was reluctant, she knew; Wunderly was the only scientist on the staff interested in the rings. All the others were focused on Titan, as was Urbain himself.
She was in Urbain’s office, pleading for an assistant and some time on the habitat’s major telescope.
“I can’t do it all by myself,” she said, trying to walk the fine line between requesting help and admitting defeat. “My proposal called for two assistants, if you remember.”
“I remember perfectly well,” Urbain said stiffly. “We simply do not have the manpower to spare.”
The chief of the Planetary Sciences Department sat tensely behind his desk as if it were a barricade to protect him against the onslaughts of revolutionaries. Yet all Wunderly wanted was a little help.
“The main telescope is completely engaged in observing Titan,” Urbain went on, as if pronouncing a death sentence. “This is an opportunity that we must not fail to use to our advantage.”
“But the rings are—”
“Of secondary importance,” said Urbain.
“I was going to say, unique,” Wunderly finished.
“So are the life-forms on Titan.”
Wondering how to convince him, she said, “I wouldn’t need much time on the ’scope. An hour or so each day to compare—”
“An hour?” Urbain looked shocked. His trim little dark beard bristled. “Impossible.”
“But we should use this time as we approach the planet to do long-term studies of the ring dynamics. It’d be criminal not to.”
Nervously running a hand over his slicked-back hair, Urbain said, “Dr. Wunderly, this habitat will be in orbit around Saturn for many, many years. Indefinitely, in fact. You will have ample opportunity to study the dynamics of your rings.”
He almost sneered at those last words. Wunderly knew that behind her back the other scientists called her “the Lord of the Rings,” despite the gender inaccuracy.
She pulled out her trump card. “I thought that if we could study the rings during the months of our approach, do a synoptic study, a thorough one, then we could publish our findings before we established orbit around Saturn, before the university teams fly out to take over our research work. With your name as the lead investigator, of course.”
