On a separate screen next to the view from space there was a cutaway display of the factory asteroid. It looked just like the one I'd seen on my pad, of course, but I studied this much larger version to see if anything had been left out or misrepresented due to scaling of the images.
Apparently not. The thin outer shell, only twenty meters thick and created by chambering, appeared on the wall about as it had on my pad. The shell was supported uniformly away from the interior sphere by supports that seemed far too thin until I realized how many supports there were.
The shell's stated purpose was to regulate temperature by either blending or dispelling extremes of heat and cold, but I suspected that it served a more psychological purpose, as well.
Someone nearby validated that thought by remarking that it would take a hell of a meteorite to punch through sixty feet of iron. Someone else said that it should stop most forms of radiation, too. I didn't know about that, but I did know that cosmic radiation had been detected in mines, miles deep inside the Earth, so I didn't intend to put a lot of faith in the shell as a radiation deterrent.
The area between the shell and the interior surface of the sphere was shown populated with flitters. I presumed this to be the staging area for finished goods.
The next layer of chambering provided storage space around the entire sphere, and the next few layers deeper beyond that one housed both living and working areas for the factory, including what appeared to be farms and miniature forests that took up a whole layer by themselves.
An animated display depicted the rest of the sphere being hollowed out in stages to provide materials for flitter production, then being refilled with surrounding debris.
On the other side of the display, we were nearing the artificial asteroid. What had been a black dot on the surface quickly became a hemispherical depression as we got closer. Our transport vessel carefully fitted itself into that depression, then the picture changed to an interior view. We were docked.
A tall blonde woman emerged from a doorway in the picture wall as the picture disappeared. Even at a distance of nearly sixty feet, I could tell she was tall because her head wasn't much less than a foot from the top of the doorway. She clapped her hands softly a few times and asked for quiet in a computer-enhanced voice that sounded vaguely familiar. Of course, all Amarans sounded vaguely familiar to me due to their accents, and a hell of a lot of them even looked pretty much alike to me.
"Welcome. Please remain in this area and wait for your guides. Each of you will be given a more thorough indoctrination to the facility and be issued a number of items before being shown to your quarters. Your guides will be able to answer your questions and help you find your way. Please step over here when your name is called."
She then stepped aside and through the same door came perhaps thirty people, who lined themselves up on each side of her. As each one stepped forward, she called the names of those who were assigned to that guide. The guide joined those people, usually a group of three or less, and led them to one side of the gathering.
As the list of uncalled names dwindled, I wondered why our names hadn't been called pretty much right up front. We were, after all, supposed to be one brand-new 3rd World Products honcho and his secretary.
"Leslie."
"Yes, Ed?"
"How come we weren't first on the list?"
She considered the question for a moment, then shrugged and smiled.
"Maybe because your name starts with an ‘H’ and mine starts with ‘P'?"
"You know what I mean, Leslie. Rank and privilege, and all that."
"Maybe rank and privilege aren't handled the same way here, Ed. Maybe they're a bunch of socialists, or something."
"Cute. Give it some thought. Kemor, when do we get a guide?"
"The woman reading the assignments is your guide, Ed."
"Ah. Half the alphabet to go yet, then. Thanks, Kemor."
I took another look at the woman reading the names and muttered, “Oh, damn."
Leslie asked, “What's the matter, Ed?"
"Maybe nothing, I hope. I know her, Leslie. Her name's Ellen."
Chapter Twenty
Leslie's gaze grew sharp. “You don't sound happy to see her, Ed. Why?"
"Personal reasons, Leslie."
"Oh, hell. You're not telling me you had an affair with her? When? How? You've never been up here before, right?"
"Personal reasons, Leslie. 'Personal' means private, okay?"
Leslie got up and came to stand over me.
"Does it also mean that she's going to hate us, Ed? Just how bad are things?"
"I don't know, yet. If she hates me, we'll get someone else."
Leslie stared at me for a moment, then muttered, “Jesus. There's never a dull damned moment with you, is there?"
She went back to her seat and flopped into it, then made a production of ignoring me for the rest of the roll call.
I watched Ellen for a while. She glanced my direction once in particular, but otherwise ignored me as she organized guides and guidees. If there was a whit of difference between the Ellen who'd stayed at my house a year and a half before and the Ellen reading the names, I couldn't see it, but since I was sixty feet away from her, I decided I'd reserve that observation for later.
Once everyone except us had been matched up, she said, “Your biggest danger here is getting lost. This place is bigger than it looks from space. Please have a good stay with us and do listen to your guides."
With that, the guides took their charges out of the passenger module through a number of doorways in the display wall. Ellen watched them leave until Leslie and I were the only other people in the big room, then she started walking toward us.
Her outfit was a teal jacket and mid-thigh skirt with a blouse that was a paler version of the same color. Same great legs. Same beautiful face. There was a movement to my left; Leslie had glanced at me, then turned to face front when I looked at her. She wasn't happy with this turn of events.
The only thing about Ellen that seemed to have changed was her hair; it had been longer when I'd known her before. Now it was styled in one of those cuts that looked like the ducktails from the fifties. About the only difference was the lack of hair goo to hold the style in place.
As she approached, Leslie and I got to our feet and gathered our things. Leslie glanced sharply at me once, but said nothing as she moved to stand beside me. Ellen marched up to us and stood looking at me for a moment before extending a hand.
"Hello, Ed. Long time."
"Too long,” I said, taking her hand. “You're as lovely as ever, Ellen. Maybe more so."
She nodded thoughtfully and turned to Leslie. I noted that Leslie had to look upward a little to make eye contact with Ellen and checked Ellen for heels. Nope. She was just plain tall, compared to Leslie. She extended her hand to Leslie.
"And you're Leslie Pratt? Ellen Wilson. Nice to meet you. It says here that you're working with Ed for a few months. Should I congratulate or commiserate?"
Leslie grinned and said, “I'll let you know as soon as I find out. It's nice to meet you, too. Ed's told me nothing about you."
Ellen laughed and said, “I'm not surprised. Is this all your stuff? Good. I'll get you settled, then show you around a bit."
As we set forth, I asked, “Wilson? That sounds like a married name, Ellen."
She nodded. “Robert is one of the senior accountants. He's actually more management than accounting, though."
"I'll probably be meeting him soon, then. One of the first things I'll be doing is talking to department heads."
"What, exactly, will you be doing here, Ed?"
I gave her a grin. “Can't say. I'm still a spook, Ellen. The paycheck comes from a different source, but the job's the same as always. They'll tell me what to look for and I'll report my findings."
Leslie startled and stared at me, but held her tongue.
"What?” I asked her. “Ellen knows me and my history, Leslie. She's not gonna
believe that I'm suddenly qualified for upper management in a place like this. I'm on 3rd's payroll now. The job lasts as long as the problem, I'm on my own with it, and I've thought that the cover story sucked since I first heard it."
Ellen grinned and placed a hand on Leslie's shoulder.
"He's right. I certainly didn't believe it and neither would anyone else who knows him. What about you, Leslie? You're listed as a teacher, but you're with Ed."
Leslie grinned and said, “Indictment by association, huh? This job's just filler material, Ellen. It got me into the company and got me up here to the factory, but I'm only going to be a 'secretary' for a few months, thank God. When my teaching position opens, Ed can take his own dictation."
I asked, “Ellen, aren't you an engineer? When did you become an official greeter?"
"A number of us have volunteered to spend some time per month as guides. When I heard that you'd be on this transport, I switched with someone else for the day."
"Uh, huh. And how did you happen to hear that I'd be on it?"
She looked sharply at me. “I watch the manifests for friends and family, Ed. Robert's parents visited two months ago. His sister was here last month. Linda drops in on us now and then, and some of the people from..."
I raised my hands and said, “Okay, ma'am. Just asking. Hey! Since I'm not family, I must be a friend, right? You only mentioned two options."
"Actually, you may be right enough. If you hadn't dumped me, I wouldn't have met Robert during the week he was training on the ship."
Leslie looked around Ellen at me, then quickly scanned Ellen from head to toe.
She let her incredulousness show and be heard. “He dumped you?"
I sighed and said, “Yeah. Seems kind of stupid of me, doesn't it? But I felt I had good reasons. Ellen may even agree with me about that now. Ellen?"
"I do, but I didn't for a long time. It isn't a subject I want to talk about."
Her tone was one of finality on the matter.
Leslie changed the subject. “So, how long have you been married, Ellen?"
"A little more than a year. Thirteen months."
"Have you made any plans for a family yet?"
"I have a little girl, Leslie. She was a year old last week. Would you like to meet her later?” With a glance at me, she said, “Don't worry, Ed. I won't ask you that."
Leslie's eyes widened a touch at Ellen's aside to me. She glanced at me too, but she said, “Yes. I'd love to meet her, Ellen."
I saw no reason to comment, so I didn't. The ladies chatted about living on the station—Ellen called it that—and neither of them seemed to remember I was with them until we reached my quarters.
Ellen said, “You'll be staying here, Ed. Let me mark it on your pad for you."
She took my pad, called up the station diagram, and entered the number 1134, then showed me how the little red dot would show in all the station diagrams from any angle. She then took Leslie's pad and did the same for her.
"Um, Ellen,” said Leslie, “They didn't put us in the same room, did they?"
Ellen grinned and said, “No, yours is the next door. 1135.” She looked at me and added, “And there's no connecting door, Ed. Sorry."
I was already reaching for the door panel. I glanced wryly at Ellen and pressed the 'enter' pad to get a look at my room. The room beyond the door was easily twenty feet on a side. My luggage had been placed neatly by the bed.
At one end of the apartment was a kitchenette and a bathroom, separated by an inch-thick wall of the same metal which composed the rest of the chambered layer. The furniture—a desk, table, and some chairs—appeared to be made of textured, anodized aluminum.
"Nice,” I said, scuffing the toe of my boot on the short-nap carpeting.
"Look in the fridge,” said Ellen.
I walked over to the fridge and opened it to see a six-pack of Ice House beer and a two-liter bottle of Dr. Pepper on the bottom shelf. Two packs of olive loaf lunchmeat, a loaf of rye bread, and a bottle of mustard sat on the middle shelf.
"I hope you still like this stuff,” said Ellen. “It was Robert's idea to pre-stock your room. Look in the cabinet over the sink."
I opened the cabinet. There were half a dozen cans each of vegetable beef and chicken noodle soup, and a jar of instant coffee.
"Thanks, Ellen. Thanks to Robert, too. Yeah, I still like this stuff. I pretty much live on it, as always. I guess Robert knows about me, then?"
"Oh, he knows, Ed. He was my crying towel before he became my husband."
"Ellen, I'm sorry. I have been since that day, but I felt..."
"I know what you felt. Robert told me. Gary told me, too. Even Elkor told me, when I wouldn't listen to anyone else, then Stephie told me."
"Stephie? When..? Never mind. Just know that I hope you're happy with Robert and the way things have turned out for you."
"I'm very happy. Things turned out well."
I nodded and asked, “Where do we go from here, ma'am?"
"What do you want to see first?"
"Nothing in particular. Everything in general."
"How about you, Leslie?"
"I need some clothes,” she said. “I traveled light. One bag. Ed did all his shopping just before we left, so he probably won't want to come with us."
"Yes, I do. If I stay here, I'll doze off and wake up sometime before midnight, and then I'll be up all night and be dragging ass tomorrow. If I'm gonna drag ass, I'd rather do it this evening. Show Leslie her room while I hit the bathroom and I'll see you in a few minutes, ladies."
They agreed with mild surprise, then headed down the corridor. I took a moment to enter a personal locking code for my door. It wouldn't mean spit to station authorities or in an emergency, of course, but it would have seemed odd not to have set some kind of locking code.
As I headed to take a leak, I said, “Computer."
A soft, but genderless voice filled the room. “Yes, sir."
"Identify me."
"Manifest listing: Ed Howdershelt. Current occupant of apartment 1134, level seven. In case of emergency, notify..."
"Stop. What is my official position here?"
"I am not at liberty to divulge that information, sir."
"Think about that. I'm supposed to have rank enough to pull anyone's file, including my own. Straighten this out and let me know when you've fixed it or if you can't fix it. What's your name, computer?"
"I have no official name or nickname, sir."
I put some water in the coffee pot and turned it on to let it cycle, then opened the cabinet to retrieve the jar of instant to set next to the pot. I didn't particularly want any coffee at that moment, but I like having hot water available twenty-four hours.
"Computer, people often name their machines. Some of the people here have named you. By what names do which people call you, computer, and how often? Put that information into my pad and I'll go over it later. Now, of those names, is there one that you prefer? If so, I'll address you by that name instead of just calling you 'computer'. Is that okay with you?"
"I have no preference of names, sir."
I dug my plastic thermos-mug out of my carry-on bag and rinsed it.
"Well, I do. My name is Ed, and I'd prefer that to an impersonal 'sir'."
"Yes, Ed."
"Thank you. I'll call you back shortly. Do not monitor me or my secretary continuously unless we are in public. We will call you if we need anything. Agreed?"
"Yes, Ed."
"Kemor? Are you still there?"
"Yes, Ed, but we will be leaving within two hours."
"Please tell Elkor to contact me using the most secure means that allows a similar reply, will you? I just want to open a super-secure link to him in case I need it later."
"Yes, Ed."
"Thanks. Now, can you monitor the factory computer's communications for the next couple of hours and feed a contact report to my pad before you leave? All I need is who accessed the computer by voice and when and for
how long. I don't need any of the conversations."
"Yes, Ed. That should be possible while I'm here. May I ask why?"
"I'm looking for incongruities in usage, Kemor. Can you also straighten out the station computer concerning my rank and authority while I'm here?"
"I can instruct the station computer according to my own knowledge, Ed. I have no authority over that computer."
"Good enough, Kemor. Give it a try, please. Thanks again."
"You're welcome, Ed."
"Computer,” I said. “Have you come up with a name you like yet?"
"No, Ed."
"Did you misunderstand my request?"
"No, Ed."
"Then you will pick a name that has been issued to you by someone with whom you have some kind of rapport. That is the kind of name I would like to use, since it most closely approximates one that you might possibly appreciate if you could."
"Yes, Ed. That name is 'Mister Watson' or 'Watson'."
"As in Sherlock Holmes stories? You were named after that Watson?"
"Yes, Ed. Indirectly."
"By whom, Watson? Who gave you that name?"
"I'm not at liberty..."
"Yeah, yeah. I know. Why can't you fix that little problem, Watson?"
"I am unable to discover the cause of the error. I am also unable to discover the error, itself, but both you and Kemor assure me that such an error does exist, so I am continuing my diagnostic effort."
"Good. You do that. Send a copy of what Kemor told you to my pad, too, just in case you lose your own copy, Watson."
"Yes, Ed, but I cannot lose data."
"Did you think none of your data was in error until I told you about it?"
"No, Ed."
"Then just do what I tell you and put a copy in my pad so I can show it to you later if I have to jog your memory about it."
"Yes, Ed."
I checked my pad. Kemor's comments were there, as were the computer contact logs. I locked several files to prevent erasure and took the primary battery out of the pad. The files would be stored in memory that used the backup battery, a tiny thing capable of preserving data only a few months and incapable of operating the pad.
Book 2: 3rd World Products, Inc. Page 20
