Saturn

by Ben Bova

  Holly tiptoed to the wall phone near the kitchen door and made her hurried call to Kris. Somebody's got to know that I'm alive and being hunted by Kananga, she told herself.

  After her swiftly spoken message to Kris, she went back to the trapdoor, down the ladder, and ran nearly a kilometer along the main tunnel before slumping down to the floor, panting.

  You flaming dimdumb, she said to herself. You were in the warping storeroom and you never thought to get something to eat. Stupid!

  Her stomach agreed with a growl.

  "She made a call?" Kananga asked eagerly. "When? From where?"

  His aide, wearing the black tunic and slacks that Kananga demanded for his security staff, replied, "From the cafeteria storeroom, sir. About an hour ago."

  "An hour ago?" Kananga snarled, rising from his desk chair.

  The woman glanced at her handheld. "Actually fifty-two minutes ago, sir."

  "And you're just telling me now?"

  "We only had a skeleton staff on at the time, sir. They can't monitor every phone in the habitat in real time. It's—"

  "I want an automated program set up immediately. Use her voice-print as the key to trigger an automatic alarm. Immediately!"

  "Yessir."

  "This woman is a dangerous psychopath. She's got to be apprehended before she kills someone else!"

  The aide scampered from Kananga's office and his baleful glare.

  He slowly settled himself back in his chair. The cafeteria. Of course. She's got to eat. We'll simply stake out teams at the cafeteria and the restaurants. She'll be drawn to the food, sooner or later. And once she is, we'll have her.

  Gaeta had never been in a blizzard, never tried to trudge through drifts of snow while a cold wind battered at him and drove flakes of ice stinging against his face.

  For nearly half a minute, though, he faced the fiercest maelstrom that Fritz's ingenuity could devise. Ice crystals flew all around him, enveloping him in a blinding whirl of gleaming, glinting white. Steel pellets peppered him, rattling against his armored suit so loudly that Gaeta knew it was going to crack. He worried especially about the faceplate. It was bulletproof, he knew, but how bulletproof could it be?

  He was being machine-gunned, strafed by supersonic pellets of stainless steel.

  Yet he stood it. He remained on his feet and even took a few plodding steps upstream, into the blinding whiteout blowing at him. The rattling of the pellets was so loud, though, that he had trouble hearing Fritz's voice counting down the time in his helmet earphones.

  All he could do was stand and take it. And look at the lighted displays splashed across the inside of his visor. Every damned light was green, every monitor was showing that the suit was functioning normally. Whoops! One went yellow. Nothing important, he saw; one of the knee joints had suddenly lost lubrication. The backup came on and the light switched back to green.

  The noise was damned near deafening. Like a thousand crazy woodpeckers attacking the suit. Why the hell do I put up with this crap? Gaeta wondered. Why am I spending my life getting the shit kicked out of me? Why don't I take whatever money I make out of this and retire while I've still got all my arms and legs?

  The classic answer rang in his head: What, and quit show business? He laughed aloud.

  And then it was over. As suddenly as it had started, it all disappeared, leaving Gaeta standing there inside the cumbersome suit, his ears ringing from the pounding bombardment.

  "What are you laughing about?" Fritz demanded.

  Gaeta replied, still grinning, "I laugh at danger, Fritz. Don't you read my media releases? I think you wrote that line yourself."

  It took the better part of half an hour for them to refill the corridor section with air and for Gaeta to crawl out of the suit.

  Fritz inspected it minutely, going over every square centimeter of the hulking suit with a magnifying glass.

  "Dimpled, but not penetrated," was Fritz's estimation.

  "Then we can go as planned."

  "Yes, I believe we can."

  Gaeta's handheld buzzed. He flicked it open and saw Nadia Wunderly's face on the minuscule screen.

  "If you're worried about the test—"

  "No, no, no!" she said, brimming with excitement. "I just had to tell you right away. You're the luckiest guy in the solar system!"

  "Whattaya mean?"

  "There's going to be a capture event!" Wunderly was almost shouting. "Three days after we arrive in orbit Saturn's going to capture an asteroid from the Kuiper Belt."

  "What? What do you mean? Slow it down a little."

  "Manny, a small chunk of ice-covered rock is approaching Saturn from deep in the Kuiper Belt, out beyond Pluto. It's already fallen into Saturn's gravity well. I've done the calculations. It's going to fall into orbit around Saturn smack in the middle of the A ring! Three days after we arrive in orbit outside the rings!"

  "Three days?" Fritz asked, looking over Gaeta's shoulder at Wunderly's ecstatic face.

  "Yes! If you delay your excursion for three days, you can be there when the capture takes place!"

  Book III

  I agree ... in regarding as false and damnable the view of those who would put inhabitants on Jupiter, Saturn, and the moon, meaning by "inhabitants" animals like ours, and men in particular.... If we could believe with any probability that there were living beings and vegetation on the moon or any planet, different not only from terrestrial ones but remote from our wildest imaginings, I should for my part neither affirm it nor deny it, but should leave the decision to wiser men than I.

  Galileo Galilei.

  Letters on Sunspots.

  1 December 1612.

  SATURN ARRIVAL Minus 4 Days

  Controlled frenzy, Eberly decided. That's what this is: controlled frenzy.

  Since being named deputy director of the habitat, Eberly had moved his election campaign headquarters out of his apartment and into a vacant warehouse space in the Cairo village. It was large enough to house his growing staff of campaign volunteers and their even-faster-growing sets of computers and communications equipment.

  He seldom visited the headquarters, preferring to stay aloof from his foot soldiers. The less they see of me, he reasoned, the more they appreciate my rare visits to them.

  This evening before election day was one of those rare visits. Sure enough, the dozens of volunteers swarmed around Eberly as soon as he stepped through the warehouse's big double doors. They were beaming at him, especially the women.

  He allowed himself to be shown around the makeshift workbenches and shook hands with each and every volunteer. He wore his best smile. He assured them that tomorrow's election would be a smashing triumph for them. They smiled back and agreed that "We can't lose" and "By this time tomorrow you'll be the top man."

  Eberly disengaged from them at last, and let Morgenthau lead him to the small private office that had been partitioned off in the far corner of the warehouse space. He had specified that the office should be enclosed by true walls that reached the high ceiling, not merely shoulder-high dividers. And the walls should be soundproofed.

  Vyborg was sitting behind the desk in the office when Morgenthau shut the door behind Eberly, Kananga in the chair next to a bank of computer consoles. Both men got to their feet.

  "It's going well," Vyborg said as Eberly approached the desk.

  "Never mind that," he snapped. "What about Holly? Have you found her?"

  "Not yet," Kananga replied.

  "It's been two weeks!"

  "This habitat is very large and I have only a limited number of people to search for her."

  "I want her caught."

  "She will be. I've staked out all the places where she can obtain food. We'll find her sooner or later."

  "Make certain she's dead," Vyborg said.

  Eberly frowned at that, thinking, They all professes to be Believers but they don't even blink at the thought of murder. And they want to make me a party to their crimes. Then they'll have an even stronge
r hold over me.

  Morgenthau wondered, "What if she surrenders herself in some public place? She might be clever enough to show up at the cafeteria at lunchtime and offer to turn herself in."

  Eberly actually shuddered. "If she starts talking, everything we've worked for could be ruined."

  "But she's been neutralized," Vyborg countered. "I've seen to it that everyone believes she's a dangerous lunatic."

  With a shake of his head, Eberly replied, "No matter what the people believe, if she decides to start blabbing in public it could upset the election. It could throw the election to Urbain. Or even Timoshenko."

  "Tonight is the critical time, then," Morgenthau said. "By this time tomorrow the election will be over."

  "I want her found tonight."

  "It would be good," Vyborg said, almost in a whisper, "if she were found dead."

  Kananga nodded. "I'll put the entire security force on it."

  "Has she any allies?" Eberly asked. "Any friends that she might turn to for help?"

  Vyborg said, "She phoned Dr. Cardenas."

  "That was two weeks ago," said Morgenthau.

  "And only once," added Kananga. "It was too brief for us to catch her."

  "Cardenas?" Eberly suddenly saw the way to catch Holly. "She phoned the nanotech expert?"

  "Yes."

  Morgenthau saw the gleam in his eye. "Do you think ...?"

  "A nanobug threat," said Eberly. Turning to Vyborg, he commanded, "Put out the news that Holly might be harboring dangerous nanomachines. Make it sound as if she's a threat to the entire habitat. A nanoplague! Then every person in the habitat will be on the lookout for her. Kananga, you'll have ten thousand people searching for her!"

  The Rwandan laughed delightedly. Vyborg nodded and scampered to the desktop comm unit. As he began dictating a news bulletin, Eberly turned to Morgenthau.

  "So much for our fugitive. Now, what are the latest election predictions?"

  He expected her to give him a rosy forecast for the election. Instead, her smile faded and a cloud of doubt darkened her chubby face.

  "We may have created a Frankenstein monster in this engineer, Timoshenko," Morgenthau said, turning toward the computer bank.

  She called up the latest projection, and a multicolored chart appeared against the bare office wall.

  "The blue represents our votes," said Morgenthau, "the red is Urbain's and the yellow is Timoshenko's."

  "We're well ahead," said Eberly.

  "Yes, but there's a disturbing trend." The chart shifted, colors melting or growing. "If Timoshenko's people throw their support to Urbain, they could beat you."

  "Why would they do that?"

  Morgenthau shrugged heavily. "I don't know why, but it's happening. Urbain has picked up nearly twenty percent of the voters who were solidly in Timoshenko's camp only a few days ago."

  "According to your analyses," said Eberly.

  "Which are based on extensive polls by our volunteers out there." She pointed toward the door. "I may be overly alarmist, but it might be possible for Urbain to pick up enough of Timoshenko's votes to win tomorrow."

  Eberly stared hard at the chart, as if he could force the numbers to change by sheer force of will. He kept his face immobile, trying to hide the anger and terror churning in his gut. I could lose! And then where would I be? They'll take me back, put me back in prison!

  He barely heard Morgenthau's voice. "Cancel the election. You're deputy administrator now. Wilmot's been neutralized. Cancel the election and set up the government on your own authority."

  "And have three quarters of the population rebel against me?" Eberly snarled at her.

  "If they do," said Kananga, "you'll have the perfect excuse to establish martial law."

  "Then we could control everyone," Morgenthau agreed. "I had the blueprints for neural probes beamed here from Earth. Once martial law is established we could arrest the troublemakers and implant them with the neural controllers. It would be just what we want."

  Except that the people would hate me, Eberly thought. They would scheme against me. They'd work night and day to overthrow me.

  "No," he said flatly. "I can't rule these people by force. Or by turning them into useless zombies."

  "You wouldn't need neural implants," said Kananga, drawing himself up to his full height. "I could make certain that they obey you."

  And make me dependent on you, Eberly answered silently. I want these people to respect me, to follow me out of admiration and respect. I want them to love me the way those volunteers outside love me.

  "No," he repeated. "I must win this election legally. I want the people to elect me freely. Otherwise there will be nothing but turmoil and resistance to my rule."

  Morgenthau looked genuinely alarmed. "But if the election goes against you? What then?"

  "It won't go against me."

  "How can you be sure?"

  "The rally tonight. I'll win them over. I'll split Timoshenko's supporters away from Urbain's."

  "How?"

  "You'll see."

  Despite the fear that constantly gnawed at her, Holly was almost enjoying her exile. It's like camping out, she thought. Not that she could remember camping out from her first life, back on Earth. Yet she felt strangely free, unattached to anyone or any duties except what she felt like doing. There were plenty of unoccupied areas up topside in the habitat, she knew; two whole villages had been set aside for population growth. And when she got tired of prowling through the tunnels she could always climb up into the orchards or farms and sleep undisturbed on the soft, warm ground.

  As far as she could tell, no one was watching her, no one was tracking her. She had made that one call to Kris from the cafeteria's storeroom, and sure enough, a squad of Kananga's security goons had converged on the wall phone within minutes. Holly had watched them from the nearly shut trapdoor in the storeroom's rear. Flatlanders, she thought. They haven't tumbled to the idea that somebody could live beneath the ground, in the tunnels. And there's a gazillion kilometers of tunnels down here, she told herself. I could stay for years and they'd never find me.

  But always the realization that Kananga had murdered Don Diego stuck in her memory like a cold knife. And Malcolm's in on it, somehow. How and why she didn't know, but she knew she couldn't trust Malcolm or anyone else. Well, you can trust Kris, she thought. But that would bring trouble down on Kris's head. They murdered Don Diego and Kananga tried to kill me. Would they try to murder Kris if they thought she was helping me? Flaming yes, she decided swiftly.

  As the days spun along, though, Holly realized she was accomplishing nothing. Kay, it's fun hiding out in the tunnels and living off the farms and all that. But how long do you want to go on this way? You can't let them get away with it, she told herself. And the election's coming up. Once Malcolm's elected chief of the habitat things'll only get worse, not better.

  You've got to find some way to nail them, she kept thinking. Kananga and fat Morgenthau and the little snake Vyborg. Yes, and Malcolm, too. But how? You can't do it by yourself. You need somebody ... but who?

  At last it came to her. Of course! Professor Wilmot. He's in charge of everything. At least, until the election is over. Once I tell him what it's all about, he'll know what to do.

  Jeeps! she realized. The election's tomorrow! I've got to visit the professor tonight.

  PLANNING SESSION

  Gaeta sat flanked by Kris Cardenas on one side and Fritz von Helmholtz on the other. Berkowitz sat on Fritz's left. Nadia Wunderly stood before them, waving a laser pointer in one hand. We should've worn safety glasses, Gaeta thought. She's gonna zap somebody's eye with that thing if she's not careful.

  Wunderly was practically bouncing with excitement.

  "Here's the real-time position of the iceball," she said, pointing at the computer display with the laser. "Right on track for capture."

  Gaeta saw Saturn floating lazily in the dark infinity of space, its rings bright and splendid. A greenish oval marked the
habitat's current position, heading toward an orbit outside the rings. The tiny red dot of the laser pointer was on a speck of light that was farther from the planet than their own habitat.

  "And here's what's going to happen over the next four days," Wunderly said.

  They saw the habitat moving slowly into orbit, as planned. The iceball swung past the planet and almost completely out of the picture, but then Saturn's gravity pulled it back. The iceball skimmed past the rings once, went behind the planet, then swung around again and pulled in tighter.

  "Here we go," Wunderly said breathlessly.

  The iceball entered the wide, bright B ring from the top, popped through to the other side, circled behind Saturn's massive bulk once more. When it reappeared it was noticeably slower. Gaeta saw it settle into the B ring almost like a duck landing gently on a pond.

  "And that's it," Wunderly said, freezing the image. "Saturn acquires a new moon smack in the middle of the B ring. Nobody's ever seen anything like this before."

  Berkowitz breathed an awed, "Wow. Every network will carry the capture event." Leaning past Fritz slightly, he said to Gaeta, "What a terrific setup for your gig!"

  Gaeta grinned at him.

  "How will it affect the rings?" Cardenas asked.

  Wunderly shrugged. "It's too small to have any major effect. It's only eight klicks across. Tiny, really."

  "But it will jostle the particles that are already in the ring, will it not?" asked Fritz.

  She nodded. "Ay-yup, but it won't affect the ring dynamics much. No changes in the Cassini division or anything like that. I've done the sims, the only strong effects will be very local."

  "So that's where we want to be when it happens," said Gaeta.

  "No!" Wunderly and Cardenas said in unison.

  "It's too dangerous," Cardenas added.