by Ben Bova
Ruth Morgenthau tried to cheer him. “The turnout isn’t as bad as my staff predicted. It looks as if at least forty percent of the population will vote.”
“There’s no excitement,” Eberly grumbled.
Sammi Vyborg, sitting on the other side of the coffee table, shrugged his bony shoulders. “We didn’t expect excitement at this phase. After all, they’re only choosing categories for naming, not the names themselves.”
Eberly gave him a sharp glance. “I want the people worked up. I want them challenging Wilmot’s authority.”
“That will come,” said Kananga. He was leaning back on the sofa, his long arms spread across its back. “We’ve been testing different approaches.”
The hint of a frown clouded Eberly’s face. “I heard about the fist-fight in the cafeteria.”
“Before the next election day we can create a riot, if you like.”
Eberly said, “That’s not the kind of excitement that we need.”
“A riot would be good,” said Vyborg. “Then we could step in and quell the fighting.”
“And you could stand as the man who brought peace and order to the habitat,” Morgenthau said, smiling at Eberly.
“Maybe,” he said, almost wistfully. “I just wish—”
Morgenthau interrupted, “You wish everyone would listen to you and fall down in adoration.”
“If I’m going to be their leader, it’s important that they trust me, and like me.”
“They’ll love you,” said Vyborg, his voice dripping sarcasm, “once you have the power to determine life or death for them.”
At the end of election day, Holly sat at her desk tabulating the results of the voting. Villages would be named after cities on Earth, the voters had decided. Individual buildings would be named for famous people. The farms and orchards and other open areas would get names from natural features on Earth or from mythology: that particular vote was too close to call a clear winner.
Her phone announced that Ruth Morgenthau was calling. Holly told the computer to accept the call, and Morgenthau’s face appeared, hovering alongside the statistics.
“Do you have the results?”
Nodding, Holly said, “All tabbed.”
“Forward them to me.”
With a glance at the phone’s data bar beneath her caller’s image, Holly saw that Morgenthau was calling from Eberly’s apartment. She felt nettled that Morgenthau was with Malcolm and she hadn’t been invited. Maybe I can fix that, she thought.
“I’ve got to send them to Professor Wilmot first,” she said. “Official procedure.”
“Send them here as well,” said Morgenthau.
Holly replied, “If I do, there’ll be an electronic record that I violated procedure.” Before Morgenthau could frown, Holly went on, “But I could bring you a copy in person; there’d be no record of that.”
Morgenthau’s fleshy face went crafty for a moment, then she dimpled into a smile. “Very good, Holly. Good thinking. Bring the results to me. I’m at Dr. Eberly’s quarters.”
“I’ll be there f-t-l,” Holly said.
The instant Holly stepped into Eberly’s apartment she felt tension in the air; the room was charged with coiled-tight emotions. Morgenthau, Vyborg, and Kananga were there: Holly thought of them as the hippo, the snake, and the panther, but there was no humor in the characterizations. Kananga, in particular, made her edgy the way he watched her, like a hunting cat tracking its prey.
Eberly was nowhere in sight, but before Holly could ask about him, he entered the living room and smiled at her. The tension that she felt dissolved like morning mist melting under warm sunlight.
“Holly,” he said, extending both arms toward her. “It’s been too long since we’ve seen you.”
“Mal—” she began, then corrected herself. “Dr. Eberly. It’s wonderful to see you again.”
Morgenthau said, “Holly’s brought us the election results.”
“Fine,” said Eberly. “That’s very good of you, Holly.”
Pulling her handheld from her tunic pocket, Holly projected the tabulations on one of the living room’s bare walls. Malcolm doesn’t have any decorations in his apartment, she saw. Just like his office used to be: empty, naked.
For hours the five of them studied the voting results, dissecting them like pathologists taking apart a corpse to see what killed the living person. Kananga disappeared into the kitchen for a while and, much to Holly’s surprise, eventually placed a tray of sandwiches and drinks on the bar that divided the kitchen from the living room. Eberly kept digging deeper into the statistics, trying to break down the voting by age, by employment, by educational background. He wanted to know who voted for what, down to the individual voter, and why.
Vyborg, his tunic unbuttoned and hanging loosely from his spindly shoulders, rubbed his eyes, then took a sandwich from the tray.
“The scientists voted pretty much as a bloc,” he said, gesturing with the sandwich in his hand. “That’s surprising.”
“Why are you surprised?” Morgenthau asked. She had nibbled at a sandwich and left most of it uneaten on the coffee table. Holly wondered how she kept her size if she ate so delicately.
“Scientists are contentious,” Vyborg said. “They’re always arguing about something or other.”
“About scientific matters,” said Eberly. “But their interests are something else. They voted as a bloc because they all have the same interests and the same point of view.”
“That could be a problem,” Kananga said.
Eberly smiled knowingly. “Not really. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Holly followed their ruminations, fascinated, looking from one to another as they surgically dismembered the voting results. She realized that Morgenthau had designed the ballot to include information on the department the voter worked in and the voter’s specific occupation. Secret ballots, Holly thought, were secret only as far as the individual voter’s name was concerned. Each ballot carried enough information for detailed statistical analyses.
“We’re going to need a counterweight for them,” Vyborg said, between bites of his sandwich.
“For the scientists?” asked Kananga.
“Yes,” Eberly snapped. “It’s already taken care of.”
Morgenthau gave Holly her crafty look again. “What about this stuntman that you’ve been seeing?”
Holly blinked with surprise. “Manny Gaeta?”
“Yes,” said Morgenthau. “He’s had his arguments with the scientists, hasn’t he?”
“He wants to go down to the surface of Titan and they won’t allow that until they—”
“The surface of Titan?” Eberly interrupted. “Why?”
Holly explained, “He does spectacular stunts and sells the VR rights to the nets.”
“He’s extremely popular on Earth,” Morgenthau pointed out. “A vid star of the first magnitude.”
“A stuntman,” Vyborg sneered.
Eberly asked, “And he’s in conflict with the scientists?”
“They’re afraid he’ll contaminate the life-forms on Titan,” said Holly. “Dr. Cardenas is trying to help him—”
“Cardenas?” Vyborg snapped. “The nanotech expert?”
“Right.”
“How well do you know this stuntman?” Eberly asked her.
Holly felt a pang surge through her. “We’re pretty good friends,” she said quickly.
“I want to meet him,” said Eberly. “Make it a social occasion, Holly. I want to have dinner with the two of you. Invite Cardenas also. We’ll make it a foursome.”
Holly tried to mask the rush of emotions she felt. Jeeps, she thought, I finally get to go out to dinner with Malcolm but I’ve got to bring along the guy I’ve been sleeping with!
SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 312 DAYS
Of the two restaurants in the habitat, Nemo’s was by far the more spectacular. Where the Bistro was small and quiet, with most of its tables out on the lawn, Nemo’s was plush and ambitiou
s. The restaurant was designed to resemble the interior of a submarine, with curved bare metal walls and large round portholes that looked out on holograms of teeming undersea life. The proprietor, a former Singapore restaurateur whose outspoken atheism had gotten him into trouble, had sunk a fair share of his personal assets into the restaurant. “If I’m going to fly all the way out to Saturn,” he told his assembled children, grandchildren, and more distant relatives, “I might as well spend my time doing something I know about.” They were not happy to see the head of the family leave Earth — and take so much of their inheritance with him.
Holly felt distinctly nervous as she followed the robot headwaiter to the table for four that she had reserved. Gaeta had offered to pick her up at her apartment, but she thought it better that they meet at the restaurant. She was the first to arrive, precisely on time at 20:00 hours. The squat little robot stopped and announced, “Your table, Miss.” Holly wondered how it decided she was a Miss and not a Ma’am. Did it pick up the data from her ID badge?
She sat at the chair that allowed her to look across the room at the entryway. The restaurant was not even half filled.
“Would you care for a drink?” the robot asked. Its synthesized voice was warm and deep. “We have an excellent bar and an extensive wine list.”
Holly knew that that was an exaggeration, at best. “No thanks,” she said. The robot trundled away.
Eberly appeared at the entryway, and Kris Cardenas came in right behind him. She wore an actual dress, a knee-length frock of flowered material, light and summery. Holly suddenly felt shabby in her tunic and tights, despite the sea-green shawl she had knotted around her waist.
She stood up as the two of them approached. Neither of them realized they were both heading to the same table, at first, but Eberly caught on quickly and gallantly held Cardenas’s chair for her as she sat down. As Holly introduced them to one another she found herself hoping that Manny wouldn’t come. Maybe he got tied up on something, some test or whatever. She barely paid attention to the conversation between Eberly and Cardenas.
Then Gaeta appeared, wearing a formfitting mesh shirt and denims. No badge. No decorations of any kind, except for the stud in his earlobe. He didn’t need finery. Heads turned as he strode to their table well ahead of the robot headwaiter.
Except for the fluttering in her stomach, the meal seemed to go easily enough. Gaeta knew Cardenas, of course, and Eberly acted as their host, gracious and charming. Conversation was light, at first: They talked about the recent voting and Gaeta’s previous feats of daring.
“Soaring through the clouds of Venus,” Eberly said admiringly, over their appetizers. “That must have taken a great deal of courage.”
Gaeta grinned at him, almost shyly. “You know what they say about stunt people: more guts than brains.”
Eberly laughed. “Still, it must take a good deal of both guts and brains.”
Gaeta dipped his chin in acknowledgment and turned his attention to his shrimp cocktail.
By the time the entrees were served, the topic had turned to Gaeta’s intention to get to the surface of Titan.
“If Kris here can convince Urbain and his contamination nuts that I won’t wipe out their chingado bugs,” Gaeta complained.
Cardenas glanced at him sharply.
“Pardon my French,” he mumbled.
“I thought it was Spanish,” said Holly.
Eberly skillfully brought the conversation back to Urbain and his scientists. Gaeta grumbled about their worries over contaminating Titan, while Cardenas shook her head as she talked about their fears of runaway nanobugs.
“I can understand where they’re coming from, of course,” she said, “but you’d think I’m trying to create Frankenstein’s monster, the way they’re hemming me in with all kinds of safety regulations.”
“They’re overly cautious?” Eberly asked.
“A bunch of little old ladies,” Gaeta said.
Holly asked, “Manny, have you thought any more about going through the rings?”
With a shake of his head he replied, “I haven’t heard anything from that Nadia. She said she’d look into it.”
“I’ll call her,” Holly said. “Maybe she forgot.”
By the time dessert was being served, Eberly was suggesting, “Perhaps I can help you with Dr. Urbain. I have direct access to Professor Wilmot; I can make your case for visiting Titan’s surface.”
Then he added, turning to Cardenas, “And for easing some of the restrictions on your nanotechnology lab.”
“It’s not the restrictions, so much,” Cardenas said earnestly. “I can live with them. I understand why they’re scared, and I even agree with them, up to a point.”
“Then what is your problem?” Eberly asked.
“Manpower, pure and simple,” said Cardenas. “I’m all alone in the lab. I’ve tried to recruit assistants, but none of the younger scientific staff will come anywhere near nanotech.”
Glancing at Holly, Eberly asked, “Hasn’t the Human Resources Department been able to help?”
Cardenas looked surprised at the thought. “I’ve asked Urbain,” she said. “What I need is a couple of lab assistants. Youngsters who have basic scientific training. But the scientists run in the opposite direction when I ask them for help.”
“I see,” Eberly murmured.
Smiling, Cardenas said, “Back when I was on Earth, in the Stone Age, the professors ran their labs with grad students. Slave labor, cheap and plentiful.”
Eberly steepled his fingers. “We don’t have many grad students among us, or even undergraduates, I’m afraid. And everyone has a job slot; that was a requirement for being accepted aboard the habitat.”
“We don’t have any unemployed students,” Holly said.
“I figured that out right away,” said Cardenas. “But I thought I’d be able to talk a couple of the younger people on Urbain’s staff to come over and help me.”
“He won’t allow them to,” Eberly guessed.
Cardenas’s expression hardened. “He won’t let me talk to them anymore. And he’s got them frightened of even meeting me socially. I’m being frozen out.”
Eberly turned to Holly and placed a hand on her wrist. “Holly, we’ve got to do something to correct this.”
She glanced at Gaeta before replying, “If that’s what you want, Malcolm.”
He looked back at Cardenas as he answered, “That’s what I want.”
Dinner ended and the four of them went outside into the twilight atmosphere. Holly’s heart was thumping. What happens now?
Eberly said, “Holly, why don’t we go up to your office and see what we can do to help Dr. Cardenas?”
She nodded. “If I knew what skills you need, Kris, I could pull up a list of possible candidates for you.”
Cardenas said, “I’ll shoot the requirements to you as soon as I get home.”
Gaeta said, “I’ll walk you home, Kris. It’s on my way.”
Holly stood frozen to the spot as Gaeta and Cardenas said goodbye and started along the path that led to her quarters. Eberly had to touch her shoulder to break the spell.
“We have work to do, Holly,” he told her.
But she kept staring at Cardenas and Gaeta, walking side by side down the dimly lit path. Cardenas turned and looked over her shoulder at Holly, as if to say, Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen. At least, Holly hoped that’s what she was signifying.
She’s my friend, Holly told herself. She knows Manny and I have made out together. She wouldn’t do anything with him. It was his idea to walk her home. She won’t let him do anything.
Still, Eberly had to tell her again, “Holly, come on. We have work to do.”
THE SECOND RALLY
Eberly prided himself on never making the same mistake twice. The first public speech he’d given, to announce the naming contests, had been good enough, as far as it went, but a miserable failure in the eyes of Morgenthau and Vyborg. The crowd at the cafeteria had b
een sparse, and despite their rousing response to his oratory they made it clear that they considered the whole affair as nothing better than a learning experience, at best.
He intended to profit from that.
With Phase One of the naming campaign finished, and categories for each type of feature in the habitat settled by the first round of voting, Eberly carefully prepared for his second public appearance.
It’s impossible to please everyone, he realized, but it is possible to split people up into small, distinct groups and then find out what each group desires and promise it to them. Divide and conquer: a concept as old as civilization, probably older. Eberly learned how to use it. He was pleased, almost surprised, at how easy it was to use the natural antipathy between the stuntman and Urbain’s scientific staff.
For weeks he had Vyborg build up the stuntman’s presence in the habitat with vids and news releases that showed how heroic, how exciting Gaeta was: the conqueror of Mt. Olympus on Mars, the man who trekked across Mare Imbrium on the Moon. Vyborg cleverly played up the scientific information that Gaeta had harvested during each of his feats. Now he wanted to be the first human being to set foot on the murky, forbidding surface of Titan. Will the scientists allow him to do it? Humans will land on Titan someday, sooner or later. Why not allow this intrepid hero to take the risks he is so willing to endure? At Eberly’s insistence, no mention was made of Dr. Cardenas and her effort to create nanobugs to attack the contamination problem. “There will be no publicity about nanotechnology,” he decided.
Kananga’s people helped to divide the general populace. It was pathetically simple to set individuals against one another. Eberly himself hit on the idea of using vids from Earthside sporting events to create organized fan clubs, clannish factions who placed bets on “their” teams and watched each game in boozy uproarious exuberance. When Wilmot and his administrators tried to control the distribution of alcoholic drinks, even beer, the fans spontaneously began meeting in private apartments. A lively commerce in home brew began, and it wasn’t unusual for fights to break out when one fan club clashed with another.
