by Ben Bova
Medea, performed by Selene’s very own Alphonsus Players. Cardenas would have shuddered if it had mattered to her at all. Still, the theater was fully booked. Only Cardenas’s status as one of Selene’s leading citizens wheedled a ticket out of the system, and she had to go all the way up to Doug Stavenger for that. He smilingly admitted that he wasn’t going to use his.
She barely looked at the stage during the first half of the performance. Sitting on the aisle in the fourth row, Cardenas spent most of her time scanning the crowd for a glimpse of George Ambrose’s shaggy red hair.
When the first half ended, she trudged with the slow-moving throng along the central aisle as they chatted about the play and the performances. Cardenas felt surprised to see so many gray and white heads among the theater-goers. Selene is aging, she thought. And very few of our people are taking nanobugs or other therapies to stop it. Finally she saw Big George, like a fiery beacon bobbing head and shoulders above the others.
Once past the last row of seats, most of the crowd scattered to the concession stands spread among the plaza’s flowering shrubbery. A maintenance robot trundled slowly along the periphery of the crowd, patrolling for litter.
George was at the jam-packed bar. Cardenas hung back, waiting for him to get his drink and work his way out of the crowd. When he did, he had a plastic stein of beer decorated with Selene’s logo in one hand and a skinny, hollow-eyed redhead on his other arm. She was pretty, in a gaunt, needy way, Cardenas thought. Nice legs. The drink in her hand was much smaller than Ambrose’s.
Big George spotted Cardenas and, leaving his date standing by a flowering hibiscus bush, walked toward her.
“Dr. Cardenas,” he said, with a polite dip of his head. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got to get a message to Dan Randolph,” she said. “As quickly as possible.”
“No worries. Pop over t’ the office tomorrow morning. Or tonight, after th show, if you like.”
“Is there some way I could talk to Dan without coming to your offices? I think I’m being watched.”
George looked more puzzled than alarmed. “You could phone me, I suppose, and I’ll patch you through to the radio link.” He took a pull from his stein.
“Can we do it tonight?”
“Sure. Right now, if you like. I wouldn’t mind an excuse to leave this show. Pretty fookin’ dull, don’tcha think?”
“Not now,” she answered. ‘That would attract attention. After the show. I’ll drop in at Mend’s place and call your office from there.”
For the first time, George showed concern. “You’re really scared, are you?”
“I think Dan’s life is in danger.”
“You mean someone’s out to kill ‘im?”
“Humphries.”
George’s face hardened. “You certain of that?”
“I’m… pretty sure.”
“Sure enough to want to warn Dan. From a safe place, where the phone won’t be bugged.”
“Exactly.”
George took a big breath. “All right. Instead of all this pussyfootin’ around, you come with me after the show’s finished and I’ll put you in an Astro guest suite. That way I can protect you.”
Cardenas shook her head. “That’s kind of you, but I don’t think I’m in danger.”
“Then why th’ cloak and dagger stuff?”
“I don’t want Humphries to know that I’m warning Dan. If he knew, then maybe I would be in trouble.”
George thought that over for a few moments, a huge red-maned mountain of a man towering over her, scratching his head perplexedly.
“All right,” he said at last. “Back to Plan A, then. I’ll go to the office after this fookin’ show and you call me there. Okay?”
“Yes. Fine. Thank you.”
“Sure you don’t want some protection?”
She considered his offer for several heartbeats, then said, “Thanks, but I won’t need it. And I’ve got my work to consider. I can’t run the lab from an Astro guest suite.”
“Okay,” said George. “But if you change your mind, just holler.”
Martin Humphries was reclining in his favorite chair, watching a home video of his own performance, when the phone buzzed. Irked, he glanced at the console and saw that it was his emergency line. He snapped his fingers, and the wallscreen lit up to show the woman he*d sent to follow Cardenas. She was a nondescript clerk from Astro Corporation’s communications department who needed extra money to bring her younger sister up from the ravaged ruins of Moldavia.
“Well?” Humphries demanded.
“She talked with George Ambrose and then went back to the show.”
“You have video?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well let me see it,” he snapped.
The woman’s face was replaced by a slightly jittery video of Cardenas talking earnestly with Randolph’s body-guard, that big Australian.
“They went back to the show together?”
The woman’s face reappeared on the screen. “No, separately. He had another woman with him.”
Glancing at the digital clock on his desk, Humphries asked, “When does the show end?”
“I don’t know.”
Stupid cow, he fumed silently. Aloud, he commanded, “Stay with her. I’m going to send a couple of men to pick her up. Keep your phone on and they’ll home in on the signal. That way, even if they don’t get there before the show’s over they can find you—and her.”
“It is not allowed to keep the phone on during the performance,” the woman replied.
“I don’t care what’s allowed and what isn’t! Keep your phone on and stay with Dr. Cardenas or I’ll have you shipped back to Moldavia!”
Her eyes widened with sudden fear. “Yes, sir,” she said. Sullenly.
“How’s the leak?” Dan asked.
He’d been fidgeting around in the wardroom for hours, trying not to pop into the bridge and bother the pilots. But a leak in the superconductor’s coolant scared Dan. Without the superconductor they could be fried by the next solar storm.
So when Amanda left the bridge, Dan asked about the leak.
She looked surprised at his question. “Leak?”
“In the coolant line.”
“Oh, that. It’s nothing much. Pancho will go EVA after turnaround and patch it.”
“Just Pancho?” Dan asked. “By herself?”
“It’s only a tiny leak,” Amanda said lightly. “Pancho decided it won’t need both of us out there.”
Dan nodded and got up from his chair. “Think I’ll go aft and see what Fuchs is doing.” If I just sit here I’ll turn myself into a nervous wreck, he added silently.
Fuchs was back in the sensor bay, humming tunelessly to himself as he bent over a worktable strewn with parts from an infrared scanner.
“Did it break down?” Dan asked.
Fuchs looked up at him, a pleased smile on his broad face. “No, no,” he said. “I decided to upgrade its sensitivity so we could get better data at long range.”
“We’re going to turn around soon. You’ll have to get all these loose parts stowed away safely or they’ll slide off the table.”
“Oh, I should be finished by then.”
“Really?”
With a glance that was part surprise at having his word questioned, and part pride in his abilities, Fuchs said, “Of course.”
He bent over his work again, stubby thick fingers handling the delicate parts with the precision of a well-trained mechanic. Dan watched him for a while, then quietly left the man to himself. As he started back to his privacy cubicle, he saw Amanda heading along the narrow passage toward him.
“Going to help Pancho suit up?” he asked. “I can—”
“Oh, there’s plenty of time for that,” Amanda said brightly. “I thought I’d pop in on Lars for a few minutes and help him get prepared for turnaround.”
Dan felt his brows inch upward. “Something going on between you two?” he ask
ed.
She looked genuinely surprised. “Lars is a complete gentleman,” Amanda said with great dignity. “And even though you may not believe it, I know how to behave like a lady.”
She brushed past Dan, chin high, radiating disdain.
Dan grinned at her retreating back. Something’s going on, all right, even if Fuchs doesn’t know it yet.
TURNAROUND
“On my mark,” Pancho’s voice came through the intercom, “turnaround in thirty minutes. Mark.”
Dan sat up in his bunk. He had just drifted to sleep, it seemed, after staring at the compartment’s overhead for what had felt like hours.
We’re well inside the Belt, he thought. The ship’s working fine. We’re heading for the outer reaches to scout around for a good, solid M-type body.
And there’s a leak in the coolant that keeps the superconductor cooled down enough to maintain the magnetic field around us that protects us from the hard radiation of solar storms. Sounds like the house that Jack built, he said to himself, trying to shake the feeling of foreboding that plagued him.
He grabbed a fresh pair of coveralls and marched to the lav. I need a shower and a shave, he thought. And you need to get that leak fixed, a voice in his head reminded.
He wished it didn’t bother him so much. Pancho wasn’t worried about it; neither was Amanda.
Damned good-looking woman, Amanda, he thought. Even in loose-fitting coveralls she’s dynamite. Better make it a cold shower.
The only tricky part of the turnaround maneuver was that they had to shut down the main thrusters. Not the fusion reactor itself; the procedure was to kill the ship’s thrust during turnaround, and use the reactor’s exhaust gases to turn the ship by venting a fraction of the exhaust through maneuvering jets set into the sides of the propulsion module.
Dan headed up to the bridge after his shower. Both pilots were in their places. No music was playing.
“All systems ready for turnaround,” Amanda murmured.
“Check, all systems go,” Pancho replied.
Standing behind their chairs, Dan asked, “Where’s Fuchs?”
“Prob’ly still in the sensor bay,” Pancho said, “playin’ with his toys.”
Amanda frowned slightly as she touched the comm screen. “Turnaround in five minutes,” she announced.
Glancing over her shoulder, Pancho said, “Boss, you oughtta find a chair.”
He scowled at her. “I’ve been in micro-g before, kid.” Before you were born, he almost added.
He could see Pancho grinning in her reflection on the port in front of her. “Okay, you’re the boss. Footloops on the deck and handgrips on the overhead.”
“Aye-aye, skipper,” Dan said, grinning back at her.
“Thrust cutoff in two minutes,” Amanda called out.
“Two minutes. Check.”
When the main thrusters cut off, Dan felt completely at ease. The feeling of gravity dwindled away to nothing, and he floated off the deck slightly. Grabbing one of the handgrips, he hung there and watched the pilots working their touchscreens.
“How’s Fuchs doin’ back there?” Pancho asked.
Amanda tapped the central screen and it showed Fuchs strapped into the fold-up chair in the sensor bay, looking a little pasty-faced but otherwise okay.
“Maneuver thrust in two minutes,” Amanda said.
“Check,” Pancho replied.
Dan worked his feet into the loops on the deck without letting go of the overhead handgrips. The maneuvering jets fired and he felt as if somebody suddenly shoved him from one side. He remembered from childhood his first ride in a people-mover at some airport: he’d been standing facing the doors, and when the train lurched into movement he’d nearly toppled over sideways. Only the grownups crowded around him had prevented him from falling.
“Phew,” Pancho said, “this bird turns like a supertanker: slow and ugly.”
“You’re not flying a little flitter now,” Dan said.
“Turn rate is on the curve,” Amanda pointed out, tracing the curve on the touchscreen with a manicured fingertip. Her screen’s background showed the white cliffs of Dover.
“Uh-huh,” said Pancho. “Still feels like we’re pushin’ freight.”
Amanda said, “We are: all that deuterium and helium-three.”
The fuel weighs a lot, Dan realized. Funny. You think of hydrogen and helium as being light, almost weightless. But we’ve got tons of the stuff in our tanks. Dozens of tons.
There was nothing much to see through the port. No panoply of stars swinging past. No asteroids in sight. Nothing but emptiness.
“Where’s the Sun?” Dan heard himself ask.
Pancho chuckled. “It’s there, boss. Hasn’t gone away. We’re just angled up too much to see it through the windshield, that’s all.”
As if in confirmation, a stream of light glowed through the port.
“Sunrise in the swamp,” Pancho called out.
Dan felt another sideways surge of thrust, pushing from the opposite direction.
“TYirnaround maneuver complete,” said Amanda.
“Flow to main thrusters,” Pancho said, working the touchscreens.
“Main thrusters, confirmed.”
Weight returned to the bridge. Dan settled back onto the deck.
Amanda smiled happily. “On course and on velocity vector.”
“Hot spit!” Pancho exclaimed. “Now let’s see how that leakisdoin’.”
Kris Cardenas almost made it back to her own apartment before two young men in dark business suits caught up with her.
“Dr. Cardenas?”
She turned. The man who had called her name was taller than his partner, slim and Uthe, sallow complexion, his dark hair cropped into a buzz cut. The other was huskier, blond, pink-cheeked.
“Come with us, please,” said the dark one.
“Where? Why? Who are you?”
“Mr. Humphries wants to see you.”
“Now? At this hour? It’s—”
“Please,” said the blond, slipping a dead-black pistol from inside his jacket.
“It fires tranquilizing darts,” said the dark one. “But you wake up with a bitching headache. Don’t make us use it on you.”
Cardenas looked up and down the corridor. The only other person in sight was a mousy little woman who immediately turned away and started walking in the opposite direction.
“Now,” said the blond, pointing his pistol at her.
With a resigned droop of her shoulders, Cardenas nodded her surrender. The blond put his gun away and they started along the corridor toward the escalators.
“At least this one doesn’t have a snake,” the blond whispered hoarsely to his partner.
The other man did not laugh.
EVA
Pancho felt an old excitement bubbling up inside her as she wormed her arms through the spacesuit’s sleeves. After more than five days of being cooped up in the ship, she was going outside. It was like being a kid in school when the recess bell rang.
Standing by the inner airlock hatch where the spacesuits were stored, she popped her head up through her suit torso’s neck ring, grinning happily to herself. This is gonna be fun, she thought
Dan looked uptight, though, as he held her helmet in his arms and watched her pull on the gloves and seal them to the suit’s cuffs.
“Jealous?” she teased.
“Worried,” he replied. “I don’t like the idea of you going out alone.”
“Piece of cake, boss,” Pancho said.
“I ought to go with you. Or Amanda, maybe.”
With a shake of her head, Pancho countered, “Mandy’s gotta stay at the controls. Shouldn’t have both pilots out at the same time, if you can help it.”
“Then I’ll suit up—”
“Whoa! I’ve seen your medical record, boss. No outside work for you.”
“The safety regs say EVAs should be performed by two astronauts—”
“Whenever possible,” Panc
ho finished for him. “And since when did you start quotin’ IAA regulations?”
“Safety is important,” Dan said.
Inside the spacesuit, with its hard-shell torso and servomotor-amplified gloves, Pancho felt like some superhero out of a kids’ video confronting a mere mortal.
“I’ll be fine,” she said as she took the helmet from Dan’s hands. “Nothin’ to worry about.”
“But if you run into trouble…”
“Tell you what, boss. You suit up and hang out here at the airlock. If I run into trouble you can come on out and save my butt. How’s that?”
He brightened. “Okay. Good idea.”
They called Amanda down from the bridge as Dan struggled into the lower half of his suit and tugged on the boots. By the time he was completely suited up, backpack and all, except for the helmet, Pancho was feeling antsy.
“Okay,” she said as she pulled the bubble-helmet over her head and sealed it to the neck ring. “I’m ready to go outside.”
Amanda hurried back to the bridge while Dan stood there grinning lopsidedly at her, his head sticking out of the hard suit like some kid posing for a photograph from behind a cardboard cutout of an astronaut.
Pancho opened the inner hatch of the airlock and stepped through. The airlock was roomier than most, big enough to take two spacesuited people at a time. Through her helmet she heard the pump start to clatter, and saw the telltale on the control panel switch from green to amber. The sound dwindled to nothing more than a slight vibration she felt through her boots as the air was pumped out of the chamber. The light flicked to red.
“Ready to open outer hatch,” she said, unconsciously lapsing into the clipped argot of flight controllers and pilots.
Amanda’s voice came through the tiny speaker set into her neck ring, “Open outer hatch.”
The hatch slid up and Pancho stared out at an infinite black emptiness. Hie helmet’s glassteel was heavily tinted, but within a few seconds her eyes adjusted and she could see dozens of stars, then hundreds, thousands of them staring solemnly at her, spangling the heavens with their glory. Off to her left the bright haze of the zodiacal light stretched like a thin arm across the sky.
