by Ben Bova
Morgenthau saw to it that Eberly was apprised of each group’s special interests. The machinists complained that their salary level was kept artificially lower than that of the lab technicians. One group of farmers wanted to expand their acreage and plant tropical fruits that Wilmot’s administrators had disallowed because they would require more water and an extensive hothouse to create a warmer, wetter environment than the rest of the habitat. A bitter rivalry was simmering between the fans of two soccer teams that were heading for the World Cup back on Earth. The brawls between them were getting so serious that even Kananga suggested they be toned down.
Through all this, Holly’s work was an invaluable asset to Eberly. She ran the Human Resources Department and faithfully brought to Eberly the statistics he needed to determine all the inner group dynamics. She was earnest, honest, and had no idea that the fractures within the habitat’s social structure were being eagerly fomented by Eberly’s clique.
“We need to do something to bring people together again,” she told Eberly, time and again. “We need some way of unifying everybody.”
Meanwhile, Wilmot watched the growing disharmony with a mixture of fascination and dread. The carefully knit society that had been created for this habitat was unraveling, coming apart at the seams. People were splitting up into tribes, no less. Clans, even. As an anthropologist he was enthralled by their behavior. As the leader of the expedition, however, he feared that the growing chaos would lead to mayhem, perhaps even murder. Yet he resisted the urge to interfere or clamp down with new regulations and enforcements. Let the experiment continue, he told himself. Let them play out their little games. The end result will be more important than any individual’s life; in the final analysis it could be more important than the success or failure of this mission.
Ultimately, Holly urged Eberly, “You’ve got to do something, Malcolm! You’re the only one who has the vision to bring everybody together again.”
He allowed Morgenthau to back Holly’s increasingly insistent pleading with similar suggestions of her own. At last he told them to organize a rally.
“I’ll speak to them,” he said. “I’ll do my best.”
Holly worked sixteen and eighteen hours a day to organize a rally that would bring out everyone in the habitat. She set it up in the open park along the lake outside Village A. She saw to it that the cafeterias and restaurants closed down at 18:00 hours that afternoon; no one was going to have dinner out until after Eberly’s speech was finished.
At Morgenthau’s suggestion, Holly organized parades. The sports fans’ clubs easily agreed to march to the park, each of them carrying makeshift banners of their club’s colors. The musicians among the populace formed impromptu bands and even agreed to play one at a time, rather than competing in cacophony. The farmers put together a march of sorts, not that they walked in any discernable order. So did the other workers, each organized by their specialty.
Still, when the music played and the people marched, only a few thousand showed up. Most of the population stayed home. Holly consoled herself with the thought that they all would watch the rally on video. At least, she hoped so.
Even so, some three thousand people formed a considerable crowd. Eberly looked delighted as they assembled raggedly in front of the band shell where he sat on the stage, watching and smiling at them.
Morgenthau looked pleased, too. Holly heard her say into Eberly’s ear, “This is a big-enough minority to give us the power we need, Malcolm. The ones who’ve stayed home will be swept up in the tide, when the time comes.”
The atmosphere was like an old-fashioned summertime picnic. Music played. People marched, then stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the little band shell and stage that stood at one end of the park.
Manuel Gaeta was the first speaker. Morgenthau introduced him and the crowd roared and whistled as he slowly, shyly, climbed the steps of the stage.
He motioned for quiet, grinning out at a sea of expectant faces. “I’m no public speaker,” he began. “I’ve done a lot of scary things in my life, but I think this is scarier than any of them.”
People laughed.
“I don’t have all that much to say. I hope to be able to get down to the surface of Titan, and when I do, I’d like to dedicate the mission to you folks, the people of this habitat.”
They roared their delight. Holly, sitting beside Eberly at one side of the stage, looked around the crowd, searching for the faces of scientists that she knew. She spotted only a few of them. Neither Dr. Urbain nor Professor Wilmot was in the crowd.
“My real job today,” Gaeta went on, “is to introduce the main speaker. I think you all know him. Malcolm Eberly is director of the Human Resources Department, and the one man among the habitat’s top staff who’s tried to help me. I think he can help all of us.”
With that, Gaeta turned and gestured toward Eberly, who slowly, deliberately got up from his chair and walked to the podium. The crowd’s applause was perfunctory.
“Thank you, Manny,” Eberly said, gripping the sides of the podium with both hands. Looking out into the crowd, he went on, “And thank you, each and every one of you, for coming to this rally this evening.”
He took a breath, then lowered his head, almost as if in prayer. The crowd went silent, waiting, watching.
“We have before us a task of awesome magnitude,” Eberly said. “We must face new and unknown dangers as we sail farther into unexplored space than any human beings have gone before.”
Holly was struck by the pitch of his voice. He was a different man on the platform, she saw: His eyes blazed, his voice was deeper, stronger, more certain than she had ever heard before.
“Soon now we will be reaching Saturn. Soon our real work must begin. But before we can start, we have the responsibility of creating a new order, a new society, a new government that will represent us fairly and justly and accomplish all that we want to achieve.
“The first step in creating this new order is the naming of names. We have the opportunity, the responsibility, of choosing the names by which our community will be known. It may seem like a trivial task, but it is not. It is of primary importance.
“Yet what do we see all around us? Instead of unity, there is strife. Instead of clear purpose, there is confusion and struggle. We are divided and weak, where we must be united and strong.”
Holly listened in growing fascination, feeling herself drawn into his web of words. It’s enthralling, she realized. Malcolm is mesmerizing all these thousands of people.
“We are the chosen ones,” he was telling them. “We few, we chosen few, we who will establish human purpose and human dignity at the farthest outpost of civilization. We who will bring the banner of humanity to the cold and hostile forces of nature, we who will show all the universe that we can build a strong and safe haven for ourselves, a paradise of our own creation.
“The naming of names is merely the first step in this quest. We then must create a new government and elect the leaders who will serve us as we begin to create the new society that we desire.
“Instead of rivalry, we must have cooperation. Instead of struggle, we must have unity. Instead of weakness, we must have strength. Let each man and woman here firmly resolve that this society shall be strong and united. Ask not what gain you as an individual will obtain. Ask rather what strength you can contribute to help create a free and flourishing new order. We can build a paradise with our own hands! Will you help to do it?”
They bellowed, “YES!” They clapped and cheered and whistled. Eberly stood at the podium, head bowed, soaking up their adulation the way a flower drinks in sunlight.
The crowd quieted, watched his silent form up on the podium. Slowly Eberly raised his head, looked out on them with an almost beatific smile on his lips.
“Each of you — each man and woman here — must pledge yourselves to the unity and cooperation we need to create the new order. I want each of you to reach out and clasp hands with the person next to you. Friend o
r stranger, man or woman, take your neighbor’s hand in your own and swear that we will work together to build our new world.”
The crowd murmured, heads turned, feet shuffled. Then, slowly at first, people turned to each other and clasped hands. Holly watched as more and more people embraced, their differences forgotten for the moment, many of them openly sobbing. Holly realized that Malcolm was the only person in the entire habitat who could bring the people together like this.
She was proud to have helped this great man achieve this moment of unity, this powerful emotion of loving friendship.
URGENT COMMUNICATION
TO: Dr. Professor E. Urbain, Habitat Goddard.
FROM: H. H. Haddix Chair, IAA Executive Board.
SUBJECT: Titan Contamination Risk.
In response to your request, the Executive Board initiated a thorough assessment of policy in regard to human exploration of the Saturnian moon, Titan. After review by the astrobiology and planetary protection committees of the International Astronautical Authority, it has been unanimously decided that any human excursion upon the surface of Titan is strictly forbidden. Protection of the indigenous life-forms of Titan takes precedence over all other goals, including scientific investigation. Robotic exploration of Titan’s surface is permitted, providing existing planetary protection decontamination procedures are strictly adhered to.
H. Harvey Haddix.
Chair, IAA Executive Board.
Rev. Calypso J. C. Abernathy.
Imprimatur.
SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 288 DAYS
Ruth Morgenthau hated these nature walks that Eberly insisted upon. He’s absolutely paranoid, she thought as she trudged reluctantly along the path that led through the park from Village A toward the orchards. He worries that someone might be bugging his apartment the way we’re bugging everyone else’s.
It’s no longer Village A, she reminded herself. It’s Athens now. And the orchard is officially the St. Francis of Assisi Preserve. Morgenthau almost giggled aloud. What a name! What arguments they had had, real shouting battles between herself, Vyborg, and Kananga. Even the normally moderate and reserved Jaansen had raised his voice when it came to naming the habitat’s various laboratory buildings.
The months-long campaign to produce actual names for the habitat’s villages, buildings, and natural features had been little more than a farce. Every vote had a scatter factor larger almost than the number of votes. Everyone in the habitat had an opinion about what the names should be, and hardly two votes agreed with each other. It was a grand mess, but Eberly came through with a magnificent solution.
“Since there is no unanimity among the voters,” he told his inner cadre of confidants, “we will have to make the decisions ourselves.”
That set the four of them wrangling, with Kananga insisting that African names be just as numerous as European or Asian, Vyborg holding out for names that had powerful psychological connotations among the populace, and Jaansen firmly — sometimes stubbornly — proffering his own list of famous scientists’ names. Eberly had stayed above the fray, listening to their squabbles with cold disdain. Morgenthau found the whole affair disgusting; she hadn’t cared what names were chosen, as long as they were not blatantly secular. She had flatly refused to allow the biology facility to be named after Charles Darwin, of course.
In the end, Eberly resolved most of their disputes. When they could not agree, he made the decision. When they wrangled too long, he stepped in and told them to stop acting like children. Morgenthau watched over him carefully, though, and he knew it.
Village A got a European name: Athens. Village B went to the Asians: Bangkok. Village C became Cairo; D became Delhi and E was named Entebbe. The Americans — North and South — complained bitterly, but Eberly stared them down by solemnly proclaiming those were the names that the habitat’s residents had voted for. After all, he pointed out, Americans actually were a minority in the habitat’s population.
Since the votes were secret ballots, Eberly refused to allow anyone to recount them. In a great show of seeming impartiality, he erased all the votes — “So that no one can tamper with them, or use them to cause unrest in the future,” he announced.
There were some grumbles, but the people by and large accepted the names that the voters allegedly chose. Eberly saw to it that there were plenty of American and Latino names sprinkled among the buildings and natural features, to keep everyone reasonably satisfied.
It was a strong, masterful performance, Morgenthau felt. Yet a tendril of worry troubled her. Perhaps Eberly was too strong, too determined to have his own way, too hungry for power. We are agents of God, she reminded herself. We seek power not for ourselves, but for the salvation of these ten thousand lost souls. She wondered if Eberly felt the same way. In fact, she was almost certain that he did not. Yet authorities higher than her own had chosen Eberly to lead this mission; her job was to support him — and keep him from straying too far from the path the New Morality and Holy Disciples had chosen for him.
So Morgenthau walked beside him along the Washington Carver Pathway, which led from Athens to the St. Francis Orchard and beyond, over the little rolling knolls that bore the incongruous name of the Andes Hills toward the farmlands of the Ohio region. She desperately hoped that Eberly would not decide to walk all the way to California, the open region up by the endcap. Her feet hurt enough already.
“You’re very quiet this afternoon,” Eberly said as they walked along the meandering brick path. Those were the first words he himself had spoken in many minutes.
Morgenthau could feel sweat beading on her brow. “I’m just happy that the names have been settled on,” she said. “You did a masterful job, a brilliant job.”
He allowed a wintry smile to curve his lips. “Just as long as the actual votes have been totally erased.”
“Totally,” she swore.
“And no one outside our inner circle knows about how the names were chosen.”
“No one.”
“Not even Holly? She’s very bright, you know.”
Morgenthau agreed with an nod. “She asked why the votes should be erased. Once I told her that it was your decision, though, she put up no resistance.”
Eberly nodded. “I’ll probably have to take her to bed, sooner or later. That will ensure her loyalty.”
Morgenthau gaped at him, shocked. “She’s quite loyal enough now. There’s no need—”
He cut her short. “The next steps we take will be more and more distasteful to her. I’ll have to keep her bound to me personally. Otherwise she might balk, or even rebel against us.”
“But bedding her — that’s sinful!”
“It’s in a good cause. We must all be prepared to make sacrifices.”
She caught his sarcastic tone. “Well, at least she’s rather attractive.”
“A bit dark for my liking,” Eberly said, almost as casually as if he were discussing his preferences in clothing or food. “I favor blondes, with fuller figures.”
Morgenthau felt her cheeks reddening. And yet… Is he toying with me? she wondered. Testing me? She had no desire to pursue this line of discussion. She had no fantasies about her own attractions, or her own preferences.
“You didn’t ask me out on this walk to discuss your plans for romance, did you?”
“No,” he answered, quite seriously. “Hardly that.”
“Then what?”
Without changing his leisurely pace, Eberly looked up at the light poles and the miniature cameras atop them, then out to the green and flowering parkland spread about them.
“Offices can be bugged too easily. There are always prying eyes and ears to worry about.”
She understood. “Out here, it simply looks as if we’re taking in some exercise together.”
“Precisely.” He nodded.
Morgenthau considered that the fact the two of them were walking together might start some tongues wagging, although hardly anyone would suspect her of having a romantic interes
t in Eberly, or of being of any physical attraction to him. Or any man, for that matter. They all see me as a short, dumpy, overweight loser, Morgenthau knew. I’m no threat to any of them. How little they know!
“Sooner or later we’re going to have to confront Wilmot,” Eberly said, his eyes still scanning for eavesdroppers. “Vyborg is constantly nagging me about removing Berkowitz and installing himself as the chief of communications. I’ve decided that the way to get to Berkowitz is through Wilmot.”
“Through Wilmot?”
“Berkowitz is an innocuous former network executive. He doesn’t appear to have any obvious vices. He runs the Communications Department so loosely that Vyborg is actually in charge of virtually the entire operation.”
“But Sammi wants the title as well as the responsibility,” Morgenthau said. “I know him. He wants the respect and the power.”
“Yes. And he’s impatient. If what he did to that old man Romero is ever discovered…”
“It won’t reflect on you,” she assured him. “It can’t.”
“Perhaps. But still, Berkowitz should be removed.”
“And to do that, you want to go through Wilmot?” Morgenthau asked.
“That’s not the only reason, of course,” Eberly went on. “Wilmot believes he is in charge of the habitat. The day will come when I’ll have to disabuse him of that notion.”
“We can’t have a godless secularist ruling these people!” Morgenthau said fervently.
“I’ll need some ammunition, something to hold over Wilmot.”
“A carrot or a stick?” Morgenthau asked.
“Either. Both, if possible.”
“We’ll need someone to review all his personal files and phone conversations.”
Eberly nodded. “This must be kept totally secret. I don’t want even Vyborg to know that we’re going through Wilmot’s files.”
