Second in size only to Jupiter, bigger than a thousand Earths butlight enough to float in water, home of cushing gravity and delicate,
seemingly impossible rings, it dazzles and attracts us: Saturn

 Earth groans under the rule of fundamentalist political regimes.
Crisis after crisis has given authoritarians the upper hand. Freedomand opportunity exist in space, for those with the nerve and skill torun the risks.

 Now the governments of Earth are encouraging many of their mostincorrigible dissidents to join a great ark on a one-way expedition,
twice Jupiter's distance from the Sun, to Saturn, the ringed planetthat baffled Galileo and has fascinated astronomers ever since.

 But humans will be human, on Earth or in the heavens--so amid theidealism permeating Space Habitat Goddard are many individuals withlong-term schemes, each awaiting the right moment. And hidden fromthem is the greatest secret of all, the real purpose of thisexpedition, known to only a few....

 BEN BOVA

 A six-time winner of the Hugo Award, a former editor of Analog andformer fiction editor of Omni, and a past president of the NationalSpace Society and the Science Fiction Writers of America, Ben Bova isthe author of more than a hundred works of science fact and fiction. 
He lives in Florida. Visit his Web site: www.benbova.net.

 SATURN

 BEN BOVA

 TOR

 A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK NEW YORK

 This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayedin this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

 SATURN

 Copyright © 2003 by Ben Bova All rights reserved, including theright to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Edited by Patrick Nielsen Hayden A Tor Book Published by TomDoherty Associates, LLC

175 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10010

www.tor.com Tor is a registered trademark of Tom DohertyAssociates, LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Bova, Ben, 1932


Saturn / Ben Bova.--1st ed. p. cm.

"A Tom Doherty Associates book." ISBN 0-312-87218-6 1. Saturn(Planet)--Fiction. I. Title PS3552.O84S28 2003 813'.54-dc21

2003040216

 First Edition: June 2003

 Printed in the United States of America 0987654321 


 Once more to dearest Barbara, and to Dr. Jerry Poumelle, acolleague and friend who originated the term "shepherd satellites"
but never received the credit for it that he deserves.

 There are some questions in Astronomy to which we are attracted ...
on account of their peculiarity ... [rather] than from any directadvantage which their solution would afford to mankind.... I am notaware that any practical use has been made of Saturn's Rings.... Butwhen we contemplate the Rings from a purely scientific point of view,
they become the most remarkable bodies in the heavens.... When wehave actually seen that great arch swing over the equator of theplanet without any visible connection, we cannot bring our minds torest.

 --James Clerk Maxwell.

 As the new century begins ... we may be ready to settle down beforewe wreck the planet. It is time to sort out Earth and calculate whatit will take to provide a satisfying and sustainable life foreveryone into the indefinite future.... For every person in the worldto reach present U.S. levels of consumption would require [theresources of] four more planet Earths.

--Edward O. Wilson.

 BOOK I

 For the same reason I have resolved not to put anything aroundSaturn except what I have already observed and revealed--that is, twosmall stars which touch it, one to the east and one to the west, inwhich no alteration has ever yet been seen to take place and in whichnone is to be expected in the future, barring some very strange eventremote from every other motion known to or even imagined by us. Butas to the supposition ... that Saturn is sometimes oblong andsometimes accompanied by two stars on its flanks, Your Excellency mayrest assured that this results either from the imperfection of thetelescope or the eye of the observer.... I, who have observed it athousand times at different periods with an excellent instrument, canassure you that no change whatever is to be seen in it. And reason,
based upon our experiences of all other stellar motions, renders uscertain that none will ever be seen, for if these stars had anymotions similar to those of other stars, they would long since havebeen separated from or conjoined with the body of Saturn, even ifthat movement were a thousand times slower than that of any otherstar which goes wandering through the heavens.

 Galileo Galilei.

 Letters on Sunspots.

4 May 1612

 SELENE: ASTRO CORPORATION HEADQUARTERS

 Pancho Lane frowned at her sister. "His name isn't even Malcolm 


Eberly. He changed it."

Susan smiled knowingly.

"Oh, what diff's that make?"

"He was born Max Erlenmeyer, in Omaha, Nebraska," Pancho saidsternly. "He was arrested in Linz, Austria, for fraud in 'eightyfour, 
tried to flee the country and--"

"I don't care about that! It's ancient! He's changed. He's not thesame man he was then."

 "You're not going."

"Yes I am," Susan insisted, the beginnings of a frown of her owncreasing her brow. "I'm going and you can't stop me!"

"I'm your legal guardian, Susie."

"Poosh! What's that got to do with spit? I'm almost fifty yearsold, f'real."

Susan Lane did not look much more than twenty. She had died whenshe'd been a teenager, killed by a lethal injection that Panchoherself had shot into her emaciated arm. Once clinically dead she hadbeen frozen in liquid nitrogen to await the day when medical sciencecould cure the carcinoma that was raging through her young body.
Pancho had brought her cryonic sarcophagus to the Moon when she beganworking as an astronaut for Astro Manufacturing Corporation.
Eventually Pancho became a member of Astro's board of directors, andfinally its chairman. Still Susan waited, entombed in her bath ofliquid nitrogen, waiting until Pancho was certain that she could bereborn to a new life.

 It took more than twenty years. And once Susan was revived andcured of the cancer that had been killing her, her mind was almost atotal blank. Pancho had expected that; cryonics reborns usually lostmost of the neural connections in the cerebral cortex. Even Saito 
Yamagata, the powerful founder of Yamagata Corporation, had come outof his cryonic sleep with a mind as blank as a newborn baby's.

So Pancho fed and bathed and toilet trained her sister, an infantin a teenager's body. Taught her to walk, to speak again. And broughtthe best neurophysiologists to Selene to treat her sister's brainwith injections of memory enzymes and RNA. She even considerednanotherapy but decided against it; nanotechnology was allowed inSelene, but only under stringent controls, and the experts admittedthat they didn't think nanomachines could help Susan to recover herlost memories.

 Those years were difficult, but gradually a young adult emerged, awoman who looked like the Susie that Pancho remembered, but whosepersonality, whose attitudes, whose mind were disturbingly different.
Susan remembered nothing of her earlier life, but thanks to theneuroboosters she had received her memory now was almost eidetic: ifshe saw or heard something once, she never forgot it. She couldrecall details with a precision that made Pancho's head swim.

Now the sisters sat glaring at each other: Pancho on the plushburgundy pseudoleather couch in the corner of her sumptuous office,
Susan sitting tensely on the edge of the low slingchair on the otherside of the curving lunar glass coffee table, her elbows on herknees.

 They looked enough alike to be immediately recognized as sisters.
Both were tall and rangy, long lean legs and arms, slim athleticbodies. Pancho's skin was little darker than a well-tanned 
Caucasian's; Susan's a shade richer. Pancho kept her hair trimmeddown to a skullcap of tightly-curled fuzz that was flecked with spotsof fashionable gray. Susan had taken treatments to make her dark-
brown hair long and luxurious; she wore it in the latest pageboyfashion, spilling down to her shoulders. Her clothing was latest mod,
too: a floor-length faux silk gown with weights in its hem to keepthe skirt hanging right in the low lunar gravity. Pancho was in a no-
nonsense business suit of powder gray: a tailored cardigan jacket andflared slacks over her comfortable lunar softboots. She wore sensible 
accents of jewelry at her earlobes and wrists. Susan was unadorned, 


except for the decal across her forehead: a miniature of Saturn, theringed planet.

Susan broke the lengthening silence. "Panch, you can't stop me. I'mgoing."

"But... all the way out to Saturn? With a flock of politicalexiles?"

 "They're not exiles!"

"C'm on, Soose, half the governments back Earthside are cleaningout their detention camps."

Susan's back stiffened. "Those fundamentalist regimes you're alwayscomplaining about are encouraging their nonbelievers and dissidentsto sign on for the Saturn expedition. Encouraging, not deporting."

"They're getting rid of their troublemakers," Pancho said.

"Not troublemakers! Free thinkers. Idealists. Men and women who're 
ticked with the way things are on Earth and willing to warp off, zipout, and start new lives."

"Misfits and malcontents," Pancho muttered. "Square pegs in roundholes."

 "The habitat will be populated by the best and brightest people ofEarth," Susan retorted.

"Yeah, you wish."

"I know. And I'm going to be one of them."

"Cripes almighty, Soose, Saturn's ten times farther from the Sunthan we are."

 "What of it?" Susan said, with that irritating smile again. "Youwere the first to go as far as the Belt, weren't you?"

"Yeah, but-"

"You went out to the Jupiter station, di'n't you?"

Pancho could do nothing but nod.

"So I'm going out to Saturn. I won't be alone. There'll be tenthousand of us, f'real! That is, if Malcolm can weed out the realtroublemakers and sign up good workers. I'm helping him do theinterviews."

 "Make sure that's all you're helping him with," Pancho groused.

Susan's smile turned slightly wicked. "He's been a perfectgentleman, dammit."

"Blister my butt on a goddam' Harley," Pancho grumbled. And shethought, Damned near thirty years I've been working my way up thecorporation but ten minutes with Susie and she's got me talkin' WestTexas again.

"It's a great thing, Panch," said Susan, earnest now. "It's amission, really. We're going out on a five-year mission to study theSaturn system. Scientists, engineers, farmers, a whole self-
sustaining community!"

Pancho saw that her sister was genuinely excited, like a kid on herway to a thrill park. Damn! she said to herself. Susie's got the bodyof an adult but the mind of a teenager. There'll be nothing but grieffor her out there, without me to protect her.

"Say it clicks, Panch," Susan asked softly, through lowered lashes.
"Tell me you're not ticked at me."

"I'm not sore," Pancho said truthfully. "I'm worried, though.
You'll be all alone out there."

 "With ten thousand others!"

 "Without your big sister."

Susan said nothing for a heartbeat, then she reached across thecoffee table and grasped Pancho's hand. "But Panch, don't you see?
That's why I'm doing it! That's why I've got to do it! I've got to goout on my own. I can't live like some little kid with you doingeverything for me! I've got to be free!"

Sagging back into the softly yielding sofa, Pancho murmured, "Yeah,
I suppose you do. I guess I knew it all along. It's just that... Iworry about you, Susie."

"I'll be fine, Panch. You'll see!"

"I sure hope so." 


 Elated, Susan hopped to her feet and headed for the door. "You'llsee," she repeated. "It's gonna be great! Cosmic!"

Pancho sighed and got to her feet.

"Oh, by the way," Susan called over her shoulder as she opened theoffice door, "I'm changing my name. I'm not gonna be called Susananymore. From now on, my name is Holly."

And she ducked through the door before Pancho could say a wordmore.

 "Holly," Pancho muttered to the closed door. Where in the everlovin' 
blue-eyed world did she get that from? she wondered. Why's shewant to change her name?

Shaking her head, Pancho told the phone to connect with hersecurity chief. When his handsome, square-jawed face took shape inthe air above her desk, she said:

"Wendell, I need somebody to ride that goddamned habitat out toSaturn and keep tabs on my sister, without her knowin' it."

"Right away," the security chief answered. He looked away for amoment, then said, "Um, about tonight, I--"

"Never mind about tonight," Pancho snapped. "You just get somebodyonto that habitat. Somebody good! Get on it right now."

"Yes, ma'am!" said Pancho's security chief.

 LUNAR ORBIT: HABITAT GODDARD

 Malcolm Eberly tried to hide the panic that was still frothing likea storm-tossed sea inside him. Along with the fifteen otherdepartment leaders, he stood perfectly still at the main entrance tothe habitat.

 The ride up from Earth had been an agony for him. From the instantthe Clippership had gone into Earth orbit and the feeling of gravityhad dwindled to zero, Eberly had fought a death struggle against theterror of weightlessness. Strapped into his well-cushioned seat, hehad exerted every effort of his willpower to fight back the horribleurge to vomit. I will not give in to this, he told himself throughgritted teeth. Pale and soaked with cold sweat, he resolved that hewould not make a fool of himself in front of the others.

 Getting out of his seat once the Clippership had made rendezvouswith the transfer rocket was sheer torture. Eberly kept his headrigidly unmoving, his fists clenched, his eyes squeezed down toslits. To the cheerful commands of the flight attendants, he followedthe bobbing gray coveralls of the woman ahead of him and made his wayalong the aisle hand over hand from one seat back to the next untilhe glided through the hatch into the transfer vehicle, still in zerogravity, gagging as his insides floated up into his throat.

No one else seemed to be as ill as he. The rest of them--fifteen 
other men and women, all department leaders as he was--were chattingand laughing, even experimenting with allowing themselves to float upoff the Velcro carpeting of the passenger compartment. The sight ofit made Eberly's stomach turn inside out.

Still he held back the bile that was burning his throat. I will notgive in to this, he told himself over and over. I will prevail. A mancan accomplish anything he sets his mind to if he has the strengthand the will.

 Strapped down again in a seat inside the transfer rocket, he staredrigidly ahead as the ship lit off its engines to start its flight tolunar orbit. The thrust was gentle, but at least it provided somefeeling of weight. Only for a few seconds, though. The rocket enginescut off and he felt again as if he were falling, endlessly falling.
Everyone else was chattering away, several of them boasting about howmany times they had been in space.

Of course! Eberly realized. They've all done this before. They've 


experienced this wretchedness before and now it doesn't bother them.
They're all from wealthy families, rich, spoiled children who'venever had a care in their lives. I'm the only one here who's neverbeen off the Earth before, the only one who's had to fight and clawfor a living, the only one who's known hunger and sickness and fear.

I've got to make good here. I've got to! Otherwise they'll send meback. I'll die in a filthy prison cell.

Through sheer mental exertion Eberly endured the hours ofweightlessness. When the woman in the seat next to him tried toengage him in conversation he replied tersely to her inane remarks,
desperately fighting to keep her from seeing how sick he was. Heforced a smile, hoping that she would not notice the cold sweatbeading his upper lip. He could feel it soaking the cheap, thin shirthe wore. After a while she stopped her chattering and turned herattention to the display screen built into the seat backs.

Eberly concentrated on the images, too. The screen showed thehabitat, an ungainly cylinder hanging in the emptiness of space likea length of sewer pipe left behind by a vanished construction crew.
As they approached it, though, the habitat grew bigger and bigger.
Eberly could see that it was rotating slowly; he knew that the spincreated a feeling of gravity inside the cylinder. Numbers ran throughhis mind: The habitat was twenty kilometers in length, fourkilometers across. It rotated every forty-five seconds, whichproduced a centrifugal force equivalent to normal Earth gravity.

In his growing excitement he almost forgot the unease of hisstomach. Now he could see the long windows running the length of thegigantic cylinder. And the Moon came into view, shining brightly. Butseen this close, the Moon was ugly, scarred and pitted with countlesscraters. One of the biggest of them, Eberly knew, housed the city-
state of Selene.

 Swiftly the habitat grew to blot out everything else. For a momentEberly feared they would crash into it, even though his rational mindtold him that the ship's pilots had their flight under precisecontrol. He could see the solar mirrors hugging the cylinder'scurving sides. And bulbs and knobs dotting the habitat's skin, likebumps on a cucumber. Some of them were observation blisters, he knew.
Others were docking ports, thruster pods, airlocks.

"This is your captain speaking," said a woman's voice from thespeakers set above each display screen. "We have gone into arendezvous orbit around the habitat. In three minutes we will be 
docking. You'll feel a bump or two: nothing to be alarmed about."

The thump jarred all the passengers. Eberly gripped his seat armstightly and waited for more. But nothing else happened. Except-


His innards had settled down! He no longer felt sick. Gravity hadreturned and he felt normal again. No, better than normal. He turnedto the woman sitting beside him and studied her face briefly. It wasa round, almost chubby face with large dark almond eyes and curlyblack hair. Her skin was smooth, young, but swarthy. Eberly judgedshe was of Mediterranean descent, Greek or Spanish or perhapsItalian. He smiled broadly at her.

"Here we've been sitting next to each other for more than six hoursand I haven't even told you my name. I'm Malcolm Eberly."

She smiled back. "Yes, I can see." Tapping the name badge pinned toher blouse, she said, "I'm Andrea Maronella. I'm with the agrotechteam."

 A farmer, Eberly thought. A stupid, grubbing farmer. But he smiledstill wider and replied, "I'm in charge of the human resourcesdepartment."

"How nice."

 Before he could say more, the flight attendant asked them all toget up and head for the hatch. Eberly unstrapped and got to his feet,
happy to feel solid weight again, eager to get his first glimpse ofthe habitat. The inner terror he had fought against dwindled almostto nothing. I won! he exulted to himself. I faced the terror and I 


beat it.

 He politely allowed Maronella to slide out into the aisle ahead ofhim and then followed her to the hatch. The sixteen men and women 
filed through the hatch, into an austere metal-walled chamber. Anolder man stood by the inner hatch, tall and heavyset; his thick headof hair was iron gray and he had a bushy gray moustache. His facelooked rugged, weather-beaten, the corners of his eyes creased bylong years of squinting in the open sun. He wore a comfortable suedepullover and rumpled tan jeans. Two younger men stood slightly behindhim, clad in coveralls; obviously underlings of some sort.

"Welcome to habitat Goddard," he said, with a warm smile. "I'mProfessor James Wilmot. Most of you have already met me, and forthose of you who haven't, I look forward to meeting you anddiscussing our future. But for now, let's take a look at the worldwe'll be inhabiting for at least the next five years."

With that, one of the young men behind him tapped the keyboard onthe wall beside the hatch, and the massive steel door swung slowlyinward. Eberly felt a puff of warm air touch his face, like the lighttouch of his mother's faintly remembered caress.

The group of sixteen department leaders started through the hatch.
This is it, Eberly thought, feeling a new dread rising inside hisguts. There's no turning back now. This is the new world they want meto live in. This huge cylinder, this machine. I'm being exiled. Allthe way out to Saturn, that's where they're sending me. As far awayas they can. I'll never see Earth again.

He was almost the last one in line; he heard the others oohing andaahing by the time he got to the open hatch and stepped through. Thenhe saw why.

Stretching out in all directions around him was a green landscape,
shining in warm sunlight. Gently rolling grassy hills, clumps oftrees, little meandering streams spread out into the hazy distance.
The group was standing on an elevated knoll, with a clear view of thehabitat's broad interior. Bushes thick with vivid red hibiscus and 
pale lavender oleanders lined both sides of a curving path that leddown to a group of low buildings, white and gleaming in the sunlightthat streamed in through the long windows. A Mediterranean village,
Eberly thought, set on the gentle slope of a grassy hill, overlookinga shimmering blue lake.

This is some travel brochure vision of what a perfect Mediterraneancountryside would look like. Far in the distance he made out whatlooked like farmlands, square little fields that appeared to berecently plowed, and more clusters of whitewashed buildings. Therewas no horizon. Instead, the land simply curved up and up, hills andgrass and trees and more little villages with their paved roads andsparkling streams, up and up on both sides until he was craning hisneck looking straight overhead at still more of the carefully,
lovingly landscaped greenery.

"It's breathtaking," Maronella whispered.

"Awesome," said one of the others.

Eberly thought, A virgin world, untouched by war or famine orhatred. Untouched by human emotions of any kind. Waiting to beshaped, controlled. Maybe it won't be so bad here after all.

"This must have cost a bloody fortune," a young man said, in astrong, matter-of-fact voice. "How could the consortium afford it?"

Professor Wilmot smiled and touched his moustache with a fingertip.
"We got it in a bankruptcy sale, actually. The previous owners wentbroke trying to turn this into a retirement center."

"Who retires nowadays?"

"That's why they went bankrupt," Wilmot replied.

"Still... the cost..."

 "The International Consortium of Universities is not without 
resources," said Wilmot. "And we have many alumni who can be verygenerous when properly approached."

"You mean when you twist their arms hard enough," a woman joked. 


The others laughed; even Wilmot smiled good-naturedly.

"Well," the professor said. "This is it. This will be your home forthe next five years, and even longer, for many of you."

"When do the others start coming up?"

"As the personnel board approves applicants and they pass theirfinal physical and psychological tests they will come aboard. We haveabout two-thirds of the available positions already filled, and morepeople are signing up at quite a brisk pace."

The others asked more questions and Wilmot patiently answered them.
Eberly filtered their nattering out of his conscious attention. Hepeered intently at the vast expanse of the habitat, savoring thismoment of discovery, his arrival into a new world. Ten thousandpeople, that's all they're going to permit to join us. But thishabitat could hold a hundred thousand easily. A million, even!

He thought of the squalor of his childhood days: eight, ten, twelvepeople to a room. And then the merciless discipline of the monasteryschools. And prison.

Ten thousand people, he mused. They will live in luxury here. Theywill live like kings!

He smiled. No, he told himself. There will be only one king here.
One master. This will be my kingdom, and everyone in it will bend tomy will.

 VIENNA: SCHÖNBRUNN PRISON

 More than a full year before he had ever heard of habitat Goddard,
Malcolm Eberly was abruptly released from prison after serving lessthan half his term for fraud and embezzlement.

 The rambling old Schönbrunn Palace had been turned into a prison inthe aftermath of the Refugee Riots that had shattered much of Viennaand its surroundings. When Eberly first learned that he would servehis sentence in the Schönbrunn he had been hopeful: at least itwasn't one of the grim state prisons where habitual criminals wereheld. He quickly learned that he was wrong: a prison is a prison is aprison, filled with thugs and perverts. Pain and humiliation wereconstant dangers; fear his constant companion.

The morning had started like any other: Eberly was roused fromsleep by the blast of the dawn whistle. He swung down from his topbunk and waited quietly while his three cell mates used the sink andtoilet. He had become accustomed to the stench of the cell and quiteearly in his incarceration had learned that complaints led only tobeatings, either by the guards or by his cell mates.

There was a hierarchy among the convicts. Those connected withorganized crime were at the top of the prestige chain. Murderers,
even those poor wretches who killed in passion, were accorded morerespect than thieves or kidnappers. Mere swindlers, which wasEberly's rap, were far down the chain, doomed to perform services fortheir superiors whether they wanted to or not.

Fortunately, Eberly maneuvered himself into a cell where the topcon was a former garage mechanic from the Italian province ofCalabria who had been declared guilty of banditry, terrorism, bankrobbings, and murders. Although barely literate, the Calabrian was aborn organizer: he ran his section of the prison like a medievalfiefdom, settling disputes and enforcing a rough kind of justice sothoroughly that the guards allowed him to keep the peace among theprisoners in his own rough manner. When Eberly discovered that heneeded a man who could operate a computer to keep him in touch withhis family in their mountaintop village and the remnants of his band,
still hiding in the hills, Eberly became his secretary. After that,
no one was allowed to molest him.

 It was the mind-numbing routine of each long, dull day that made 


Eberly sick to his soul. Once he came under the Calabrian'sprotection, he got along well enough physically, but the drabsameness of the cell, the food, the stink, the stupid talk of theother convicts day after day, week after week, threatened to drivehim mad. He tried to keep his mind engaged by daily visits to theprison library, where he could use the tightly-monitored computer tomake at least a virtual connection to the world outside. Most of the 
entertainment sites were censored or cut off altogether, but theprison authorities allowed--even encouraged--using the educationalsites. Desperately, Eberly enrolled in one course after another,
usually finishing them far sooner than expected and rushing into thenext.

 At first he took whatever courses came to hand: Renaissance 
painting, transactional psychology, municipal water recyclingsystematics, the poetry of Goethe. It didn't matter what the subjectmatter was; he needed to keep his mind occupied, needed to be out ofthis prison for a few hours each day, even if it was merely throughthe computer.

Gradually, though, he found himself drawn to studies of history andpolitics. In time, he applied for a degree program at the VirtualUniversity of Edinburgh.

It was a great surprise when, one ordinary morning, the guardcaptain pulled him out of line as he and his cell mates shuffled tothe cafeteria for their lukewarm breakfasts.

 The captain, stubble-jawed and humorless, tapped Eberly on theshoulder with his wand and said, "Follow me."

Eberly was so astonished that he blurted, "Why me? What's wrong?"

The captain held his wand under Eberly's nose and fingered thevoltage control. "No talking in line! Now follow me."

The other convicts marched by in silence, their heads facingstraight ahead but their eyes shifting toward Eberly and the captainbefore looking away again. Eberly remembered what the wand felt likeat full charge and let his chin sink to his chest as he dutifullyfollowed the captain away from the cafeteria.

The captain led him to a small, stuffy room up in the executivearea where the warden and other prison administrators had theiroffices. The room had one window, tightly closed and so grimy thatthe morning sunlight hardly brightened it. An oblong table nearlyfilled the room, its veneer chipped and dull. Two men in expensive-
looking business suits were seated at it, their chairs almostscraping the bare gray walls.

"Sit," said the captain, pointing with his wand to the chair at thefoot of the table. Wondering what this was all about, and whether hewould miss his breakfast, Eberly slowly sat down. The captain steppedout into the hallway and softly closed the door.

"You are Malcolm Eberly?" said the man at the head of the table. Hewas rotund, fleshy-faced, his cheeks pink and his eyes set deep inhis face. Eberly thought of a pig.

"Yes, I am," Eberly replied. Then he added, "Sir."

"Born Max Erlenmeyer, if our information is correct," said the manat the pig's right. He was prosperous-looking in an elegant dark bluesuit and smooth, silver-gray hair. He had the look of a yachtsman tohim: Eberly could picture him in a double-breasted blazer and ajaunty nautical cap.

"I had my name legally changed when--"

"That's a lie," said the yachtsman, as lightly as he might ask fora glass of water. An Englishman, from his accent, Eberly decidedtentatively. That could be useful, perhaps.

"But, sir--"

"It doesn't matter," said the pig. "If you wish to be calledEberly, that is what we will call you. Fair enough?"

Eberly nodded, completely baffled by them.

"How would you like to be released from prison?" the pig asked.

Eberly could feel his eyes go wide. But he quickly controlled his 


reactions and asked, "What would I have to do to be released?"

"Nothing much," said the yachtsman. "Merely fly out to the planetSaturn."

 Gradually they revealed themselves. The fat one was from theAtlanta headquarters of the New Morality, the multinationalfundamentalist organization that had raised Eberly to manhood back inAmerica.

 "We were very disappointed when you ran away from our monastery inNebraska and took up a life of crime," he said, genuine sadness onhis puffy face.

"Not a life of crime," Eberly protested. "I made one mistake only,
and now I'm suffering the consequences."

The yachtsman smiled knowingly. "Your mistake was getting caught.
We are here to offer you another chance."

He was a Catholic, he claimed, working with the European HolyDisciples on various social programs. "Of which, you are one."

"Me?" Eberly asked, still puzzled. "I don't understand."

"It's really very simple," said the pig, clasping his fat handsprayerfully on the tabletop. "The International Consortium ofUniversities is organizing an expedition to the planet Saturn."

"Ten thousand people in a self-contained habitat," added theyachtsman.

"Ten thousand so-called intellectuals," the pig said, cleardistaste in his expression. "Serving a cadre of scientists who wishto study the planet Saturn."

The yachtsman glanced sharply at his associate, then went on, "Manygovernments are allowing certain individuals to leave Earth. Glad tobe rid of them, actually."

"The scientists are fairly prestigious men and women. They actuallywant to go to Saturn."

"And they are all secularists, of course," the yachtsman added.

"Of course," said Eberly.

"We know that many people want to escape from the lives they areleading," the pig resumed. "They are unwilling to submit to the verynecessary discipline that we of the New Morality impose."

"The same thing applies in Britain and Europe," said the yachtsman.
"The Holy Disciples cleaned up the cities, brought morality and orderto the people, helped feed the starving and find jobs for the peoplewho were wiped out by the greenhouse floods."

The pig was nodding.

"But still, there are plenty of people who claim we're stiflingtheir individual freedoms. Their individual freedoms! It was all that 
liberty and license that led to the near-collapse of civilization."

"But the floods," Eberly interjected. "The greenhouse warming andthe droughts and all the other the environmental disasters."

"Visitations by an angry God," said the pig firmly. "Warnings thatwe must return to His ways."

"Which we have done, by and large," the yachtsman took up. "Even inthe bloody Middle East the Sword of Islam has worked miracles."

"But now, with this mission to Saturn--"

"Run by godless secularists."

"There will be ten thousand people trying to escape from therighteous path."

"We cannot allow that to happen."

"For their own good."

"Of course."

 "Of course," Eberly agreed meekly. Then he added, "But I don't seewhat this has to do with me."

 "We want you to join them."

"And go all the way out to the planet Saturn?" Eberly squeaked.

"Exactly," the yachtsman replied.

"You will be our representative aboard their habitat. We can placeyou in charge of their human resources department."

"So that you'll have some hand in selecting who's allowed to go." 


 The pig added, "Under our supervision, of course."

"In charge of human resources? You can do that?"

"We have our ways," said the yachtsman, grinning.

"Your real task will be to set up a God-fearing government aboardthat habitat," the pig said. "We mustn't allow the secularists tocontrol the lives of those ten thousand souls!"

 "We mustn't let that habitat turn into a cesspool of sin," theyachtsman insisted.

"A limited, closed environment like that will need a firm, well-
controlled government. Otherwise they will destroy themselves, justas the people of so many cities did here on Earth."

"You're too young to remember the food riots."

"I remember the fighting in St. Louis," Eberly said, shudderinginwardly. "I remember the hunger. My sister dying from the wastingdisease during the biowar."

"We don't want that happening to those poor souls heading out forSaturn," said the pig, his hands still folded.

"Whether they realize it or not," the yachtsman said, "they aregoing to need the kind of discipline and order that only we canprovide them."

"And we are counting on you to lead them in the direction ofrighteousness."

"But I'm only one man," said Eberly.

"You'll have help. We will plant a small but dedicated cadre oflike-minded people on the habitat."

"And you want me to be their leader?"

"Yes. You have the skills, we've seen that in your dossier. WithGod's help, you will shape the government of those ten thousand soulsproperly."

"Will you do it?" the yachtsman asked, earnestly. "Will you acceptthis responsibility?"

It took all of Eberly's self control to keep from laughing in theirfaces. Go to Saturn or remain in jail, he thought. Be the leader andform a government or live another nine years in that stinking cell.

"Yes," he said, with quiet determination. "With God's help, Iaccept the responsibility."

The two men smiled at one another, while Eberly thought that by thetime the habitat reached Saturn he and everyone in it would be faraway from the strictures of these religious fanatics.

Then the pig said, "Of course, if you fail to accomplish our goals,
we'll see to it that you return here and serve out the remainder ofyour sentence."

"We might even add a few more charges," said the yachtsman, almostgenially. "There's a lot in your dossier to choose from, you know."

 DEPARTURE MINUS 45 DAYS

 James Colerane Wilmot was a peer of the realm, a baronet who hadleft his native Ulster in the wake of the Irish Reunification despitehis family's five hundred--odd years of residence there.

To his credit, he felt no bitterness about leaving his ancestralhome. The family had never been wealthy; for more than a dozengenerations they had struggled to maintain a shabbily dignifiedlifestyle by raising sheep. Wilmot had no interest whatsoever inanimal husbandry. His passion was the study of the human animal.
James Colerane Wilmot was an anthropologist.

He was also a very able administrator, and as adroit as they comein the quietly fierce internecine warfare of academia. He felt thatbeing named to head this strange collection of people in theirmission out to distant Saturn would be the acme of his career, areal, carefully controlled research program, an actual experiment in 


a field that had never been able to conduct experiments before.

A closed, carefully limited community in a self-sufficient ecologyand a self-contained economy. Every feature of their physicalexistence under control. Individuals from Europe, the Americas, Asia,
and Africa. Free-thinkers, mostly, people who chafed under therestrictions of their own societies. And the scientists, of course.
The avowed purpose of this mission was the scientific study of theplanet Saturn and its giant moon, Titan.

Wilmot knew better. He knew the true purpose of this flight toSaturn, and the reason its real backers wanted their financialsupport kept secret.

The Chinese had refused to join the experiment, as usual; they keptto themselves, isolationists to their core. But otherwise most racialand religious groups were represented. What kind of a society willthese people create for themselves? An actual experiment inanthropology!

Wilmot glowed inwardly at the thought of it, even though thepurpose behind this experiment, the underlying reason for thisventure to Saturn, troubled him deeply. Yet he put aside suchworries, content to revel in the prospects lying before him.

His office was a reflection of the man. It was as close to a 
duplicate of his office at Cambridge as he could make it. He hadbrought up his big clean-lined Danish styled desk and its gracefulchair that molded itself to his spine, together with the bookcasesand the little round conference table with its four minimalist 
chairs. All in white beech, clean and efficient, yet warm andcomfortable. Even the carpet that almost covered the entire floor hadbeen taken from his Earthside office. After all, Wilmot reasoned, I'mgoing to be living and working here for five years or more. I mightas well have my creature comforts around me.

The only new thing in the office was the guest chair, anotherDanish piece, but of shining chrome tubular supports and pliantbutterscotch-brown leather cushions.

 Manuel Gaeta sat in it, looking much more relaxed than Wilmothimself felt. The third man in the room was Edouard Urbain, chiefscientist of the habitat, a small, slim, dark-bearded man, histhinning hair slicked straight back from his receding hairline; hewas seated in one of those spare, springy-looking chairs from theconference table in the corner. Wilmot did not particularly likeUrbain; he thought the man an excitable Frenchman, despite the factthat Urbain had been born and raised in Quebec.

"I can see that you're physically and mentally fit," Wilmot wassaying to Gaeta, gesturing toward the wallscreen that displayed theman's test scores. "More than fit; you are an unusual specimen,
actually."

Gaeta grinned lazily. "It goes with the job."

His voice was soft, almost musical. He was on the small side, butsolidly built, burly. Lots of hard muscle beneath his softly pleatedopen-necked white shirt. His face was hardly handsome: his nose hadobviously been broken, perhaps more than once; his heavy jaw made himlook somewhat like a bulldog. But his deep-set dark eyes seemedfriendly enough, and his grin was disarming.

"I must tell you, Mr. Gaeta, that--"

"Manuel," the younger man interrupted. "Please feel free to call meManuel."

 Wilmot felt slightly perplexed at that. He preferred to keep atleast a slight distance from this man. And he noted that althoughGaeta seemed quite able to speak American English, he pronounced hisown name with a decided Spanish inflection. Wilmot glanced at Urbain,
who did nothing except raise one eyebrow.

"Yes, sorry," Wilmot said. Then, "But I must tell you, Mr. ... um,
Man-well, that no matter what your backers believe, it will beimpossible for you to go to the surface of Titan."

Gaeta's smile did not fade one millimeter. "Astro Corporation has 


put up five hundred million international dollars for me to do thestunt. Your university consortium signed off on the deal."

Urbain broke his silence almost explosively. "No! It is impossible!
No one is allowed to the surface of Titan. It would be a violation of 
every principle we are guided by."

"There must have been a misunderstanding," Wilmot said moresmoothly. "No one has been to Titan's surface, and--"

"Pardon me," said Gaeta, "but that's just the point. If somebodyelse had already been to Titan there'd be no reason for me to do thestunt."

 "Stunt," Wilmot echoed disapprovingly.

"I have the equipment," Gaeta went on. "It's all been tested. Mycrew comes aboard tomorrow. All I need from you is some workshopspace where they can set up my gear and check out the equipment.
We're all set with everything else."

Urbain shook his head vehemently. "Teleoperated probes only will besent to the surface of Titan. No humans!"

 "With all respect, sir," Gaeta said, his voice still soft andfriendly, "you're thinking like a scientist."

"Yes, of course. How else?"

"See, I'm in show biz, not science. I get paid to do risky stunts,
like surfing the clouds of Jupiter and skiing down Mt. Olympus onMars."

 "Stunts," Wilmot muttered again.

"Yeah, stunts. People pay a lotta money to participate in mystunts. That's what the VR gear is for."

"Virtual reality thrills. Vicarious experiences."

"Cheap thrills, right. It brings in the big bucks. My investors'llmake their half-bill back the first ten seconds I'm on the VR nets."

 "You risk your life so that other people can get their adventureplugged into a virtual reality set," Urbain said, almost accusingly.

If anything, Gaeta's smile widened. "The trick is to handle therisks. Do the research, buy or build the equipment you need. Theycall me a daredevil, but I'm not a fool."

"And you want to be the first man to reach the surface of Titan,"
Wilmot said.

 "Shouldn't be that tough. You're going out there anyway, so wehitch a ride with you. Titan's got an atmosphere and a decentgravity. Radiation levels are nowhere near as bad as Jupiter."

"And contamination?" demanded Urbain.

 Gaeta's brows hiked up. "Contamination?"

"There is life on Titan. It is only microscopic, I grant you:
single-celled bacterial types. But it is living and we must protectit from contamination. That is our first duty."

The stuntman relaxed again. "Oh, sure. I'll be in an armored spacesuit. 
You can scrub it down and bathe me in ultraviolet light when Iget back. Kill any bugs that might be on the suit's exterior."

Urbain shook his head even more violently. "No, no, no. You don'tunderstand. We are not worried about the microbes contaminating you.
Our worry is that you might contaminate them."

"Huh?"

 "It is a unique ecology, there on Titan," Urbain said, his blueeyes burning with intensity, his beard bristling. "We cannot take anychances on your contaminating them."

"But they're just bugs!"

Urbain's jaw sagged open. He looked like a Believer who had justheard blasphemy uttered.

"Unique organisms," corrected Wilmot sternly. "They must not bedisturbed."

 "But they've landed probes on Titan," Gaeta protested, "lots of'em!"

 "Each one was as thoroughly disinfected as science can achieve,"
Urbain said. "They were subjected to levels of gamma radiation thatalmost destroyed their electronic circuits. Some of them were 


actually disabled during the decontamination procedures."

Gaeta shrugged. "Okay, you can decontaminate my suit the same way."

"With you inside it?" Wilmot asked quietly.

"Inside? Why?"

Urbain replied, "Because when you get into your suit you will beleaving a veritable jungle of microbial flora and fauna on every partof its exterior that you touch: human sweat, body oils, who knowswhat else? One fingerprint, one breath could leave enough terrestrialmicrobes to utterly devastate Titan's entire ecology."

"I'd have to stay in the suit while you fry it with gamma rays?"

Wilmot nodded.

 Urbain said flatly, "That is the only way we will allow you to goto Titan's surface."

 DEPARTURE MINUS 38 DAYS

 He's really handsome when he smiles, Holly noted silently. But he'salways so serious!

Malcolm Eberly was peering intently at the three-dimensionaldisplay floating in midair above his desktop. To Susan he looked likea clean-cut California surfer type, but only from the neck up. Hisblond hair was chopped short, in the latest style. He had goodcheekbones and a strong, firm jaw. Chiseled nose and startling blueeyes, the color of an Alpine sky. A killer smile, too, but he smiledall too rarely.

She had bent over backwards to please him: dressed in the plaintunics and slacks that he preferred, let her hair go natural and cutthose stubborn curls short, took off the decal she had worn on herforehead and wore no adornments at all except for the tiny asteroidaldiamond studs in her ears. He hadn't noticed any of it.

"We've got to be more selective in our screening processes," hesaid, without looking up from the display. His voice was low, richlyvibrant; he spoke American English, but with an overlay of a glass-
smooth cultured British accent.

 "Look." Eberly thumbed his remote controller and the displayrotated above the desktop so that Susan could see the three-
dimensional chart. The office was small and austere: nothing in itbut Eberly's gray metal desk and the stiff little plastic chair Susanwas sitting in. No decorations on the walls. Eberly's desktop wasantiseptically bare.

She leaned forward in the uncomfortable squeaking chair to inspectthe series of jagged colored lines climbing steadily across the chartfloating before her eyes. Just as she had remembered it from lastnight, before she'd gone home for the evening.

"In the two weeks since you've started working in the humanresources office," Eberly said, "successful recruitments have climbedalmost thirty percent. You've accomplished more work than the rest ofthe staff combined, it seems."

That's because I want to please you, she said to herself. Shedidn't have the nerve to say it aloud; didn't have the nerve to doanything more but smile at him.

Unsmilingly, he continued, "But too many of the new recruits areconvicted political dissidents, troublemakers. If they caused unreston Earth, they'll probably cause unrest here."

Her smile crumpled. She asked, "But isn't that the purpose of thismission? The reason we're going to Saturn? To give people a newchance? A new life?"

 "Within reason, Holly. Within reason. We don't want chronicprotesters here, out-and-out rebels. The next thing you know, we'llbe inviting terrorists to the habitat."

"Have I done that bad a job?" 


 She waited for him to reassure her, to tell her she was doing herjob properly. Instead, Eberly got to his feet and came around thedesk.

 "Come on, let's go outside for a bit of a stroll."

She shot to her feet. She was just a tad taller than he. From theshoulders down Eberly was slight, skinny really. Thin arms, narrowchest, even the beginnings of a pot belly, she thought. He needsexercise, she told herself. He works too hard in the office. I've gotto get him outside more, get him to the fitness center, build him up.

Yet she followed him in silence down the hallway that led past thehabitat's other administrative offices and out the door at its end.

 Bright sunshine was streaming through the long windows. Colorfulbutterflies flitted among the hyacinths, multihued tulips, andbloodred poppies that bloomed along the path. They walked in silencealong the path that ran past the cluster of low white buildings anddown the shoulder of the hillside on which the village was built. Thetan-bricked path wound around the lake at the bottom of the ridge andout into a pleasant meadow. A bicyclist passed them, coasting downthe gentle slope. Leafy young trees spread dappled shade along thepath. Susan heard insects humming in the bushes and birds chirping. Acomplete ecology, painstakingly established and maintained. Lookingat the grassy field and the clumps of taller trees standing fartheralong the gently curving path, she found it hard to believe that theywere inside a huge, man-made cylinder that was hanging in empty spacea few hundred kilometers above the surface of the Moon. Until she 
glanced up and saw that the land curved completely around, overhead.

"Holly?"

She snapped her attention back to Eberly. "I-I'm sorry," shestuttered, embarrassed. "I guess I wasn't listening."

He nodded, as if accepting her apology. "Yes, I forget howbeautiful this is. You're absolutely right, none of us should takeall this for granted."

"What were you saying?" she asked.

"It wasn't important." He raised his arm and swept it arounddramatically. "This is the important thing, Holly. This world thatyou will create for yourselves."

My name is Holly now, she reminded herself. You can remembereverything that happens to you, remember your new name, for jeep'ssake.

 Still, she asked, "Why'd you want me to change my name?"

Eberly tilted his head to one side, thinking before he answered.
"I've suggested to every new recruit that they change their names.
You are entering a new world, starting new lives. A new name isappropriate, don't you agree?"

"Oh, right! F'sure."

"Yet," he sighed, "very few actually follow my suggestion. Theycling to the past."

"It's like baptism, isn't it?" Holly said.

He looked at her and she saw something like respect in his piercingblue eyes. "Baptism, yes. Born again. Beginning a new life."

"This'll be my third life," she told him.

Eberly nodded.

"I don't remember my first life," Holly said. "Ear's I canremember, my life started seven years ago."

"No," Eberly said firmly. "Your life began two weeks ago, when youarrived here."

 "F'sure. Right."

"That's why you changed your name, isn't it?"

"Right," she repeated, thinking, He's so bugging serious abouteverything! I wish I could make him smile.

Eberly stopped walking and slowly turned a full circle, taking inthe world that stretched all around them and climbed up over theirheads to completely encircle them.

"I was born in deep poverty," he said, his voice low, almost a 


whisper. "I was born prematurely, very sick; they didn't think Iwould live. My father ran away when I was still a baby and my mothertook up with a migrant laborer, a Mexican. He wanted me to die. If itweren't for the New Morality I would have died before I was sixmonths old. They took me into their hospital, they put me throughtheir schools. They saved me, body and soul."

"I'm glad," Holly said.

"The New Morality saved America," Eberly explained. "When thegreenhouse warming flooded all the coastal areas and the food riotsstarted, it was the New Morality that brought order and decency backinto our lives."

 "I don't remember the States at all," she said. "Just Selene.
Nothing before that."

He chuckled. "You certainly seem to have no trouble rememberinganything that's happened to you since. I've never seen anyone withsuch a steel trap of a mind."

With a careless shrug, Holly replied, "That's just the RNAtreatments they gave me."

"Oh, yes, of course." He started walking again, slowly. "Well,
Holly, here we are. Both of us. And ten thousand others."

"Nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-eight," she corrected, withan impish grin.

He dipped his chin slightly in acknowledgment of her arithmetic,
totally serious, oblivious to her attempt at humor.

"You have the opportunity to create a new world here," Eberly said.
"Clean and whole and new. You are the most fortunate people of theages."

"You too," she said.

He made a little gesture with one hand. "I'm only one man. Thereare ten thousand of you--minus one, I admit. You are the ones whowill create this new world. It's yours to fashion as you see fit. I'mcompletely satisfied merely to be here, among you, and to help you inany way that I can."

Holly stared at him, feeling enormous admiration welling up withinher.

 "But Malcolm, you've got to help us to build this new world. We'regoing to need your vision, your..." she fumbled for a word, then ...
"your dedication."

"Of course, I'll do what I can," he said. And for the first time,
he smiled.

 Holly felt thrilled.

"But you must do your best, too," he added. "I expect the samededication and hard work from you that I myself am exerting. Nothingless, Holly."

She nodded silently.

"You must devote yourself totally to the work we are doing," Eberlysaid. "Totally."

"I will," Holly answered. "I already have, f'real."

"Every aspect of your life must be dedicated to our work," heinsisted. "There will be no time for frivolities. Nor for romantic 
entanglements."

"I don't have any romantic entanglements, Malcolm," she said, in asmall voice. Silently she added, Wish I did. With you.

"Neither do I," he said. "The task before us is too important toallow personal considerations to get in the way."

Holly said, "I understand, Malcolm. I truly do."

"Good. I'm glad."

And Eberly thought, Carrot and stick, that's the way to controlher. Carrot and stick.

 DEPARTURE MINUS TWO HOURS 


 Eberly chose to stand with his back to the oblong window of theobservation blister. Beyond its thick quartz the stars were swingingby slowly as the mammoth habitat revolved lazily along its axis. TheMoon would slide into view, so close that one could see the smoothedlaunching pads of Armstrong Spaceport, blackened by decades of rocketblasts, and the twin humps of Selene's two buried public plazas, aswell as the vast pit where workers were constructing a third. Someclaimed they could even see individual tractors and the cable carsspeeding along their overhead lines to outlying settlements such asHell Crater and the Farside Observatory.

Eberly never looked out if he could help it. The sight of the Moon,
the stars, the universe constantly swinging past his eyes made himsick to his stomach. He kept his back to it. Besides, his work, hisfuture, his destiny was inside the habitat, not out there.

Standing before him, facing the window with apparently no illeffect, stood a short heavyset woman wearing a gaudy finger-lengthtunic of many shades of red and orange over shapeless beige slacks.
Sparkling rings adorned most of her fingers and more jewelrydecorated her wrists, earlobes, and double-chinned throat. RuthMorgenthau was one of the small cadre of people the Holy Discipleshad planted in the habitat. She had not been coerced into this one-
way mission to Saturn, Eberly knew; she had volunteered.

Beside her was a lean, short, sour-faced man wearing a shabbypseudoleather jacket of jet black.

"Malcolm," said Morgenthau, gesturing with a chubby hand, "may Iintroduce Dr. Sammi Vyborg." She turned slightly. "Dr. Vyborg,
Malcolm Eberly."

"I am very pleased to meet you, sir," said Vyborg, in a reedy,
nasal voice. His face was little more than a skull with skin 
stretched over it. Prominent teeth. Narrow slits of eyes.

Eberly accepted his extended hand briefly. "Doctor of what?" heasked.

 "Education. From the University of Wittenberg."

The ghost of a smile touched Eberly's lips. "Hamlet's university."

Vyborg grinned toothily. "Yes, if you can believe Shakespeare.
There is no mention of the Dane in the university's records. Ilooked."

 Morgenthau asked, "The records go back that far?"

"They are very sketchy, of course."

"I'm not interested in the past," Eberly said. "It's the futurethat I am working for."

Vyborg nodded. "So I understand."

Eberly glanced sharply at Morgenthau, who said hastily, "I haveexplained to Dr. Vyborg that our task is to take charge of thehabitat's management, once we get underway."

"Which will be in two hours," Vyborg added.

Eberly focused his gaze on the little man, asking, "I have seen toit that you are highly placed in the Communications Department. Canyou run the entire department, if and when I ask you to?"

"There are two very prominent persons above me in the department,"
Vyborg replied. "Neither of whom are Believers."

"I know the organization chart!" Eberly snapped. "I drafted itmyself. I had no choice but to accept those two secularists aboveyou, but you are the one I have chosen to run the department. Can youdo it?"

 "Of course," Vyborg answered without hesitation. "But what willbecome of my superiors?"

"You can't ship them home, once we get started," Morgenthau pointedout, a smile dimpling her cheeks.

"I will take care of them," Eberly said firmly, "when the propermoment comes. For now, I want to know that I can rely on you."

"You can," said Vyborg.

"Completely and utterly. I want total loyalty." 


 "You will have it," Vyborg said firmly. Then he smiled again andadded, "If you can make me head of communications."

"I will."

 Morgenthau smiled, satisfied that these two men could work togetherand further the cause that she had given her life to serve.

 Holly was getting frantic. She had searched everywhere for Malcolm,
from his austere little office to the other cubbyholes in the humanresources section, then down the corridors in the other sections ofthe administration building. No sign of him anywhere.

He'll miss the breakout! she kept telling herself. She had it allplanned out, she would take Malcolm to the lakeside site down at theedge of the village. Professor Wilmot and his managers had arrangedmore than a dozen spots around the habitat where people could gatherand watch the breakout ceremonies on big vid screens that had beenset up out in the open. The lakeside was the best spot, Hollythought, the prettiest and closest to their offices.

But Malcolm was nowhere to be found. Where could he be? What's he 
doing? He'll miss everything! People were streaming along the pathstoward the assembly areas where the big screens had been set up,
couples and larger groups, chatting, smiling, nodding hello to her.
Holly ignored them all, searching for Eberly.

And then she saw him, striding along the path from the woods withthat overweight Morgenthau woman beside him. Holly frowned. He'sspending a lot of time with her, she thought. But a smile brokeacross her face as she watched them: Morgenthau was puffing hard,
trying to keep up with Malcolm's longer strides. Serves her right,
Holly thought, as she started down the path to intercept them andbring Malcolm over to the shore of the lake. She wanted him standingbeside her as the habitat started its long flight to Saturn. Nobodyelse, she told herself. He's got to stand with me.

 Sitting up in bed, Pancho Lane stared unhappily at the hologramimage of Goddard hanging in space. It appeared as if one half of herbedroom had disappeared, to be replaced by the darkness of space witha miniature habitat floating in the middle of the scene, revolvingslowly. The Moon edged into view, pockmarked and glowing brightly.
Pancho could see the laser beacon that marked the top of Mt. Yeager,
just above Selene, not all that far from her own bedroom.

She's really doing it, Pancho grumbled to herself. Sis is reallygoing off in that danged tin can, getting as far away from me as shecan get. I saved her life, I broke my butt paying her medicalexpenses and the cryonics and all that, I nursed her and taught herand wiped her shitty ass, and now she goes traipsing off into thewild black yonder. That's gratitude. That's a sister's love.

Yet she couldn't work up real anger. She knew that Susie needed tobreak away, needed to start her own life. Independently. Every kid'sgot to go out on her own, sooner or later. Hell, I did myself whenSusie was just a preteen.

Not Susie, she remembered. She calls herself Holly now. Got toremember that when I call her. Holly.

Well, if things don't work out for her I'll send a torch ship outto bring her home. All she's got to do is ask. I'll fly out to hermyself, by damn.

The holographic view of Goddard winked out, replaced by a life-
sized image of Professor Wilmot. To Pancho, watching from her bed, itseemed as if the man's head and shoulders hovered in midair across 
her bedroom.

 "Today we embark on an unprecedented voyage of discovery andexploration," Wilmot began, in a slow, sonorous voice.

"Blah, blah, blah," Pancho muttered. She muted the sound with avoice command and then ordered her phone to get her security chief. I 


just hope Wendell got somebody really good to keep an eye on Sis. Ifhe hasn't I'll toss him out on his butt, no matter how good he is inbed.

 "Vyborg makes a good addition to our cadre," Morgenthau said as shewalked beside Eberly, heading back to the lakeside village.

Eberly brushed at a brilliant monarch butterfly that fluttered tooclose to his face. "He's ambitious, that's clear enough."

"There's nothing wrong with ambition," said Morgenthau.

"As long as he can follow orders."

"He will, I'm sure."

Inwardly, Eberly had his doubts. But I've got to work with thematerial at hand, he told himself. Morgenthau has practically noambition, no drive for self-aggrandizement. That makes her a perfectunderling. Vyborg is something else. I'll have to watch him closely.
And my back, as well.

To Morgenthau he said, "Information is the key to power. WithVyborg in communications we'll have access to all the surveillancecameras in the habitat."

 "And he could help us to tap into the phones, as well," Morgenthauadded.

 "I want more than that. I want every apartment bugged withsurveillance cameras. Secretly, of course."

"Every apartment? That's... it's a tremendous task."

"Find a way to do it," Eberly snapped.

 Holly tried not to run, she didn't want to appear that anxious, butthe closer she got to Eberly and Morgenthau, the faster she trotted.
As she approached, she wondered why Malcolm had chosen to be withMorgenthau. She's not much to look at, Holly giggled to herself.
Really, she's too much to look at. And all decked out like she'sgoing to some wild-ass party. She'd be pretty if she dropped twentyor thirty kilos.

Eberly looked up and recognized her.

"Malcolm!" Holly called, slowing to a walk. "Come on! Theceremonies've started already. You're gonna miss it all!"

"Then I'll miss it," Eberly said severely. "I have work to do. Ican't waste my time on ceremonies."

He walked right past her, with the Morgenthau woman slogging alongbeside him. Holly stood there with her mouth hanging open, fightingdesperately to keep from crying.

 BREAKOUT

 Hardly anyone aboard Goddard knew about the "bridge." Actually, themassive habitat's navigation and control center was in a compact podmounted on the outside skin of the huge cylinder like a blister on aslowly-rotating log.

Captain Nicholson's title was an honorific. She had skipperedspacecraft out to the Asteroid Belt and had once even commanded atrio of ships on a resupply mission for the scientific bases on Mars.

Of the four-person crew that ran the navigation and control center,
Nicholson, her first mate, and her navigator intended to return toEarth as soon as they had established Goddard in orbit at Saturn.
Only the systems engineer, Ilya Timoshenko, had signed on for themission's full duration. In fact, Timoshenko never expected to seeEarth again.

Samantha Nicholson did not look like a veteran spacecraftcommander. She was a petite woman who had allowed her hair to go 


silvery white. The descendent of a long line of shipping magnates,
she was the first of her family to heed the call of space, ratherthan the sea. Her father disowned her for her stubborn, independentchoice; her mother cried bitterly the first time she left Earth.
Nicholson consoled her mother and told her father she neither needed 
nor wanted the family fortune. She never returned to Earth, but madeSelene her home instead.

 Timoshenko admired the captain. She was capable, intelligent, evenhanded 
whenever a dispute arose, and when necessary she could peelfour layers of skin off a man with language that would have made hermother faint.

 "X minus thirty seconds," said the computer's synthesized voice.

Timoshenko eyed his console. Every single icon was in the green.

"Ignite the thrusters on my mark," said Captain Nicholson.

"Roger," the first mate replied.

Normally Timoshenko would have sneered at her insistence on humancontrol. The four of them knew perfectly well that the computersactually ran the propulsion system. This lumbering oversized sewerpipe would be pushed out of lunar orbit at precisely the rightinstant even if none of them were on the bridge. But the captain keptthe old traditions, and even Timoshenko--normally as dour andscornful as a haughty, patronizing academic--respected the old ladyfor it.

 The computer said, "Ignition in five seconds, four ... three ...
two..."

 "Fire thrusters," the captain said.

Timoshenko grinned as his console showed the computer command andthe human action taking place at the same instant.

The thrusters fired. Goddard broke out of lunar orbit and began itslong flight path to the planet Saturn.

 Even with Duncan Drive fusion engines, an object as massive as theGoddard habitat does not flit through the solar system the waypassenger carriers or even automated ore haulers do.

Part of the problem is sheer mass. At more than a hundred thousandtons, the habitat is equal to a whole fleet of interplanetary ships.
To push the habitat to an acceleration of even one-tenth g wouldrequire enormous thrust and therefore a bankrupting amount of fusionfuel.

 Yet the major problem is the spin-induced gravity inside thehabitat. A major acceleration from rocket thrust would turn the worldinside the cylinder topsy-turvy. Instead of feeling a gentleEarthlike pull "downward" the inhabitants would also sense anacceleration pushing them in the direction of the rocket thrust. Lifewithin the habitat would become difficult, even weird. It would feelto the inhabitants as if they were constantly struggling uphill, ortraipsing downhill, even when walking on normal-looking flat ground.

So Goddard accelerated away from the Moon at a leisurely pace, aminute fraction of a g. The force went unnoticed by the ten thousandinhabitants, although it was closely monitored by the habitat's smallcrew of propulsion engineers.

It would take fourteen months to reach the vicinity of Jupiter,
giant of the solar system. There Goddard would replenish its fusionfuels, isotopes of hydrogen and helium delved from Jupiter's deep,
turbulent atmosphere by automated skimmers operated from the spacestation in orbit around the enormous planet. Jupiter's massivegravity would also impart a slight extra boost to the habitat as itswung past.

Eleven months after the Jupiter encounter, Goddard would slip intoorbit around ringed Saturn. By then, more than two years afterdeparting the Earth/Moon vicinity, anthropologist James Wilmotexpected the subjects of his experiment would be ready to form thepolitical systems and personal bonds of a new society. He wondered 


what form that society would take.
Malcolm Eberly already knew.

 DEPARTURE PLUS THREE DAYS

 The great advantage of having a scientist in charge of the habitat,
thought Malcolm Eberly, is that scientists are so trustingly naďve.
They depend on honesty in their work, which leads them to behavehonestly even outside their sphere of expertise. In turn, this makesthem believe that those they associate with are honest, as well.

Eberly laughed aloud as he reviewed his plans for the day. It'stime to start things in motion. Now that we're on our way, it's timeto start these people looking to me as their natural leader.

And who better to begin with than Holly? he thought. My newborn.
She had been sulky, pouting, since he had been so curt with her atthe breakout ceremony. He saw that his morning's messages includedone from her; she had called him twice yesterday, as well. Ah well,
he told himself, time to make her smile again.

He told the phone to locate her. The holographic image thatappeared above his desktop showed that she was in her office,
working.

As soon as she recognized Eberly's face her expression lit up withhope, expectation.

"Holly, if you have a moment, could you come to my office,
please?" he asked pleasantly.

She said, "I'll be there f-t-l!"

Eff-tee-ell? Eberly wondered as her image winked out. What could-Ah! 
Faster than light. One of her little bits of slang.

He heard her tap on his door, light and timid.

Let her wait, he said to himself. Just long enough to make herworry a bit. He sensed her fidgeting uncertainly outside his door.

When at last she tapped again he called, "Enter."

Holly wasn't pouting as she stepped into Eberly's office. Instead,
she looked apprehensive, almost afraid.

Eberly got to his feet and gestured to the chair in front of hisdesk. "Sit down, Holly. Please."

She perched on the chair like a little bird ready to take flight atthe slightest danger. Eberly sat down and said nothing for a fewmoments, studying her. Holly was wearing a forest green tunic overform-fitting tights of a slightly lighter green. No rings or otherjewelry except for the studs in her earlobes. Diamonds, he saw. Sincethe Asteroid Belt had been opened to mining, gemstones were becomingcommonplace. At least she's taken off that silly decal on herforehead, Eberly noted. She's rather attractive, really, he thought.
Some men find dark skin exotic. Not much of a figure, but she's gotgood long legs. Should I find someone to get her involvedromantically? No, he concluded, I want her attention focused on me,
for now.

 He made a slow smile for her. "I hurt you, didn't I?"

Holly's eyes went wide with surprise.

"I didn't mean to. Sometimes I become so wrapped up in my work thatI forget the people around me have feelings." With a sigh, hecontinued, "I'm truly sorry. It was thoughtless of me."

Her expression bloomed like a flower in the sunshine. "I shouldn'tbe such a pup, Malcolm. I just couldn't help it. I wanted to bebeside you at the ceremony and--"

"And I let you down."

"No!" she said immediately. "It was my own dimdumb fault. Ishould've known better. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause you anytrouble."

 Eberly leaned back in his comfortable chair and gave her his 


patient fatherly smile. How easily she's maneuvered, he thought.
She's apologizing to me.

"I mean," Holy was prattling on, "I know you've got lots to do andall the responsibilities for the whole habitat's human resources andall that and I shouldn't have expected you to take time out and standaround watching the ridic' ceremonies with me like some schoolkid atcommencement or something...."

Her voice wound down like a toy running out of battery power.

Eberly replaced his smile with a concerned expression. "Very well,
Holly. It's over and done with. Forgotten."

She nodded happily.

"I have an assignment for you, if you can find the time to work onit."

 "I'll make the time!"

 "Wonderful." He smiled again, the pleased, grateful smile.

"What's the assignment?"

He called up the habitat's ground plan and projected it against thebare wall. Holly saw the villages, the parks and farmlands andorchards, the offices and workshops and factory complexes, all neatlylaid out and connected by paths for pedestrians and electricmotorbikes.

 "This is our home now," Eberly said. "We're going to be living herefor at least five years. Some of us--many of us--will spend the restof our lives here."

 Holly agreed with a nod.

"Yet we have no names for anything. Nothing but the engineers'designations. We can't go on calling our home towns 'Village A' and'Village B' and so forth."

"I click," Holly murmured.

"The orchards should have names of their own. The hills and the 
woods--everything. Who wants to go shopping in 'Retail ComplexThree'?"

 "Yeah, but how will we pick names for everything?"

"I won't," Eberly said. "And you won't, either. This is a task thatmust be done by the residents of the habitat. The people themselvesmust choose the names they want."

"But how--"

 "A contest," he answered before she could complete her question.
"Or rather, a series of contests. The residents of each village willhave a contest to name that village. The workers in a factory willhave a contest to name their factory. It will engage everyone'sattention and keep them busy for months."

"Cosmic," Holly breathed.

"I need someone to work out the rules and organize each individualcontest. Will you do this for me?"

"Absotively!"

Eberly allowed himself to chuckle at her enthusiasm. He went on,
"Later, you'll have to form committees to judge the names entered andcount the votes."

 "Wow!" Holly was almost trembling with anticipation, he could see.

"Good. I want you to make this your top priority. But tell no oneabout this until we're ready to announce it to the general populace.
I don't want knowledge of this leaking out prematurely."

"I'll keep it to myself," Holly promised.

"Fine." Eberly leaned back in his chair, satisfied. Then he cockedan eye at her and said, "I notice that you called me several times.
What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Holly blinked as if suddenly shaken awake from a dream. "See you?
Oh, yeah. It's prob'ly nothing much. Just some details, not a bigdeal, really, I guess."

Leaning slightly forward, Eberly thought that her persistent callswere merely a thinly-disguised attempt to get to see him. He restedhis arms on his desk. "What is it, then?"

With a concerned knitting of her brows, Holly said, "Well... I was 


running routine checks on the dossiers of the last batch of personnel

to come aboard and I found some discrepancies in a few of them."

"Discrepancies?"

She nodded vigorously. "References that don't check out. Or in-
completed forms."

"Anything serious?" he asked.

"Ruth Morgenthau, for example. She's only got one position filledin on the prior-experience section of her application."

"Really?"

"It's a wiz of a good one," Holly admitted. "Chief ofadministrative services for the Amsterdam office of the HolyDisciples."

Eberly smiled faintly. "That is rather impressive, don't youthink?"

 "Uh-huh, but it's only one and the form calls for at least three."

"I wouldn't worry about it."

She nodded. "Kay, no prob. But there's one guy, he claimsreferences from several universities but I can't find any mention ofhim in any of their records."

"False references?" Eberly felt a pang of alarm. "Who is thisperson?"

Holly pulled a palmcomp from her tunic pocket and pointed it at thewall opposite the one showing the habitat's layout. She glanced atEberly, silently asking permission. He nodded curtly.

A human resources dossier appeared on the wall. Eberly felt himselffrowning as he saw the name and photo at its top: Sammi Vyborg.

Scrolling down to the references section of the dossier, Hollyhighlighted the names of five university professors.

"Far's I can dig, he never attended any of those schools," shesaid.

 Eberly leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, hidinghis intense displeasure, thinking furiously. "Have you contacted anyof those professors?"

"Not yet. I wanted you to see this before I go any deeper."

"Good. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"I can query each of the profs. But what do we do with Vyborg ifthey don't back him?"

Eberly spread his hands. "Obviously we can't let the man remain inthe post he's been assigned to. If he has falsified his references."

"We can ship him back Earthside when we refuel at Jupiter, Iguess," Holly mused. "But what do we do with him till then? Put himto work in the farms or something?"

"Or something," Eberly temporized.

"Kay. I'll query the--"

"No," he said sharply. "I will contact these professors. Each oneof them. Myself."

"But you've got so much to do."

"It's my responsibility, Holly. Besides, they're much more likelyto respond quickly to a query from the chief of human resources thanfrom one of the chief's assistants."

 Her face fell briefly, but she quickly brightened. "Yeah, guessso."

 "Besides, you're going to be very busy arranging the contests."

She grinned at that.

"I'll take care of it myself," Eberly repeated.

"Doesn't seem fair," she murmured. "I'm sorry I brought it to you.
I should have done it without bothering you."

"No, Holly. This is something that should have been brought to myattention. You did the right thing."

"Kay," she said, getting slowly to her feet. "If you say so.
Still..."

 "Thank you for bringing this to me," Eberly said. "You've done afine job."

She beamed. "Thanks!" 


 "I'm sure it's just a mistake or a misunderstanding somewhere alongthe line. I know Vyborg personally. He's a good man."

"Oh! I didn't know--"

 "All the more reason to check this out thoroughly," Eberly saidsternly. "There can be no personal favoritism here."

"No, of course not."

"Thank you, Holly," he said again.

She went to the door, slowly, as if reluctant to leave hispresence. He smiled at her and she finally left his office, slidingthe door shut quietly.

Eberly stared at the dossier still on his wallscreen, the falsereferences still highlighted.

Idiot! he fumed. There was no need for Vyborg to pad his dossier.
He's let his ego override his judgment.

Still, Eberly said to himself, a mistake like this gives me alittle leverage over him. Something to make him more dependent on me.
All to the good.

Now to correct his folder. And he began dictating to his computerthe glowing references from each of the university professors thatwould be placed in Vyborg's dossier.

 DEPARTURE PLUS 28 DAYS

 "Come on," groused Manuel Gaeta, "there's gotta be a way. There'salways a way, Fritz."

Friederich Johann von Helmholtz got up from his knees and drewhimself to his full height. Despite his imposing name, he was ashort, slim, almost delicately-built man--and the best technician inthe solar system, as far as Gaeta was concerned. At the moment,
however, there was precious little good will flowing between them.

Fritz's burr-cut head barely rose to Gaeta's shoulders. Standingbeside the muscular stuntman, the technician looked almost like askinny child. Both of them were dwarfed by the massive cermet-cladsuit standing empty in the middle of the equipment bay.

"Of course there is a way," Fritz said, in precisely clippedEnglish. "You get into the suit. We seal it up. Then we go throughthe sterilization procedure that Professor Wilmot and Dr. Urbaininsist upon, including the gamma-ray bath. And then you die."

Gaeta huffed mightily.

Fritz stood beside the empty suit, his arms folded implacablyacross his slim chest.

 "Jesoo, Fritz," Gaeta muttered, "those Astro Corp suits paid half abill for me to be the first man to set foot on Titan. You know what 
they'll do to me if I don't do it? If I don't even try 'cause sometightass scientists are worried about the bugs down there?"

"I would imagine they will want their half billion returned," Fritzsaid calmly.

"And we've already spent a big chunk of it." Fritz shrugged.

"They'll take it outta my hide," Gaeta said, frowning with worry.
"Plus, nobody'll ever back me for another stunt. I'll be finished."

"Or perhaps dead." Fritz said it without the faintest flicker of asmile.

 "You're a big help, amigo."

"I am a technician. I am not your financial advisor or yourbodyguard."

"You're un fregado, a cold-blooded machine, that's what you are."

"Insulting me will not solve your problem."

"So what? You're not solving my problem. Nobody's solving myproblem!"

Fritz pursed his lips momentarily, a sign that he was thinking.
"Perhaps ... no, that probably would not work." 


 "Perhaps what?" Gaeta demanded.

Reaching up to pat the bulky suit on its armored upper arm, Fritzmused, "The problem is to insert you into the suit after it has beensterilized without contaminating it."

"Yeah. Right."

"Perhaps we could wrap you in a sterile envelope of some sort. Aplastic shroud that has been decontaminated."

"You think?"

 Cocking his head to one side, Fritz added, "The problem thenbecomes to get you sealed into the shroud without contaminating it."

"Same problem as getting into the maldito suit in the firstplace." Gaeta broke into a string of Spanish expletives.

"But if we did it outside the habitat, in space," Fritz saidslowly, as if piecing his ideas together as he spoke, "then perhapsbetween the ambient ultraviolet flux out there and the hard vacuum 
the contamination requirements could be satisfied."

Gaeta's dark brows shot up. "You think?"

Fritz shrugged again. "Let me run some numbers through thecomputer. Then I will talk with Urbain's planetary protection team."

Gaeta broke into a grin and thumped Fritz on the shoulder hardenough to make the smaller man totter. "I knew you could do it,
amigo! I knew it all along."

 DEPARTURE PLUS 142 DAYS

 Eberly had sat for more than two hours, utterly bored, as each ofthe habitat's sixteen department heads gave their long, dull weeklyreports. Wilmot insisted on these weekly meetings; Eberly thoughtthem pointless and foolish. Nothing more than Wilmot's way of makinghimself feel important, he told himself.

There was no need to spend two or three hours in this stuffyconference room. Each department chairman could send in his or herreport to Wilmot electronically. But no, the old man has to sit up atthe head of the table and pretend that he's actually doing something.

For a community of ten thousand alleged troublemakers, the habitatwas sailing on its way to Saturn smoothly enough. Most of thepopulation were relatively young and energetic. Eberly, with Holly'sunstinting help, had weeded out the real troublemakers among thosewho applied for a berth. Those whom he accepted had run afoul of thestrictures of the highly-organized societies back on Earth one way oranother: unhappy with their employment placement, displeased when thelocal government refused to allow them to move from one city toanother, unwilling to accept a genetic screening board's verdict on achildbearing application. A few had even tried political action tochange their governments, to no avail. So here they were, in habitatGoddard, in a man-made world that had plenty of room for growth. Theyturned their backs on Earth, willing to trek out to Saturn in theirridiculous quest for personal freedom.

The trick is, Eberly thought as the chief of maintenance droned onabout trivial problems, to give them the illusion of personal freedomwithout allowing them to be free. To make them look to me for theirfreedom and their hopes for the future. To get them to accept me astheir indispensable leader.

It's time to begin that process, he decided as the maintenancechief finally sat down. Now.

Yet he had to wait for the security director's report. Leo Kanangawas an imposing figure: a tall, deeply black Rwandan who insisted onbeing addressed as "Colonel," his rank in the Rwandan police forcebefore he volunteered for the Saturn mission. His head shaved bald,
he dressed all in black, which accented his height. Despite hisimpressive appearance, he had nothing new to report, no great 


problems. A few scrapes here and there in the cafeteria, usuallyyoung men making testosterone displays for young women. An out-andout 
brawl at a pickup football game in one of the parks.

"Sports hooligans," Kananga grumbled. "We get fights after vids ofmajor sporting events from Earth, too."

"Maybe we should stop showing them," suggested one of the women.

The security chief gave her a pitying smile. "Try that and you'llhave a major disturbance on your hands."

Great God, Eberly thought, they're going to argue the point for thenext half hour. Sure enough, others around the table joined thediscussion. Wilmot sat in silence at the head of the table, watching,
listening, occasionally fingering his moustache.

Which of these dolts will be loyal to me? Eberly asked himself asthey wrangled on. Which will I have to replace? His eyes immediatelyfocused on Berkowitz, the overweight chairman of the communicationsdepartment. I've promised his job to Vyborg, Eberly thought. Besides,
Berkowitz would never be loyal to me; I couldn't trust a Jew who'sspent all his life in the news media.

At last the teapot-tempest over sports hooligans ended. Without aresolution, of course. That type of discussion never producesresults, Eberly believed, only hot air. Still, I should remembersports hooligans. They might become useful, at the proper moment.

Wilmot stroked his moustache again, then said, "That completes thedepartmental reports. Have we any old business to take up?"

No one stirred, except that several people seemed to eye the doorthat led out of the conference room.

 "Any new business? If not--"

"I have a piece of new business, sir," said Eberly, raising hishand.

 All eyes turned toward him.

"Go ahead," Wilmot said, looking slightly surprised.

"I think we should consider the matter of standardizing ourclothing."

"Standardizing?"

"You mean you want everyone to wear uniforms?"

Eberly smiled patiently for them. "No, not uniforms. Of course not.
But I've noticed that great differences in clothing styles cause acertain amount of... well, friction. We're all supposed to be equalshere, yet some of the people flaunt very expensive clothing. Andjewelry."

"That's a personal decision," said Andrea Maronella. She waswearing an auburn blouse and dark green skirt, Eberly noticed,
touched off with several bracelets, earrings, and a pearl necklace.

"It does cause some friction," Eberly repeated. "Those sportsenthusiasts, for example. They wear the colors of the teams theyfavor, don't they?"

Colonel Kananga nodded.

Berkowitz, of all people, piped up. "Y'know, some people show up atthe office dressed like they were going to work on Wall Street orSaville Row, while the technicians come in looking like they've beendragged on a rope from lower Bulgaria or someplace."

Everyone laughed.

"But isn't that their right?" Maronella countered. "To dress asthey choose? As long as it doesn't interfere with their work."

"But it does interfere with their work," Eberly pounced, "when itcauses jealousy and rancor."

"Those hooligans wear their team colors just to annoy the buffs whoroot for other teams," Kananga said.

"I think that if we offered guidelines about dress codes," Eberlysaid, calm and reasonable, "it would help considerably. Not mandatorycodes, but guidelines for what is appropriate and expected."

"We could offer counseling," said the chief of medical services, apsychologist.

"And advice about style." 


 They wrangled over the issue for more than half an hour. FinallyWilmot put it to a vote, and the board decided to generate voluntaryguidelines for appropriate dress during working hours. Eberlygraciously accepted their decision.

The first step, he told himself.

 MEMORANDUM

 T0: All personnel.

FROM: M. Eberly, Director, Human Resources Dept.

SUBJECT: Dress codes.

 In an effort to reduce tensions arising from differences inapparel, the following dress codes are suggested. These codes are notmandatory, but voluntary adherence will help eliminate frictionsarising from apparent differences in clothing style, expense,
accessories, etc.

 1. All personnel are required to wear their identity badges at alltimes. These badges include name, job position, a recent photographplus electronically stored background data from the individual'sdossier on file in the Human Resources Department. In an emergency,
such data is vital to medical and/or rescue teams.
2. Suggested dress codes are as follows: a. Office workers shouldwear a solid-color tunic and slacks, with personal adornment (such asjewelry, tattoos, hair styling, etc.) kept to a minimum. b.
Laboratory workers should dress as in (a), above, except that theyshould wear protective smocks, eye shields, etc., as required bytheir tasks. c. Factory workers... 
SELENE: ASTRO CORPORATION HEADQUARTERS

 Pancho paced across her office as she spoke, feeling frustratedbecause there was no feedback from the person she was addressing.
Communications beyond the Earth/Moon vicinity were almost always one-
way affairs. Even though messages flitted through space at the speedof light, the distances to Mars, the Belt, and beyond were simply toogreat for a real-time, face-to-face chat.

So Pancho rattled on, hoping that Kris Cardenas would reply asquickly as possible.

"I know it's a lot to ask, Dr. Cardenas," she was saying. "You'vespent a lot of years there at Ceres and made a life for yourself. Butthis migration out to Saturn is a chance to build something brand newfor yourself. They'll be happy to have your expertise, you can counton that. There's probably a million ways your knowledge ofnanotechnology will help them."

By force of habit Pancho glanced up at the image floating in themiddle of her office. Instead of Kris Cardenas's face, it showed onlyher own neatly typed words.

"I'll personally pay all your expenses and add a big bonus," Panchowent on. "I'll pay for a major expansion of your habitat out there atCeres. She's my little sister, Kris, and she needs somebody to watchover her. I can't do it; I'm hoping that you can. Will you do thisfor me? Just for a year or so, just long enough so Sis gets squaredaway and can stand on her own feet without doing anything foolish.
Will you help me on this, Kris? I really think it'll be to youradvantage and I'd appreciate it enormously."

Pancho realized she was practically begging. Almost whining. So 


what? she asked herself. This is Susie I'm talking about.

But she took a breath and said more evenly, "Please get back to meas soon as you can on this, Kris. It's important to me."

 In her cozy quarters aboard the habitat Chrysalis in orbit aroundthe asteroid Ceres, Kris Cardenas intently watched Pancho's earnestface as the Astro Corporation board chairman paced back and forthacross her plushly furnished office. Cardenas noted the tension inevery line of Pancho's lanky body, every gesture, every word shespoke.

I don't owe her a thing, Cardenas told herself. Why should I uprootmyself and trundle out to Saturn on that weird expedition?

Yet, despite herself, she felt intrigued. Maybe it's time for achange in my life. Maybe I've done enough penance.

Despite her calendar years, Dr. Kristin Cardenas looked no morethan thirtyish, a pert sandy blond woman with a swimmer's shouldersand strong, athletic body, and bright cornflower-blue eyes. That wasbecause her body teemed with nanomachines, virus-sized devices thatacted as a deliberate, directed immune system that destroyed invadingorganisms, took apart plaque forming in her blood vessels atom byatom, and rebuilt tissue damaged by trauma or aging.

Cardenas had won a Nobel Prize for her research in nanotechnology,
before the fundamentalist governments of Earth succeeded in banningall forms of nanotech on the planet. She had carried on her work atSelene for years, helping the lunar nation to win its short,
virtually bloodless war against the former world government. Butbecause she had taken nanomachines into her own body she was notallowed to return to Earth, even for a brief visit. She lost herhusband and children because they dared not come to Selene and riskbeing exiled from Earth with her. Cardenas bitterly resented theshortsighted attitudes of the "flatlanders" who had cost her herchildren and grandchildren, a bitterness that had led her tohomicide. She had allowed her knowledge of nanotechnology to be usedto sabotage a spacecraft, which caused the death of industrialist DanRandolph.

The government of Selene locked her out of her own nanotech lab.
She fled to the mining station on Ceres, in the Asteroid Belt, whereshe remained for many years, serving as a medical doctor andeventually as a member of Ceres's governing board. Penance. Shehelped to build the miners' community at Ceres, and she had refusedto do any nanotech work since fleeing from Selene.

Am I being foolish? she now asked herself. Should I apply for aslot on the Saturn expedition? Would they take me if I did apply?

Staring at Pancho's engrossed image frozen on her wallscreen,
Cardenas decided to try. It's time to begin a new life in a newworld, she thought. Time for a new start.

 The cafeteria was a strange place to hold such a sensitive meeting,
Eberly thought. Yet, on the other hand, the clattering, bustlingcafeteria was one of the few places in the habitat that would bevirtually impossible to bug with listening devices. Too muchbackground noise, too many people moving about.

"I understand that you are from Rwanda," Eberly said pleasantly, ashe picked at the salad on the table before him.

"Col. Kananga was a high official in the national police force,"
said Morgenthau, whose plate bore an arrangement of fresh fruitslices.

 "So I gathered from your dossier," Eberly said, with a smile. "It'sunfortunate that you were asked to leave the country."

If the barb hurt Kananga, the tall, lean Rwandan gave no indicationof it. He said merely, "I was asked to clear up a difficultsituation, and once I did so, I was rewarded with a choice between a 


public trial for police brutality or permanent exile."

Eberly pursed his lips sympathetically. "Politicians," he murmured.

"Yes," said Kananga, his voice like the rumble of a lion.
"Politicians."

 Morgenthau forced a smile. "Col. Kananga is interested in workingwith us, Malcolm."

"Good," said Eberly, without taking his eyes from the Rwandan'sdark, impassive face. "You could be useful in the government we willset up once we arrive at Saturn."

"I would expect to keep my position as chief of security," Kanangasaid flatly.

"I don't see why you shouldn't," Eberly replied. Then he added, "Ifyou can follow my orders absolutely and without fail."

Kananga allowed the trace of a smile to curl his lips slightly. "Iknow how to follow orders."

 "Good. If you are loyal to me, I will be loyal to you. You'll findme a trustworthy leader. I won't turn on you for doing your job."

The Rwandan's smile broadened enough to show some teeth. "Even if Iam ... eh, zealous, let us say, in carrying out your orders?"

"Zeal is no sin," Morgenthau said, "when you're doing God's work."

Eberly said, "Just follow my orders, do your work well, and youwon't have to worry about being shipped back to Rwanda once we'vearrived at Saturn."

 Kananga nodded wordlessly.

When she received Cardenas's request, Holly raced from her desk tofind Eberly. He was in the office complex's cafeteria, sitting withMorgenthau and a lean, skeletally thin man whose complexion wasdarker than her own, the nearly purple black of the true African.
They were deep in an intense discussion, their heads leaning forwardlike conspirators.

Holly scurried up to their table and stood at Eberly's elbow. Noneof them paid any attention to her. They continued to talk in hushed,
confidential tones, too low for Holly to hear their words over theclatter and conversations that clanged off the bare walls of the busycafeteria.

 She waited several moments, fidgeting impatiently, then broke intotheir tęte-ŕ-tęte with, "Excuse me! Malcolm, I hate to interruptbut--"

 Eberly looked up sharply at her, clear displeasure in his piercingeyes.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm, but it's important."

He took a breath, then said, "What is important enough to intrudein my discussion?"

"Dr. Cardenas wants to join us!"

"Cardenas?" asked Morgenthau.

"Kristin Cardenas," Holly said, grinning enthusiastically. "Thenanotech expert. She won the Nobel Prize! And she wants to come withus!"

 Eberly seemed less than pleased. "Do we need an expert innanotechnology?"

"That's a dangerous area," said the black man. His scalp was shavedbald, Holly saw, although there was a fringe of a beard outlining hisjawline.

"It's outlawed on Earth," Morgenthau agreed, adding a muttered,
"Unholy."

Holly was surprised at their obtuseness. "Nanotech could be reallyhelpful to us. We could use nanomachines to do most of the habitat'smaintenance work. And healthwise, nanomachines could--"

Eberly stopped her with an upraised finger. "Nanomachines areoutlawed on Earth because they could run wild and devour everythingin their path."

"Turn everything into gray goo," Morgenthau muttered.

"Only if somebody programs 'em to do that," Holly countered. "Thoseflatlanders back Earthside are scared of terrorists or nutcases going 


wild with nanomachines."

 Morgenthau glared at her but said nothing.

"Shouldn't we be concerned about that, as well?" Eberly askedmildly.

"We've screened everybody aboard," Holly said. "We don't have anyviolent types here. No fanatics."

"How can we be sure of that?" Morgenthau was obviously unconvinced.

Looking at Eberly, the black man said slowly, "Properly used,
nanomachines could be of great help to us."

Eberly stared back at him for a long moment. "You believe so?"

"I do."

 "Would Dr. Cardenas agree to work under our terms, I wonder?"
Eberly mused.

"We could ask her and find out," Holly prompted. "She's on Ceresnow. We could pick her up when we go through the Belt. I checked theflight plan; we'll be within a day's flight of Ceres. She could buzzout to us on a torch ship, no prob. I could get my sister to set up aflight for her, betcha."

Eberly stroked his chin. "Even though we have a full complimentnow, I suppose we could make room for one person of Dr. Cardenas'scaliber."

 "If Wilmot approves of it," said Morgenthau.

"Wilmot." Eberly almost sneered. "I'm in charge of human resourcesdecisions, not Wilmot."

"But something like this--"

"I'll take care of it," he insisted. Turning to Holly, he said,
"Inform Dr. Cardenas that I would like to discuss this with her 
personally."

"Cosmic!" Holly blurted.

She was about to turn and head back to the human resources office 
when Eberly grasped her wrist.

"You haven't met Colonel Kananga, have you?"

The black man got to his feet like a jointed scaffolding unfolding.
He was almost two meters tall, a full head taller than Holly.

"Our director of security, Colonel Leo Kananga, from Rwanda," saidEberly. "Holly Lane, from Selene."

Kananga extended his hand. Holly took it in hers. His long fingersfelt cold and dry. His grip was strong, almost painful.

Kananga smiled at her, but there was no warmth in it. Just theopposite. Holly felt an icy shudder run down her spine. It was likelooking at a skull, a death's head.

 DEPARTURE PLUS 145 DAYS

 As she climbed the stairs to the roof of the administration 
building, Holly wondered why Eberly had summoned her to the rooftop.
She stepped through the metal door and looked for him. No one elsewas there. She walked to within two steps of the roof's edge andturned full circle. She was alone.

 He's always so prompt, she thought. Why isn't he here?

Then she realized that she was more than a minute early, and sherelaxed somewhat. He'll be here, she told herself, right on the tick.

Gazing out from the three story-high roof, Holly could see theother buildings of the village, low and gleaming white in thesunlight. The long slash of the solar window overhead was too brightto look at for more than a momentary glimpse. Even so, the afterimage of its glare burned in her eyes.

Everything is going well, Holly thought. The habitat is functioningsmoothly, everybody doing their jobs as they should. Some troublewith one of the solar mirrors a few days ago, but the maintenancecrew went out in spacesuits and fixed it. Now it was swiveling 


properly again, keeping sunlight streaming through the long windowswhile the habitat rotated along its axis.

We need sunshine, Holly thought. No matter where we go, no matterhow far from Earth we travel, human beings need sunshine. It's morethan simple biology, more than the need for green plants at thefoundation of the food chain. Sunlight makes us happy, drives awaydepression. Must be awful back Earthside when they have clouds andstorms and they don't see the Sun for days and days. No wonder theflatlanders are a little crazy.

She glanced at her wrist again. He'll be here, she told herself.
He's always on time. Why's he want to see me up here, though? Justthe two of us. She felt a nervous thrill race through her. Just thetwo of us.

 Maybe he feels about me the way I feel about him. Maybe just alittle, but-


"There you are."

She whirled and focused her attention on Eberly, who was walkingslowly across the rooftop's slightly rubbery surface toward her. Hereally is handsome, she saw. So full of energy. But he ought to dressbetter, Holly thought, scrutinizing the baggy gray slacks and darkershapeless tunic that hung a size or so too big from his shoulders.

"I wanted to have a word with you outside the office," he said ashe stopped an arm's length from her.

"Sure, Malcolm." She had to make a conscious effort to keep herhands from fidgeting.

"There are too many listening ears down there," he went on, "andwhat I have to say is for you only."

"What is it?" she asked, trembling.

He looked over his shoulder, as if expecting to find someone hidingbehind him.

 Turning back to Holly, he said, "I see from your reports that youare ready to launch the naming contests."

Business, Holly realized, crestfallen. He wants to talk aboutbusiness.

 "You are ready, aren't you?" he asked, oblivious to her letdown.

"Right," she said, thinking, Nothing but business. I don't reallymean a thing to him.

"You've set up the rules for each contest?"

Holly nodded. "It was pretty easy, f'real. And I think that using alottery to pick the committees for judging each individual contest isthe best way to go."

"I agree," Eberly said. "You've done a fine job."

"Thanks, Malcolm," she said glumly.

"I'll have to get Wilmot's approval, and then we can launch thecontests. I should be able to make the announcement within a few 
days."

"Fine."

 His face grew serious. "But there is something else, Holly."

"What is it?"

 He drew in a breath. "I don't want you to think of this as areprimand--"

"Reprimand?" A pang of alarm raced through her. "What did I do?"

He touched her shoulder with one extended finger. "Don't befrightened. This is not a reprimand."

"But... what?"

 "You and I have been working together for several months now, andin general your work has been excellent."

She could see there was bad news coming. She tried not to cringe orlet her fear show in her expression.

"However, there is one thing."

"What is it, Malcolm? Tell me and I'll fix it."

The corners of his lips curled upward slightly. "Holly, I don'tmind you addressing me by my given name when we're alone," he saidsoftly, "but when we are with other people, that is altogether too 


familiar. You should call me Dr. Eberly."

"Oh." Holly knew from Eberly's dossier that his doctorate washonorary, awarded by a minor Web-based college that sold courses onlanguages and public speaking.

"When I introduced you to Colonel Kananga a few days ago," he wenton, "it was altogether improper for you to address me by my firstname."

 "I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "I didn't realize..."

He patted her shoulder in a fatherly manner. "I know. I understand.
It really isn't all that important, except that for persons such asKananga and Morgenthau and such, respect is very essential."

"I didn't mean to be disrespectful, Mal--I mean, Dr. Eberly."

"You can continue to call me Malcolm when we're alone. But when 
there is a third person present, it would be better if you observedthe formalities."

 "Sure," Holly said. "No prob."

"Good. Now, we'd both better be getting back to work."

He turned and started for the door that led back inside the 
building. Holly scampered after him.

"About Dr. Cardenas," she said.

"Yes?" Without turning or slowing his pace.

"She's agreed to work under our guidelines. She'll be joining us atour closest approach to Ceres. It's all set."

"Good," Eberly said, unsmiling. "Now we need to draw up theguidelines that will regulate her work."

"We'll need Professor Wilmot's approval for that, won't we?"

He grimaced. "Yes, we will. Unless..."

Holly waited for him to finish the thought. Instead, Eberly yankedopen the door and started down the metal stairs toward his office.

 Two days later, Eberly sat behind his bare desk studying the faceof Hal Jaansen, head of the habitat's engineering department.

Ruth Morgenthau sat beside Jaansen, looking worried. She wore oneof her colorful tunics and enough jewelry, Eberly thought, to tiltthe entire habitat in her direction. She's paying absolutely noattention to the dress codes, he said to himself. She's flaunting herindependence, making me look like a fool. But he kept the distasteoff his face as he watched Jaansen.

 The man doesn't look like an engineer, Eberly thought. Jaansen wasone of those pale blond Norsemen; even his eyelashes were so lightthat they were practically invisible. He had a clean, pink, well-
scrubbed look, and instead of the engineer's coveralls that Eberlyhad expected, Jaansen wore a crisply starched old-fashioned shirtwith an open collar and neatly creased chocolate brown trousers. Theonly clue to his profession that Eberly could see was the squareblack palm-sized digital information processor that rested on histhigh, balanced there precariously. Jaansen touched it every now andthen with the fingers of his left hand, as though to reassure himselfthat it was still there.

 "Nanotechnology is a two-edged sword," he was saying, somewhatpompously, Eberly thought. "It can be used for a tremendous varietyof purposes, but it also poses grave dangers."

"The gray goo problem," Morgenthau murmured.

Jaansen nodded. His face was square-cut, stolid. Eberly decidedthat the man had very little imagination; he was a walking bundle offacts and information, but beyond his technical expertise he had nointerests, no knowledge, no ambitions. Good! Eberly said to himself.

"Gray goo is one thing," Jaansen replied. "Nanobugs have also beendeliberately programmed to destroy proteins. Take them apart,
molecule by molecule."

"So I've been told," said Eberly.

"We're made of proteins. Nanobugs can be designed to be killers.
That's a real danger in a closed ecology like this habitat. They 


could wipe out everybody in less than a day."

Morgenthau gasped a disbelieving, "No! Less than a day?"

Jaansen shrugged his slim shoulders. "They can reproduce themselvesout of the materials around them in milliseconds and multiply fasterthan plague microbes. That's why they're usually programmed to be de-
functioned by near UV."

"De-functioned?" asked Eberly.

"Near UV?" Morgenthau inquired.

"De-functioned, deactivated, broken up, killed, stopped. Nearultraviolet light is softer--er, not so energetic--as ultravioletlight of shorter wavelength. So you can use near UV to stop nanobugswithout causing damage to people." He broke into a toothy grin as headded, "Except maybe they get a suntan."

Eberly steepled his fingers. "So nanomachines can be controlled."

"If you're verrry careful," Jaansen replied.

"But the risks are frightening," Morgenthau said.

Jaansen shrugged again. "Perhaps. But take the EVA we had to do onthe solar mirrors a few days ago. Nanomachines could have beeninserted into the mirror motors and repaired them without anyoneneeding to go outside."

"Then they could be very useful," said Eberly.

"They'd be extremely helpful in all the maintenance tasks, yes,
certainly," Jaansen replied. "They would make my job much easier."
Before either of the other two could speak, he added, "If they'rekept under strict control. That's the hard part: keeping them undercontrol."

 "Can they be controlled well enough to do only what they'reprogrammed to do, without running wild?" Morgenthau asked.

"Yes, certainly. But you've got to be verrry careful with theprogramming. It's like those old fairy tales about getting threewishes, and the wishes always backfire on you."

"We'll have Dr. Kristin Cardenas to be in charge of thenanotechnology group," Eberly said.

Jaansen's ash-blond brows rose a respectful few centimeters.
"Cardenas? She's here?"

 "She will be, in a few months."

"That's good. That's extremely good."

"Then it's settled," Eberly said. "You will work with Cardenas todraw up guidelines for using nanomachines."

Jaansen nodded enthusiastically. "I'll be glad to."

"I don't like it," Morgenthau said, grim-faced. "It's toodangerous."

"Not if we can keep them under control," said Eberly.

Jaansen got to his feet. "As I said, it's a two-edged sword.
Cardenas is the top expert, though. We'll be lucky to have her."

"I don't like it," said Morgenthau, once the engineer had left.
"Nanomachines are dangerous ... evil."

"They're tools," Eberly countered. "Tools that could be useful tous."

 "But-"

 "No buts!" Eberly snapped. "I've made my decision. Dr. Cardenaswill be welcome, as long as she works under our guidelines."

Looking doubtful, almost fearful, Morgenthau said, "I'll have todiscuss this with my superiors in Amsterdam."

Eberly glared at her. "The Holy Disciples asked me to direct thingshere. I won't be second-guessed by a board of elders sitting back onEarth."

 "Those elders asked me to assist you," said Morgenthau. "And tomake certain you didn't stray off the path of righteousness."

Eberly leaned back in his desk chair. So that's it. She's the linkback to Amsterdam. She's here to control me.

 Keeping his voice calm, he said to Morgenthau, "Well, I've made mydecision. Dr. Cardenas will be joining us in three months, andthere's nothing that Amsterdam or Atlanta or anyone else can do about 


it."

 She looked far less than pleased. "You still have to convinceWilmot to let you introduce nanotechnology into the habitat."

Eberly stared at her for a silent moment. Then, "Yes, so I do."

 CONFIDENTIAL REPORT

 EYES ONLY

 TO: M. Eberly.

FROM: R. Morgenthau.

SUBJECT: Surveillance of living quarters.

 Dr. Eberly:

I discussed the problem of installing surveillance cameras in everyliving space in the habitat with H. Jaansen, of Engineering. Heinformed me that microcameras, no larger than a pinhead, have beendeveloped for the probes that the planetary scientists plan to sendto Titan. Such cameras are also used by the medical department forexamining patients' innards. They can be manufactured in largenumbers with existing facilities.

Jaansen suggests having the medical department initiate a programof spraying each apartment in the habitat with a broad-baseddisinfectant or aerosol antibiotic, under the guise of preventing theoutbreak of airborne diseases. The cameras would be installed in each 
apartment during the spraying procedure.

This program will require the cooperation of several lower-levelpersonnel from the medical, maintenance, engineering, and securitydepartments. It will also require a significant amount of time tocomplete.

If you can recruit satisfactory personnel for this program, Isuggest we begin the "spraying" effort as soon as feasible.

In addition, Vyborg has successfully tapped into the communicationsnet and is now routinely recording phone conversations and the videoprogramming that individuals watch in their homes. The amount ofinformation is enormous, as you may well imagine. Vyborg will needguidelines from you as to who should be monitored on a regular basis.
He will also need personnel and/or automated equipment to accomplishsaid monitoring.

 DEPARTURE PLUS 268 DAYS

 And this is where we grow most of our fruit," Holly was saying asshe and Kris Cardenas strolled leisurely through the orchard's longstraight rows of trees: oranges on their left, limes on their right.
Grapefruit and lemons were behind them; they were approaching apples,
pears, and peaches. The trees were lined up as precisely as marchingcadets.

 Cardenas had arrived aboard the habitat the day before. Now sheseemed lost in wonder. "I haven't seen a tree in so many years...."
She turned and laughed, head upturned. "Not one tree since I leftSelene and here you've got a whole orchard full of them! It's likeCalifornia, almost!"

Holly asked, "There aren't any trees on Ceres?"

"Not a one," replied Cardenas, a bright smile on her youthful face.
"Nothing but hydroponics tanks."

"We have hydroponics farms, too," Holly said, "as a backup in caseany troubles come up with the crops."

"And bees!" Cardenas exclaimed. "Aren't those bees?"

 "Uh-huh. We need them for pollinating the trees. They make their 


hives in those white boxes over there." Holly pointed toward a set ofsquare white skeps sitting among the trees. Laughing, she added,
"Would you believe, one of my hardest problems was finding a coupleof beekeepers."

Cardenas looked at her with those brilliant blue eyes of hers. "Youknow, you really don't realize how much you miss open spaces andtrees and ... well, even grass, for god's sake. Not until you seesomething like this again."

They walked on through the orchard, heading for the farms outbeyond the trees. Eberly had given Holly the task of showing Dr.
Cardenas around the habitat. He called it orientation; Holly calledit fun.

 As they walked through the neatly aligned rows of trees, they hearda thin, quavering voice off to their left. Singing.

"Who's that?" Cardenas wondered.

 Holly ducked through the low branches of a young peach tree and cuttoward the edge of the orchard, Cardenas close behind her.

The orchard ended in an earthen embankment that led down to the 
irrigation canal. Water flowed smoothly through the sloping concretewalls of the canal. Up ahead of them they saw a solitary man lugginga double armful of sticks and leafy bushes, singing in a high,
scratchy voice. Spanish, Holly thought. It sounds like a Spanish folksong.

"Hello," Cardenas called to the man.

He dropped his burden and squinted through the late afternoonsunlight at them. Holly saw he was elderly. No, he looked old. Leanbody half bent with age, skinny arms, wispy white hair that floatedabout his head like a halo, scraggly dead white beard. She had neverseen a truly old person before. He wore a droopy shirt that had oncebeen white, sleeves rolled up above his elbows, and shapeless, baggyblue jeans.

"Hola!" he called back to them.

 The two women approached him. "We heard you singing," Holly said.

"It was very lovely," Cardenas added.

"Thank you," said the man. "I am Diego Alejandro Ignacio Romero. Myfriends call me Don Diego, because of my age. I am not truly anobleman."

 The women introduced themselves. Then Holly asked, "You must workfor the maintenance department, right?"

Don Diego smiled, revealing perfect teeth. "My occupation is in thecommunications department. On Earth, I taught history. Or tried to."

"What are you doing here, then?"

"The Church was not happy with my studies of the Counterreformationand the Inquisition."

"No, I mean, working out here by the canal."

"Oh, this? This is my hobby. I am attempting to create a littlewilderness."

 He gestured along the canal, and Holly saw that there were bushesand small trees set up haphazardly along the sloping packed-earthbanks. Someone had moved a few good-sized rocks here and there, aswell.

 "Wilderness?"

 "Yes," said Don Diego. "This habitat is too neat, too ordered.
People need something more natural than rows of trees plantedprecisely two point five meters apart."

Cardenas laughed. "A nature trail."

"Si. Yes, a nature trail. Built by hand, I'm afraid, because natureis a stranger to this place."

"Why did you sign up for this mission?" Cardenas asked.

Don Diego pulled a checkered handkerchief from his shirt pocket andmopped his brow. "To help build a new world, of course. And perhapsto teach anyone who expressed an interest in history, if I amallowed."

 "You'd like to teach?" 


 "I was professor of Latin American history at the University ofMexico until I was forcibly retired."

Without thinking, Holly asked, "How old are you?"

He eyed her for a moment, then smiled. "You don't see many as agedas I, do you?"

Holly shook her head.

"I have ninety-seven years. Ninety-eight, in four months."

Cardenas said, "You could take rejuvenation treatments--"

"No," he replied amiably. "Not for me. I want to grow oldgracefully, but I am unwilling to postpone death indefinitely."

"You want to die?" Holly blurted.

"Not necessarily. I maintain my health. I have taken injections togrow my third set of teeth. Also injections to rebuild the cartilagein my joints."

With a smile, Cardenas said, "You're getting your rejuvenationtreatment one shot at a time, instead of all at once."

He thought about that for a moment. Then, "Perhaps. It would not bethe first time I have played the fool on myself."

Holly asked, "Does the maintenance department know what you'redoing here?"

For the first time, Don Diego looked apprehensive. "Eh ... notyet," he said slowly. Before Holly could say anything more, he added,
"I have not interfered with the flow of water in the canal. If 
anything, I believe I have made this area more beautiful, morenatural, and serene."

Cardenas looked at the tangle of bushes and rocks, then up over theembankment's edge at the straight rows of fruit trees. Finally shelooked back into the old man's red-rimmed eyes.

"I agree," she said. "You've created some beauty here."

"You will not report this to the maintenance department?" Don Diegoasked.

 Cardenas glanced at Holly.

"I will tell them myself, of course," he said, "when I havefinished this stretch of the canal."

 Holly grinned at him. "No, we won't tell anybody."

Cardenas agreed with a nod.

"May we come and help you, now and then?" Holly asked.

"Of course! I am always glad for the company of lovely women."

 Less than three kilometers away from them, Malcolm Eberly andProfessor Wilmot were following a lab-coated technical managerthrough one of the small, highly automated factories that producedthe habitat's manufactured goods. This one was turning out thepharmaceutical pills and drugs that the habitat's population neededto maintain their health, and the meat-based proteins they requiredfor a balanced diet. The two men were inspecting the rows ofprocessors that produced the medications and gengineered food:
shoulder-tall stainless steel vats that gleamed in the overheadlights. The factory was practically silent; the only sound other thantheir own voices was the background hum of electrical power.

"...can't allow infectious diseases to get a start here," thefactory manager was saying as he led the two men down the row ofprocessors. "In a closed ecology like this, even the sniffles couldbe dangerous."

Eberly turned to Wilmot, beside him. "That's one of the reasons whyI approved Dr. Cardenas's application to join us. With her knowledgeof nanotechnology--"

"You should have consulted me first," Wilmot said sharply. Hestopped in the middle of the aisle and fixed Eberly with a severegaze.

Eberly stopped too, and glanced at the factory manager, whopretended not to hear as he kept on walking slowly along the row ofhumming vats. 


 "But, Professor," Eberly said placatingly, "I sent you amemorandum. When you didn't reply, I naturally assumed you approvedof our taking Dr. Cardenas aboard."

"You should have come to me in person to discuss it," Wilmot said.
"That's what I expected."

"You placed me in charge of human resources matters. I assumed youwould be elated to have Dr. Cardenas with us."

 "You assume too much."

 The factory manager, a bland-looking technician in a long pale bluelab coat, cleared his throat and said, "Urn, the rest of theprocessors are pretty much just like these here. We can program themto produce any of the medications required out of the raw materialscoming in from the chem labs."

"Thank you," said Wilmot, dismissing the man with a wave of hisbeefy hand.

The manager scurried away, leaving Eberly alone with the professor.
As far as Eberly could tell, the manager was the only human on thefactory's staff.

He looked up at Wilmot. The professor was much taller than Eberly,
big-boned. He looked decidedly displeased.

"You don't approve of allowing Dr. Cardenas to join us?" Eberlyasked in what he hoped was a properly obsequious whine.

Wilmot opened his mouth, shut it again, and fingered his moustachemomentarily before replying, "I'm not certain that I would haveapproved her application, no."

"But she is here," Eberly said. "She arrived from Ceres yesterdaymorning."

"I know. You exceeded your authority by inviting her, Dr. Eberly."

"But I didn't invite her! She asked for permission to join us."

"Even so, you should have brought the matter to me. Immediately. Iam the one in charge here, and I have to justify every decision Imake to the university consortium board back on Earth."

"I know, but--"

"You know, but you bypassed the rules of procedure," Wilmot hissed.
"You acted on your own authority."

"I thought you would be pleased," Eberly bleated.

"This habitat must run on established procedures," Wilmot said, hisvoice as low as Eberly's but much stronger. "We cannot have anarchyhere! There is a set of regulations that was drawn up by the bestminds the consortium could tap. We will follow those regulationsuntil we arrive at Saturn and the people select the form ofgovernment they desire. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir. Perfectly clear."

Wilmot drew in a deep breath. Then, somewhat more softly, he wenton, "Once we've achieved orbit around Saturn the people can draw up aconstitution for themselves and elect officers and all that. Form 
their own government. But while we are in transit we will follow theregulations set down by the consortium. No one will deviate fromthose regulations. No one!"

"I thought you would be happy to have Dr. Cardenas."

Wilmot fiddled with his moustache again. "Nanotechnology," hemuttered. "Serious stuff, that."

Eberly realized that the professor was not angry. He was worried,
perhaps frightened. A weight lifted from Eberly's shoulders; he hadto consciously keep himself from smiling.

"Ah, yes," he said, in a hushed tone. "Nanotechnology. In a closedenvironment such as ours..." He let the thought peter out in mid-
sentence.

 Wilmot resumed walking along the nearly silent processors. "Irealize that nanomachines can be of enormous help to us. And I knowthat Dr. Cardenas is the leading expert in the field. Still..."

Thinking quickly, Eberly suggested, "If you don't want her here, Ican order her back to Ceres."

 Wilmot looked shocked. "Throw her out? We can't do that! We've 


already accepted her. You did, rather, but you did it in the name of

our community and we can't go back on our word."

"No, I suppose not," Eberly agreed meekly.

Wilmot paced on, determined to get to the end of the row ofprocessors, even though each one looked alike and there was no longeranyone with them to explain anything.

Matching the professor's long-legged strides as best as he could,
Eberly said, "I suppose we could order her not to engage in anynanotechnology work. She served as a medical caregiver in Ceres, Iunderstand."

 The professor glared down at Eberly. "We can't do that! She's abloody Nobel laureate, for the lord's sake! We can't have herdispensing pills."

"But nanotechnology has its dangers--"

"And its advantages. We'll have to supervise her work very closely.
I want foolproof safeguards around her laboratory. Absolutelyfoolproof!"

"Yes, of course," Eberly replied, thinking, The only fool here isyou, Professor. You're the one who's frightened of nanotechnology,
yet you will allow it here in the habitat because you're toounbelievably polite to send Cardenas back to Ceres.

It was all he could do to keep from laughing in the professor'sface.

 Instead, he shifted the subject. "Sir, have you had a chance tostudy the proposal for naming the various parts of the habitat?"

"This silly contest thing?" Wilmot snapped.

"A series of contests, yes. The psychologists believe it will bebeneficial to the general mental health--"

"The psychologists actually endorse the idea?"

Realizing that Wilmot had no more than skimmed the proposal, atbest, Eberly went on, "The political scientists we consulted withback on Earth believe such contests can help to strengthen groupsolidarity."

"Hmph," muttered Wilmot. "I daresay."

"All the proposal needs is your approval, sir," Eberly urgedsubtly. "Then you can announce it to the general population."

"No, no," said the professor. "You make the announcement. It's youridea, after all."

"Me?" Eberly asked as innocently as he could.

"Yes, of course. I can't be bothered with it. You announce thecontests. Damned silly business, if you ask me, but if all thoseconsultants endorse it, I won't stand in your way."

Eberly could barely contain his elation. He wanted to leap into theair and give an exultant whoop. Instead he meekly paced along the rowof processors beside Professor Wilmot, thinking to himself, Hechastised me about Cardenas, so he felt he had to placate me aboutthe contests. How wonderfully predictable he is.

 "I haven't walked this much in years," Kris Cardenas said, puffingslightly. "I feel kind of light-headed."

Holly smiled. "It's the gravity. We've climbed closer to themidline; the g force gets lighter."

They had left Don Diego at the irrigation canal and walked throughthe plowed farmlands, then climbed the grassy hills down at theendcap of the habitat. Cardenas sat on the grass, her back proppedagainst a young elm tree. One of the habitat's ecologists had made apersonal crusade of trying to save the elm from the extinction itfaced on Earth.

 Cardenas huffed out a breath. "Whew! I'm glad I spent all thosehours in the centrifuge at Ceres. Mini-g can be seductive."

"You're in good shape," Holly said, sitting beside her.

"So are you."

The habitat stretched out before them, a green inside-out world, 


like a huge tunnel that had been landscaped and dotted with tiny toy

villages here and there.

"What did you think of that crazy old man?" Holly asked.

Cardenas looked out at the landscaped perfection of the habitat:
everything in its place, everything neat and tidy and somehow almostinhuman. It reminded her of store window displays from her childhood.

"I think we could use a few more crazies like him," she said.

"Maybe so," Holly half-agreed.

They sat in silence for a few moments, each absorbed in her ownthoughts.

"I read your bio," Holly said at last. "I expected you to look alot older than you do."

Cardenas didn't flinch, exactly, but she gave Holly a quicksidelong glance. "If you've read my bio then you know why I lookyounger than my years. And why I was living at Ceres."

Ignoring the tension in her voice, Holly asked, "How old do youthink I am?"

 Within ten minutes they were fast friends: two women whose bodieswere far younger than their ages.

 INFIRMARY

 The man lay wheezing on the gurney, his eyes swollen nearly shut.

The young doctor looked perplexed. "What's the matter with him?"

"I don't know!" said the woman who had brought him in. She wasclose to hysteria. "We were walking out in the park and all of asudden he collapsed!"

Leaning over the patient, the doctor asked, "Do you know whathappened to you?"

The man tried to speak, coughed painfully, then shook his headnegatively.

Glancing up at the monitors that lined the wall of the emergencycubicle, the doctor saw that it couldn't be a heart attack or astroke. He felt a surge of panic: not even the diagnostic computercould figure out what was wrong! The male nurse standing on the otherside of the gurney looked just as puzzled and scared as he felt.

The head nurse pushed past the woman and into the cubicle. "Takehis shirt off," she said.

The doctor was too confused and upset to argue about who gaveorders to whom. Besides, if the gossip around the infirmary wasanywhere near the truth, this tough Afro-American had put in plentyof years with the Peacekeeping troops. She had a reputation thatscared him.

 With the male nurse helping, they pulled the man's shirt off. Thepatient's chest and arms were lumpy with red welts. His skin felthot.

 "Hives?" the doctor asked.

 The nurse turned to the woman, staring wide-eyed at them, handsclenched before her face.

 "Walkin' in the park?" she asked.

The woman nodded.

 "Anaphylactic shock," the nurse said flatly. "Epinephrine."

The doctor gaped at her. "How could he--"

"Epinephrine! Now! He was stung by a fuckin' bee!"

The doctor barked to the male nurse, "Epinephrine! Now!"

The head nurse pulled a magnifying lens out of its slot on thecubicle wall and extended its folding arm across the patient's body.
The doctor accepted the hint and took the lens in one hand. Withinseconds he found the barb of the bee's stinger imbedded in thepatient's left forearm, just above the wrist. With a tweezers hegently pulled the stinger out, rather deftly, he thought. 


 When he looked up the head nurse had gone and the patient wasalready breathing more easily.

"I never saw a bee sting before," he admitted to the woman, whoalso looked much better now. "I interned in Chicago, downtown."

The woman nodded and even managed to smile. "He must be allergic."

"Must be," the doctor agreed.

The male nurse unclipped the patient's ID badge from the shirt theyhad dropped to the floor and slid it into the computer terminal. Theman's name, occupation, and complete medical history came up on thedisplay. No mention of allergies, although he did have a history ofbronchial asthma. The doctor noted that the patient had grown up inCairo and had been a lawyer before running into trouble with theSword of Islam and accepting permanent exile instead of a fifty-yearprison term for political agitation. Aboard the habitat he worked inthe accounting office.

"A lawyer?" the male nurse grumbled after the patient had recoveredenough to walk home with his girlfriend. "Shoulda let him croak."

 DEPARTURE PLUS 269 DAYS

 The next morning when Holly arrived at her cubbyhole office, therewas a message on her desktop screen from Eberly. Without even sittingat her desk, she went straight to his office.

The door was open; he was already at his desk, deep in discussionwith a young Asian couple. She hesitated. Eberly glanced up at herand nodded briefly, so she stayed in the doorway and listened.

"We understand the regulations and the reasoning behind them," theyoung man was saying, in California English. Holly saw that he wastense, sitting stiffly on the front five centimeters of the chair.

"It's my fault," said the woman, leaning forward and gripping theedge of Eberly's desk with both hands. "The protection I used was notsufficient."

 Eberly leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Therules are quite specific," he said gently. "Your only choice is anabortion."

 The man's face crumpled. "But... it's only this one case. Can't anexception be made?"

"If an exception is made for you," Eberly said, "others will expectthe same consideration, won't they?"

"Yes. I see."

 Eberly spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "We live in alimited ecology. We're not allowed to expand our population. Notuntil we arrive at Saturn and prove that we can sustain largernumbers will anyone be allowed to have children."

"I must have an abortion, then?" the woman asked, her voiceshaking.

"Or we could put you off when we refuel at Jupiter and you couldreturn to Earth."

 The young man shook his head slowly. "We can't afford the transportfare. Everything we had was invested in this habitat."

Eberly asked, "Do you have religious inhibitions against abortion?"

"No," the man answered, so quickly that it made Holly wonder.

"Is there no other way?" the woman asked, almost begged.

Eberly steepled his fingers again and tapped them against his chin.
The young couple strained forward unconsciously, waiting for a wordof hope.

"Perhaps..."

"Yes?" they said in unison.

"Perhaps the fertilized zygote could be removed and frozen--kept instorage until it's decided that we can expand our population."

Frozen! Holly shuddered at the idea. Yet it had saved her life. No, 


she thought. It had allowed her to begin a new life after her old oneended in death.

 "Then the zygote can be reimplanted in your womb," Eberly wassaying. "You'll have a perfectly normal baby; you'll simply have towait a year or two."

He smiled brightly at them. They looked at each other, then back tohim.

 "This can be done?" the young man asked.

"It would require special permission," said Eberly, "but I can takecare of that for you."

"Would you?"

He hesitated just a fraction of a second, then smiled again andanswered, "Yes. Of course. I'll handle it for you."

They were unendingly grateful. It took a full ten minutes ofhandshaking and bowing before Eberly could usher them out of hisoffice. They did not even notice Holly standing by the doorway asthey left, still bowing their thanks.

"That was wonderful of you, Malcolm," Holly said as she went to thechair that the woman had been sitting in.

"Population control," he muttered as he stepped behind his desk andsat down. "I made certain that the human resources department gotthat responsibility. The ecologists wanted it, but I wrangled it awayfrom them."

 Holly nodded.

Pointing to the still-open doorway with a grin, Eberly said,
"There's a couple who will be loyal to me forever. Or until theirchild becomes a teenager."

Holly did not see any humor in that. "You wanted to see me?" shesaid.

 "Yes," he said as he snapped his fingers, the signal for hiscomputer to boot up.

Holly waited in silence as the image formed above Eberly's desk. Itwas a list of some sort. It was facing him, so to her the hologramwas turned backwards, inverted. She sat and waited while he studiedthe list. The office seemed small and bare and, somehow, cold.

At last he looked up from the image and gazed directly at her.
Holly felt those laser blue eyes penetrate to her soul.

"There are going to be some changes in this office," he said,
without preamble, without asking how she was or noticing that she waswearing a plain sky blue tunic over her slacks, with no adornmentsother than her name badge, just as the dress code guidelines calledfor.

 "Changes?"

"Yes," Eberly said. "I won't be able to continue directing the day-
to-day operations of this office. I will be busy organizing thegovernment of the habitat."

"Government? But I thought--"

"Holly," he said, leaning forward slightly in his desk chair,
toward her. She leaned toward him, too. "Holly, we have ten thousandmen and women here. They must have a voice in choosing the kind ofgovernment they want. And their leaders."

Holly said, "You mean the government we'll create once we get toSaturn."

 Eberly shook his head. "I don't believe we should wait until wearrive in Saturn orbit. The people should decide on the governmentthey want now. Why wait?"

"But I thought that as long as we're in transit out to Saturn wehave to--"

 "We have to follow the protocols set down by the consortium,"
Eberly finished for her.

"Yes," Holly said.

"Why?" he demanded. "Why should we allow ourselves to be governedby rules written by a group of university graybeards who remainedbehind on Earth? What right do they have to force us to obey their 


rules?"

 Holly thought a moment. "That's what we agreed to, though."

"It's time to end that agreement. What difference does it make ifwe do it now or wait until we arrive at Saturn?"

 She thought his question cut both ways. Why rush into this now?

"We should not allow arrogant old men to tell us what we can andcannot do," Eberly said, with some heat. His face was reddening,
Holly saw.

"Maybe not," she agreed, half-heartedly.

"Of course not," he said. "The people must decide for themselves."

"I guess."

"These contests you're setting up to pick names for the villagesand everything else, they are a part of my plan," he confided.

That surprised her. "Your plan?"

"Yes. By themselves, the contests are little more than trivia,
entertainment for the masses. But they serve a larger purpose."

"I click," Holly said. "Getting the people to vote in the contestswill be like a sort of training exercise, right? It'll prepare thepeople to vote for their government when the time comes."

Eberly gave her the full radiance of his best smile. "You areextremely bright, Holly. Extremely bright."

She could feel her cheeks grow warm.

But Eberly's face grew somber. "There's something else, though.
Something lacking."

"Lacking?"

With a preoccupied nod, Eberly muttered, "Some sort of goal,
something that I can focus everyone's attention on." He looked intoHolly's eyes and said, "I need an aim, a lofty mission for thesepeople, something to unite them behind me."

"We already have a goal," Holly reminded him. "We're going toexplore Saturn and its moons."

Eberly made a disappointed grumble. "That's a goal for thescientists. What about the rest of us?"

 She shrugged. "There's the rings. They're pretty spectacular. Maybewe could make entertainment videos--" Suddenly Holly's eyes flashedwide and her mouth dropped open.

"What is it?" Eberly asked.

"The rings," she said. "They're made of ice. Water ice."

He frowned, uncomprehending.

"Water's valuable, isn't it? Miners in the Asteroid Belt get asmuch for water ice as they do for gold, don't they? More, even."

"Water ice," Eberly murmured.

"The rings are made of it."

"We could sell it, yes. We could be rich on it!"

"If Dr. Urbain gives permission to mine the rings."

"Urbain," Eberly growled. "That academic."

"But he's in charge--"

"Not once we get a new constitution in place."

"Oh," said Holly. "I click."

Eberly raised a warning finger. "Not a word about this to anyone,
Holly. I don't want to get Urbain broiling before we're ready for hisresistance."

 "I'll keep quieter than a tomb."

"Good. We both have a lot of work ahead of us, Holly."

She nodded.

 "While you are running the contests," he said, utterly serious,
almost grim, "I must devote all my efforts to drawing up aconstitution for the people."

"So, if you're going to be busy setting up this new constitutionand everything, who's going to run the office here?"

"You will."

 Holly gulped. "Me?"

He smiled at her surprise. "Of course you. Who else?"

"But I can't be in charge," she squeaked. "I'm just an assistant, a 


house mouse--"

 Eberly's smile widened. "Holly, haven't you been my assistant? Whatbetter qualifications for the task can there be?"

She wanted to turn handsprings. "But... d'you think the prof willokay me being named director?"

His smile vanished. "Wilmot," he muttered. "No, he would definitelynot approve of someone as junior as you being named director. Him andhis rigid regulations."

Holly watched his face, waiting for a ray of hope.

"I want you to head this office, Holly," he said. "You can do thework, I know you can."

"I'd do my warping best."

"Of course you will. But since I can't officially name youdirector, I must place someone else in the acting director'sposition. A figurehead. To placate Wilmot."

"Figurehead? Who?"

"Ruth Morgenthau will fill the role nicely. She's working in theadministrative services office at present. I can transfer her hereand Wilmot won't blink an eye."

Morgenthau, Holly thought. So that's why he's been spending so muchtime with her.

 "She's rather lazy, you know," he said, grinning naughtily. "Andrather vain. We'll let her sit at this desk and stay out of your way.
You will run the department."

"She would do that?"

 Nodding, he replied, "She'd leap at the chance. More prestige, lesswork. She'll love it."

 "I click." Holly tried to grin back at him, but it was forced.

He reached across the desk and lifted her chin so he could stare 
into her eyes. "It all depends on you, Holly. Will you take on thisresponsibility? Will you do this for me?"

Holly felt a rush of emotions surge through her: gratitude,
loyalty, a longing to please Malcolm Eberly, a yearning to have himlove her.

 "Yes," she said breathlessly. "I'll do anything for you, Malcolm."

He smiled dazzlingly. And thought, This ought to make Morgenthauhappy: the trappings of authority, a whole department to lord itover. It should keep her busy enough to stay out of my way.

 WHAT'S IN A NAME?

 BULLETIN

 TO: All Residents.

 FROM: M. Eberly, Director Human Resources Department.

SUBJECT: Naming Contests.

 You, the people of this habitat, will decide the names to be givento the five villages, the various work complexes, and the naturalareas (farms, orchards, woodlands, lakes, etc.) by participating incontests to select such names.

 Residents of each village will select the name for the village inwhich they reside. Workers in each factory, processing plant, farm,
aquaculture complex, etc., will select the names for such centers. Ifdesired, individual buildings may be given specific names.

Each contest will consist of three phases. In the first phase, allcitizens will decide on the categories from which names will beeventually chosen. For example, residents will decide whether theywish to name the villages after national heroes, or cities on Earth,
or great artists or scientists, etc.

In the second phase, specific names from each chosen category will 


be nominated and discussed. The list of names for each specific sitewill be shortened to five, using a secret ballot.

In the third and final phase, permanent names will be chosen fromthe short lists of five nominees, again by secret ballot.

The Human Resources Department will manage the various contests.
The Human Resources Department may appoint one or more panels ofcitizens to serve as judges, researchers, or in other capacities, asneeded.

 A public meeting will be convened at 22:00 hours Thursday in thecafeteria to discuss this activity. All residents are urged toattend.

 M. Eberly Director, Human Resources Department. 
MEMORANDUM

 TO: All Habitat Personnel.

 FROM: R. Morgenthau, Acting Director, Human Resources.

SUBJECT: Medical Prophylaxis.

 As a proactive measure to prevent the outbreak of airborneinfectious diseases, every individual's living quarters will betreated with a disinfectant antibiotic spray over the course of thenext four weeks.

 Each individual will be notified when her or his building is to betreated. Such treatment will be done during normal working hours; itis neither necessary nor desirable for individuals to remain in theirquarters during the spraying procedure.

R. Morgenthau.
Acting Director.
Human Resources. 
THE FIRST RALLY

 Although there were two full-service restaurants in the village,
virtually everyone ate in the big, noisy cafeteria almost every day.
The restaurants were small, intimate, run by harried entrepreneurswho obtained their foods directly from the people who ran the farmsand the fish tanks. Just as the nutritionists of Selene had learned,
aquaculture produced more protein per unit of input energy thanbarnyard meat animals could. Before leaving the Earth/Moon region,
several farmers had suggested bringing rabbits or chickens aboard fortheir meat. Wilmot had sternly rejected the idea, citing horrorstories from Australia of runaway rabbit overpopulation and thediseases that cooped-up birds caused.

So the habitat's residents got their protein from fish, frogs, soyderivatives, and the processed products of the food factory,
popularly known as "McGlop." When they did not make their own mealsin their quarters, they usually ate in the cafeteria.

The cafeteria was the biggest enclosed space in the habitat, andbetween meals it often served as a makeshift theater or auditorium. 
It was after the habitat had cleared the Asteroid Belt and started on 
the leg of its flight that would take it to Jupiter, that Eberlycalled a public meeting there.

The meeting was set for 22:00 hours, and there were still a fewpeople finishing their dinners when Eberly's team--including Holly-began 
to move all the tables and chairs to one side of the spaciousroom to clear the floor for the incoming audience.

Eberly stood frowning impatiently at the far end of the room, nextto the little stage on which he planned to make his speech. He couldsee the cafeteria staff and its robots, across the way, cleaning 


their steam tables and display cases, rattling piles of dishes andglassware. He did not see a large crowd assembling.

Ruth Morgenthau scanned the thinly scattered audience. "All thepeople from my department are here," she claimed.

"Not many others, though," said Sammi Vyborg.

Colonel Kananga smiled thinly. "This is all being vidded. I'll havethe names and dossiers of everyone here."

"It's the names of those who are not here that I want," Eberlygrowled.

"A simple matter of subtraction," said Kananga. And he smiled as ifamused by some inside joke.

Once the last of the diners had gotten up and their tables wereshoved out of the way, Morgenthau climbed heavily the three steps ofthe speaker's platform and spread her arms for silence. The mutedbuzz of the crowd's many separate conversations slowly stopped andeveryone turned toward her expectantly.

Holly had been positioned by the main door, which opened out intothe village's central green. Her duty, Eberly had told her, was toencourage anyone outside to come in, and to discourage anyone insidefrom leaving. He had given her two rather large, muscular young menfrom the security department to help her in the latter task. She feltdisappointed that so few people had turned out for Eberly's speech.
There was no other public entertainment on the agenda for thisevening; she had made certain of that before scheduling hisappearance. With ten thousand people in the habitat, she had expectedmore than a couple of hundred to show up.

At least Dr. Cardenas had come in, giving Holly a cheerful hello asshe strode through the open door. But where's everybody else? Hollywondered.

 Still, Morgenthau smiled jovially at the audience as if everyonethis side of Calcutta had crowded the cafeteria floor. She thanked 
the people for coming and promised them an evening "of the greatestimportance since we started this long journey into a bright andglorious future."

Holly watched the faces of the onlookers. They appeared morecurious than anything else; hardly fired with enthusiasm for aglorious future.

Then Eberly climbed up onto the stage and stepped to the podium. Henodded curtly to Morgenthau who, still smiling, stepped to the backof the stage.

Why doesn't she get off the stage? Holly wondered. She'sdistracting people's attention from Malcolm.

For several long moments Eberly simply stood at the podium,
gripping its sides, staring out at the audience in cold silence. Thecrowd begin to stir uneasily. Holly heard muttering.

At last Eberly began to speak. "Each of you has received anannouncement of the series of contests to be held for the purpose ofnaming the villages and other features, both natural andarchitectural, of this habitat."

"I didn't get an announcement," came a man's low grumble from theaudience. Kananga glared and pointed; two husky young black-clad menconverged on the man.

Eberly smiled at the heckler, though. "The announcement is in yourmail. Simply check your computer; it's there, I promise you."

The man looked startled by the two security officers now standingon each side of him in their black coveralls.

 Eberly resumed, "This is your habitat. It is your right to choosethe names you want for its natural and man-made features. Besides,
these contests will be fun! You will enjoy them, I promise you."

People glanced at each other and murmured. A few turned around andstarted walking toward the door.

"I'm not finished," Eberly said.

The crowd paid scant attention. It began to break up. A womanraised her voice loudly enough for everyone to hear, "I don't know 


about you, but I've got work to do tomorrow morning." More peoplebegan drifting toward the door.

"Listen to me!" Eberly demanded, his voice suddenly deeper,
stronger, more demanding. "You are the most important people in thishabitat. Don't turn your backs on your own future!"

Their muttering stopped. They turned back toward Eberly, every eyefocused on him.

 "The others," Eberly said, in a voice more powerful than Holly hadever heard before, "those who are too lazy, or too timid, or toopoorly informed to be here, will envy you in time. For you are theones who are wise enough, strong enough, brave enough to begin toseize the future in your own hands. You understand that this is yourhabitat, your community, and it must be controlled by no one exceptyourselves."

"Right!" someone shouted.

Holly was staring at Eberly, dimly aware that everyone in the crowdwas doing the same now, listening, hearing that richly vibrant voiceand the mesmerizing message it carried.

She jumped nearly out of her skin when someone tapped her on theshoulder.

 "Hey, I didn't mean to spook you."

Holly saw a smiling, solidly built youngish man with a ruggedbulldog face. Dark eyes and darker hair.

"What's going on?" he asked in a stage whisper.

Holly gestured toward the stage and whispered back, "Dr. Eberly isgiving a speech."

"Eberly? Who's he?"

She shook her head and touched a finger to her lips, thenpantomimed for him to come into the cafeteria and listen. Stillsmiling, the man stepped past her, then stood at the rear of thecrowd and crossed his beefy arms over his chest.

Eberly was saying, "Why should you be governed by rules madehundreds of millions of kilometers away, written by old men who knownothing of the conditions you face? What do they know of the problemsyou encounter every day? What do they care? It's time for you tocreate your own government and choose your own leaders."

Someone began clapping. The rest of the crowd took it up,
applauding and even cheering out loud. Holly clapped along with theothers, although she noticed that the newcomer kept his arms folded.

Soon Eberly had them roaring their approval with almost everysentence he spoke. The crowd became a single, unified creature: ananimal with many heads and hands and bodies, but only one mind, andthat mind was focused entirely on Eberly's message.

"It's up to you to build this new world," he told them. "You willbe the leaders of tomorrow."

 They applauded and stamped and whistled. Holly thought they wouldstorm the platform and carry Eberly off on their shoulders.

The newcomer turned to her and shouted through the noisy accolade,
"He knows how to turn 'em on, doesn't he?"

"He's wonderful!" Holly yelled back, hammering her hands togetheras loudly as she could.

Eberly smiled brilliantly and thanked the audience several timesand finally stepped down from the platform, to be immediatelysurrounded by admiring people. The rest of the crowd began to breakup and drift outside.

The newcomer asked Holly, "Am I too late to get something to eat?"

"The cafeteria's closed until tomorrow morning," Holly said.
Gesturing toward the food dispensers, she added, "You can getsomething from the machines."

He wrinkled his pug nose. "Stale sandwiches and sodas that make youbelch."

 Holly giggled. "Well, there are the restaurants. They stay opentill midnight, I'm pretty sure."

"Yeah," he said, "I guess that's it." 


 The last of the crowd was leaving, little knots of two or three,
talking about Eberly's speech.

Kris Cardenas stopped beside Holly. "I'm going over to the Bistrofor some dessert. Would you like to join me?"

The newcomer said, "Why don't the two of you join me?

Holly glanced at Cardenas. She knew the man's face, but shecouldn't recall his name or occupation.

Sensing her puzzlement, he said, "My name is Manuel Gaeta. I'm notpart of your regular population here, I'm-


"You're the stuntman," Holly blurted, remembering now.

Gaeta smiled, almost shyly. "My publicity people say I'm anadventure specialist.'"

"You're the one who wants to go down to the surface of Titan.

He nodded. "If Professor Wilmot lets me do it."

 "Why on Earth would anyone want to go to the surface of Titan?"

Cardenas asked.

 Gaeta grinned at her. "Because it's there. And nobody's done itbefore."

 With that, he took each of the women by the arm and started off forthe Bistro, halfway across the village.

 PROFESSOR WILMOT'S QUARTERS

 James Colerane Wilmot followed a comfortable routine almost everynight. A lifelong bachelor, he usually had an early dinner withfriends or colleagues, then retired to his quarters for an hour ortwo of watching history and a glass of whisky, neat.

He had known that Eberly intended to make a speech of some sortthat evening, but had not let the knowledge interfere with hisnightly custom. Eberly ran the Human Resources Department wellenough, Wilmot thought, which meant that no one brought complaintsabout the department to Wilmot's attention. He exceeded his authorityby allowing that nanotechnology woman to join the community withoutWilmot's approval, but that could be handled easily enough. If theman wants to make a speech, what of it?

He felt a bit rankled, therefore, when his phone chimed in themiddle of one of his favorite vids, Secrets of the Star Chamber. Hechecked the phone's screen and saw that it was a minor assistantcalling. With an irritated huff, Wilmot blanked the holographic imageand opened the phone channel.

Bernard Isaacs's face appeared in midair: round, apple-cheeked,
tightly curled hair. He seemed flushed with excitement, or perhapsworry.

"Did you hear his speech?" Isaacs asked urgently.

"Whose speech? Do you mean Eberly and his silly contests?"

"It's more than contests. He wants to tear up the protocols andwrite a new constitution, form a new government!"

Wilmot nodded, wondering what the problem was. "When we reachSaturn, yes, I know. That's in our plan of--"

"No!" Isaacs interrupted. "Now! He's telling them they should do itnow."

 "Telling who?"

"Anyone who will listen!"

"Can't be done," Wilmot said, completely calm. "Everyone signed theagreement to stick by our protocols until we establish the habitatsafely in Saturn orbit."

"But he wants to do it now!" Isaacs repeated, his voice rising halfan octave.

 Wilmot raised a hand. "That's not possible and he knows it."

"But-"

 "I'll have a talk with him. See what he's after. Possibly you 


misunderstood his intention."

 Isaacs's round jaw set stubbornly. "I'll send you a vid of hisspeech. You can see for yourself what he's up to."

"Do that," Wilmot said. "Thank you very much for informing me."

He clicked the phone connection off, noting that the red recordinglight immediately lit up. Isaacs was sending Eberly's speech.
Wilmot's brows knitted slightly. Isaacs isn't the excitable type; atleast he hasn't been until now. I wonder what's got the wind up inhim?

 Wilmot resolved to review Eberly's speech. But not until hefinished the vid on Henry VIII's means of extracting confessions fromhis subjects.

 Two hours later, after watching Eberly's speech several times andhelping himself to another healthy-sized whisky, Wilmot sat back inhis favorite easy chair with an odd little smile playing across hislips.

So it's finally begun, he said to himself. The experiment begins toget interesting. At first I was afraid they would all be anarchists,
troublemakers, but so far they've behaved rather well, damned littlesign of rebelliousness or mischief. Probably they're all gettingthemselves accustomed to their new world, adapting to life in thehabitat. Most of them have never had it so good, I suppose. But thisman Eberly wants to rouse them a bit. Very good.

Fascinating. Eberly puts out this silly damned dress code, and noone complains. They either ignore it, or they decorate their clotheswith scarves and sashes. These people aren't going to be led aroundby their noses, that's clear enough.

But Eberly wants to control them, apparently. I wonder what tickedhim off? Most likely it was that little dressing down I gave himabout the Cardenas woman. Instead of submitting to authority orsulking, he takes political action. Fascinating. Now the question is,
what will the general population do? He only got a handful of peopleto listen to him, but by the start of the workday tomorrow the entirehabitat will know of his speech. How will they react?

More importantly, he thought, how should I react? Move to thwarthim? Cooperate with him?

Wilmot shook his head. Neither, he decided. I must not insert myown prejudices into this experiment. It won't be easy to stay out ofit, though. I can't simply disappear; I have a role to play. But Imustn't let it interfere with their behaviors.

 Of course, he thought, none of them knows the real purpose of thismission. No one even guesses that it exists. And I must keep it thatway. If anyone got the slightest hint of it, that would skew theexperiment terribly. I'll have to be very careful in phrasing myreport back to Atlanta. It wouldn't do to have some snoop in thecommunications department find out what's really going on here.

He got up from his chair, surprised at how stiff he felt, andheaded for his bedroom. I'll play it strictly by the book, hedecided. The agreed-upon protocols will be followed at all times.
That should offer enough resistance to Eberly to force his next move.
I wonder what it will be?

 Eberly finally got rid of his admirers and made his way to his ownquarters, flanked only by Morgenthau, Vyborg, and Kananga.

Once inside his spartan apartment, he said excitedly, "They lovedme! Did you see the way they reacted to me? I had them in the palm ofmy hand!"

"It was brilliant," said Vyborg quickly.

Morgenthau was less enthusiastic. "It was a good beginning, butonly a beginning."

"What do you mean?" Eberly asked, disappointment showing clearly on 


his face.

 Morgenthau sat heavily on the room's only couch. "It wasn't much ofa crowd. Fewer than three hundred."

 Vyborg immediately agreed. "Less than three percent of the totalpopulation."

"But they were with me," Eberly said. "I could feel it."

Looking up at him, Morgenthau said, "Three percent might not be allthat bad."

 "What about the other ninety-seven percent?" Kananga asked.

She shrugged. "It's as Malcolm said in his speech. They're toolazy, too indifferent to care. If we can capture and hold an activeminority, we can lead the majority around by its collective nose."

"What will Wilmot's reaction be?" Vyborg asked.

"We'll know soon enough," said Eberly.

A crafty expression came over Morgenthau's fleshy face. "Suppose hesimply ignores us?"

"That's impossible," Vyborg snapped. "We've made a direct challengeto his authority."

"But suppose he feels so secure in his authority that he simplyignores us?" Morgenthau insisted.

Eberly said, "Then we will raise the stakes until it's impossiblefor him to ignore me." He smacked his fist into the open palm of hisother hand.

 Kananga said nothing, but a wisp of a smile curled his lipsslightly.

 Holly, Cardenas, and Manuel Gaeta were the last customers in theBistro. The human hostess had gone home, leaving only the simpleminded 
robots to stand impassively by the kitchen door, waiting forthe people to leave so they could clean the last remaining table andthe floor around it.

 "...your basic problem is contamination?" Cardenas was asking thestuntman.

 Gaeta glanced at the dessert tray the hostess had left on theirtable: nothing but crumbs. They had finished the coffee long ago.

"Contamination, right," Gaeta said, suppressing a yawn. "Wilmot andthe geek boys are scared I'll hurt the bugs down there on thesurface."

 "That's an important consideration," Holly said.

"Yeah, right."

Cardenas said, "I can solve your problem, I'm pretty sure."

Gaeta's eyes widened. "How?"

"I could program nanomachines to break down any residues ofperspiration or whatever organic materials you leave on the outsideof your suit. They'll clean it up for you, break down the organicsinto carbon dioxide and water vapor. No sweat."

"Literally!" Holly accented the pun.

Gaeta did not smile. "These nanomachines... they the type that'recalled gobblers?"

"Some people call them that, yes," Cardenas replied, stiffly.

"They can kill you, can't they?"

Holly swiveled her attention from Gaeta's swarthy, wary face toCardenas, who was suddenly tight-lipped.

For a long moment Cardenas did not reply. At last she said,
"Gobblers can be programmed to attack proteins, yes. Or any carbon-
chain organics."

"That's pretty risky, then, isn't it?" he asked.

Holly saw that Cardenas was struggling to keep her voice calm.
"Once you're sealed inside the suit, the nanobugs can be sprayed overits outer surface. We can calculate how long it would take them todestroy any organics on the suit. Double or triple that time, then wedouse the whole assembly in soft UV. That will deactivate thenanobugs." 


 "Deactivate?" Gaeta asked. "You mean, like, kill them?"

"They're machines, Manny," she said. "They're not alive. You can'tkill them."

 "But would they come back later and start chewing on organicsagain?"

"No, we'll wash them all off. And once they're deactivated, theydon't revive. It's like breaking a motor or a child's toy. The piecesdon't come back together again spontaneously."

Gaeta nodded. But Holly thought he didn't look convinced.

 THE MORNING AFTER

 "What did you think of his speech last night?"

Ilya Timoshenko looked up from his console in Goddard's navigationand control pod. There was very little actual work for them to do;
the habitat was sailing through the solar system on a course thatIsaac Newton could have calculated to a fine accuracy. The fusionengines were purring along smoothly, miniature man-made sunsconverting hydrogen ions into helium and driving the habitat along onthe energy released. Bored as usual with the utterly routine natureof his duty shift, Timoshenko had been daydreaming about thepossibilities of designing a fusion engine that converted helium intocarbon and oxygen. After all, that's what the stars do when they runlow on hydrogen; they burn the helium they've accumulated. The carbonand oxygen from helium fusion would be valuable resources inthemselves, he realized.

But Farabi, the pipsqueak navigator, wants to get me involved inpolitics, Timoshenko thought sourly.

"What speech?" he muttered. The two men were alone on the bridge.
Captain Nicholson had decided that there should be two of them in thecontrol center at all times, despite the fact that the computeractually ran everything. We humans are redundant here, Timoshenkooften told himself. Yet the captain insisted, and her threeunderlings obeyed.

"Eberly's speech," Farabi said. "Last night in the cafeteria. Ithought I saw you there."

"Not me," said Timoshenko. "You must have seen somebody else andthought it was me."

"It was you. I saw you."

Timoshenko glared at the man. Farabi claimed that he was an Arabfrom one of those desert lands that had once supplied the world withoil. He was small and wiry, his skin nut brown, his nose decidedlyhooked. Timoshenko thought he was more likely a Jew from the ruins ofIsrael hiding from the real Arabs. Timoshenko himself was as Russianas can be, only slightly taller than Farabi, but thick-bodied,
muscular, with a heavy thatch of unruly auburn hair.

It was politics that had gotten him exiled to this newfangledSiberia. His career in engineering, his coming marriage, his familyties that went all the way back to Heroes of the Soviet Union--allwiped out because he couldn't keep his mouth shut once he starteddrinking. So they set him up with this woman who accused him of rapeand now he was on his way to Saturn, courtesy of the government andthose pissant psalm-singers who ran it.

"I wasn't there," he insisted, even though it was a lie. "I have nointerest in politics."

Farabi gave him a disbelieving look. "Have it your own way, then,"
he said softly.

Timoshenko focused his attention on the glowing icons spread acrossthe top of his console. Why can't people behave as predictably asmachines? he asked himself. Why can't people just do their jobs andleave me alone? 


 "I just thought," said Farabi, sitting at the next console, "thatEberly raised some good points. We should get involved in themanagement of the habitat. After all, it's our home, isn't it?"

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Timoshenko bit back the reply thatsprang to his lips. He wanted to say, This isn't a home, it's aprison. No matter how comfortable it is, it's a prison and I'm goingto be locked inside it for the rest of my life, while you'll be freeto go back to Earth after we reach Saturn.

Instead, he said only, "I have no interest in politics."

"Maybe you should become interested."

"Politicians." He spat the word. "They're all alike. They want tobe the boss and make you jump to their tune. I want nothing to dowith them."

 Nadia Wunderly was one of the few people in the habitat who hadfollowed Eberly's suggestion and changed her name. Her parents, staidNew Hampshire dairy farmers, had christened her Jane, but she hadalways thought the name was too ordinary to suit the adventure in hersoul. All through her school years she had been plagued with the"Plain Jane" tag; she hated it, even though she had to admit when shelooked into a mirror that she was indeed rather plain: her figuretended toward the rotund unless she exercised mercilessly and dietedlike a penitent monk; her face was also round, although she thoughther big gray eyes were attractive. Owl eyes, she thought, rememberingthat the goddess Athena was owl-eyed, too.

Wunderly was always trying new hairdos; nothing seemed to help herstraight, mouse-brown hair. When she came aboard the habitat as partof the science team, she immediately dyed her hair brick red, gaveherself the goal of losing ten kilos by the time they reached Saturn,
and changed her name to the smoky, exotic-sounding Nadia.

As she watched the morning news vid replay of Eberly's speech, shewondered what the man was driving at. We have a government, don't we?
she asked herself while spooning up her breakfast cereal and soymilk. And we all know why we're going to Saturn: to study the planetand its moons and life forms and most of all its rings. Thoseglorious, beautiful rings. This is a science mission. Doesn't Eberlyunderstand that?

 She dressed in the approved tunic and slacks and took one of theelectrobikes standing in the racks at the entrance of her apartmentbuilding. Running late, she realized, so she let the bike's quietlittle electric motor speed her along the winding path to the scienceoffices up at the top of the hill. I'll pedal home, she told herself,
all the way. That'll recharge the battery and burn off some calories.

Nadia said hello to everyone she passed as she hurried through thecorridors to her workspace, which was nothing more than a cubiclebarely large enough to house a desk, chair, and some filing shelves.
She saw Dr. Urbain hurrying by; he passed too quickly for her tocatch his eye. Later, she thought. After I've finished the proposaland it's ready to show to him.

She started working on the proposal. Urbain demanded a fullydocumented plan of research from each scientist on the staff. All theothers were avid to study Titan and the organisms living there. Theywere competing with one another like grad students trying to finaglea fellowship. Which was fine, as far as Nadia was concerned. She wasinterested in those blessed rings. And she had them all to herself.
The rest of the staff were all slobbering over Titan, leaving therings to her alone.

I can't miss, Nadia thought. I'm the only one. I've got them all tomyself.

She pulled up the latest telescopic views of the rings and soonbecame completely engrossed in watching their mysterious, tantalizingdynamics. How can they weave those strands? she asked herself. Whatmakes those spokes appear and disappear like that? 


 Above all, why does Saturn have such a glorious set of rings, inthe first place? They can't be very old, their particles will fallinto the planet in a matter of a few million years. How come they'resitting out there for us to see? How come we're so lucky? How comeJupiter and the other gas giants have teeny little dark rings thatyou can hardly see, while Saturn has this gorgeous set hanging aroundit? What makes Saturn so special?

Hours went by as she watched the rings in their convoluted,
hypnotic ballet. She forgot about the other scientists competing forUrbain's favor. She forgot about the proposal she needed to finish.
She forgot about Eberly and his speech and everything in her endlessfascination with Saturn's glowing, beckoning rings.

 Oswaldo Yańez could think of nothing except Eberly's speech. Hebuttonholed other doctors in the infirmary, he stopped nurses ontheir rounds to ask their opinions, he chattered about the speechwith each of the patients he saw that morning.

As he tapped the chest of a construction mechanic who came incomplaining of a strained back, Yańez spoke glowingly of Eberly'sideas.

 "The man is absolutely right," he insisted. "He's a genius. Ittakes real genius to cut through all the details and get to the heartof the situation."

 His patient, wincing slightly as he sat up on the edge of theexamination table, replied, "Just gimme a shot, Doc, and let me getback to work."

 All through the morning Yańez prattled on in his animated, rapidSpanish-accented English to anyone and everyone who came withinearshot. He was a round little man with a round, cheerfulleprechaun's face that was very animated, especially when he was asexcited about a subject as he was about Eberly's speech.

Yańez was not a political exile, nor a rebel, nor a convictedcriminal. He was an idealist. He had run afoul of the medical 
orthodoxy of Buenos Aires because he believed that their ban againsttherapeutic cloning was based on outmoded religious beliefs ratherthan the clear evidence of medical gain to be had by regeneratingtissues damaged by disease or trauma. The medical board had given himhis choice: he could go on the Saturn mission or he could remain inBuenos Aires and be stripped of his license to practice medicine.
Yańez made up his mind immediately: a new, clean world was preferableto the slow death of the spirit that would inevitably destroy him ifhe remained. He asked only that his wife be allowed to accompany him.
She was quite surprised when he broke the news to her.

Now he was exhilarated by Eberly's bold words. "We should takecharge of this habitat," he repeated all day long. "We should formour own government and build this new world the way it should bebuilt. And Eberly is clearly the man to lead us."

 DEPARTURE PLUS 284 DAYS

 Professor Wilmot leaned back in his desk chair, enjoying thefamiliar comfort of the padded leather upholstery. The holowindow tohis left showed a three-dimensional view of the rocky coast where theRiver Bann empties into the cold and restless North Channel. It waslike looking through a window in the old family estate. Strange, hethought, the only time I miss the old country is when I look atscenes like this. Distance lends enchantment, I suppose.

The phone buzzed and announced, "Dr. Eberly to see you, sir."
Wilmot sighed heavily and blanked the view of his ancestral homeland.
Back to the business at hand, he told himself as he ordered the 


office computer to open the door from the anteroom.

Malcolm Eberly stepped in, with one of his young assistants, aleggy, tawny-skinned young woman wearing a hip-length tunic of palegreen that showed her slim legs to good advantage. No decorations ofany kind, except her name badge. She's being an obedient littleunderling for him. Wilmot almost smiled. If you think you candistract me with her, my boy, you have another thing coming.

Wilmot smiled genially and said, "Come in! Sit down. It was good ofyou to come on such a short notice."

Eberly was in a sky-blue tunic and blue-gray slacks. The shoulderslooked padded to Wilmot's critical eye.

"When the chief administrator calls," Eberly said good-naturedly,
"it's best to come at once."

 Nodding graciously, Wilmot said, "It's good to see you again, MissLane."

 She looked surprised for a moment, then smiled, pleased that thechief administrator remembered her name, forgetting that it wasspelled out on the tag above her left breast.

"I saw the speech you made last night," Wilmot said to Eberly.
"Very impressive."

Eberly clasped his hands together as if praying. "I'm pleased thatyou think so."

"You realize, of course, that we will not be able to make anychanges in our governing regulations until we establish ourselves inSaturn orbit."

 With a slight shake of his head, Eberly said, "I see no reason todelay."

"Obviously," said Wilmot. "But the regulations are in force and weall agreed to follow them." Before Eberly could reply, Wilmot asked,
"Tell me, why are you in such a rush to change things? Are thereproblems that I'm not aware of?"

Eberly pursed his lips and tapped his prayerful fingertips againstthem. Stalling for time to think, Wilmot reckoned.

At last, Eberly answered, "The regulations are too stifling. Theyallow the people no flexibility. They were written by administratorsand academics--"

 "Like myself," Wilmot interjected, with a good-natured smile.

"I was going to say, administrators and academics who remained backon Earth; political theoreticians who've never been off the Earth.
Nor ever plan to be."

Wilmot edged forward in his chair and glanced at the young woman.
"Miss Lane, do you feel that our existing protocols are stiflingyou?"

Her eyes went wide, startled, then she looked at Eberly.

"Miss Lane?" Wilmot repeated. "Are we stifling you?"

"I've never been on Earth," Holly replied slowly, hesitantly. "Atleast, I don't remember my life there. As far as I can recall, I'vespent my whole life in Selene. And now here in the habitat, ofcourse. Living in Selene was..." she struggled briefly for a word,
"well, easier, in some ways. I mean, if you ran into a problem youcould always go to one of the governing boards and appeal. Like, foryour monthly water allotment, or to increase the size of yourquarters."

"And we have no such boards of appeals here," Wilmot said softly.

"No, we don't," Holly replied. "Everything's set in cement. Thereare the rules and nothing else. End of story."

Wilmot brushed his fingertips against his moustache thoughtfully.

"The real problem," Eberly burst out, "is that these regulationswere written by people who live in a world that must be tightlycontrolled. They all share the same basic, underlying view thatsociety must be hierarchical and controlled from the top."

Wilmot felt pleased that the discussion was moving into his fieldof interest. "Aren't all societies controlled from the top? Even theso-called democracies are ruled by a small elite group; the only 


difference is that a democracy can shift its elite without bloodshedand give the general populace the illusion that they have made atelling change."

"There are too many controls," Eberly repeated. "Back on Earth,
with a global population climbing well past ten billions despite thegreenhouse warming and all the other ecological disasters, tightcontrol is very necessary. But this is not Earth."

Wilmot pretended surprise. "Don't you believe that we must regulateour population size? Don't you understand the need to mete out ourresources according to our ability to replenish them? We live in avery limited environment, you know."

Obviously struggling to contain his impatience, Eberly said, "Thishabitat could feed and house ten times the existing population. Whymust we behave as if we are on the brink of famine?"

 "Because we will be on the brink of famine if we don't control 
population size," Wilmot replied mildly.

Eberly shook his head vigorously. "You assume that we are a closedecology, that we have nothing available to us except what we producefor ourselves."

 "Isn't that the truth?" Wilmot shot back.

 "No! We can trade for resources with the asteroid miners, with thebases on Mars and in Jupiter orbit, with Selene, even."

"Trade what?" Wilmot asked. "What do we have to trade with?"

 Eberly smiled as if he were turning over his trump card. "We willhave the most precious resource of them all: water."

Wilmot felt his brows go up. "Water?"

"Saturn is surrounded by massive rings, which are composed ofpieces of ice. Water ice. We can become the providers of water forthe entire solar system once we reach Saturn."

"Water," Wilmot repeated, in a near whisper.

"Water," Eberly said again. "And fusion fuels, too. Once we are inSaturn orbit, it will be cheaper for us to scoop fusion fuels fromthe planet's atmosphere than it is to scoop them from Jupiter."

"But we'll be twice as far from Earth--"

 "I've had experts do the analysis," Eberly said, almost smugly.
"You can check the numbers yourself. Once we are in Saturn orbit wecan drive the Jupiter operation out of business!"

"Extraordinary," Wilmot murmured, looking up at the ceiling panels,
thinking furiously. "Even if that is a workable proposition," hesaid, "it will have to wait until we are at Saturn, won't it?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then there is no point in trying to alter our system of governanceuntil then, is there?"

Eberly placed his hands on his thighs and said very reasonably,
"The people should be ready to launch into action as soon as we reachSaturn. Why should they delay? They should be free to select the formof government they want, the form that will work best for them, now,
while we are in transit, so that the new government can be in placewhen we get to our destination."

With you at its head, Wilmot added silently. That's what you'reafter, isn't it? This is nothing more than a power game. Fascinating.

Aloud, he said to Eberly, "Perhaps there is some merit in youridea."

 Holly blurted, "You think so?"

Wilmot smiled at her and said, "Why don't we agree on this: You canstart the process of writing a new constitution. Canvass thepopulation and determine what kind of a government they want forthemselves. Begin the process immediately."

"We'll have to poll the people, draw up various types ofconstitutions, nominate candidates--"

"Yes, yes," Wilmot said. "Do all that while you're carrying outyour little contests about naming things. But there will be no changein our governing regulations until we are firmly established in orbitabout Saturn. Is that clear? You can spend the time left in transit 


to form your new government, but it will not be installed in officeuntil we are at our destination."

 Eberly thought a moment, eyes cast downward, then looked squarelyat Wilmot and said, "Yes, I can agree to that."

"Good," said Wilmot, getting to his feet and extending his handacross the desk. "We are agreed, then."

Eberly and Holly stood up and shook Wilmot's hand in turn. As theyleft his office, Wilmot sank back into his chair, thinking that heshould write up this encounter and have it ready to send back toAtlanta as quickly as possible.

 DATA BANK

 It is the most beautiful sight in the solar system: Saturn and itsglowing, glorious rings.

They arch above the planet's equator like a bridge of light,
circling the ponderous flattened sphere of the planet, hovering aboveits middle as if in splendid defiance of gravity.

The second-largest planet of our solar system, Saturn is slightlysmaller than Jupiter, but orbits twice as far from the Sun. LikeJupiter, Saturn is a gas giant world, composed almost entirely of thelightest elements, hydrogen and helium. If you could build a swimmingpool nearly ten times the size of Earth, Saturn would float in it:
the planet's density is slightly less than water's.

Approaching Saturn, the planet's pale yellow and tan clouds churnacross a disc that is noticeably flattened by its frenetic spin rate.
Saturn's day is a scant ten hours and thirty-nine minutes. Yet to theancients, Saturn was the farthest planet they could see, and theslowest in making its way around the sky. At ten times the Earth'sdistance from the Sun, it takes 29.46 Earth years for Saturn tocircle the Sun once.

 The ring system is what makes Saturn so beautiful, so intriguing.
Jupiter and the farther worlds of Uranus and Neptune have narrow,
faint rings circling them. Saturn has broad bands of rings, shiningbrilliantly, suspended about the planet's middle, hanging inemptiness like a magnificent set of halos.

When Galileo first turned his primitive telescope to Saturn hethought he saw a triple planet: His small lenses could not make outthe rings, to him they looked like strange ears sprouting on eitherside of the planet. He wrote to the German astronomer Johannes Keplera letter in code, so that it could be read only by its intendedrecipient.

"I have observed the highest planet to be triple-bodied," Galileowrote in an anagram. Kepler misunderstood, and thought that Galileomeant he had discovered two moons of Mars.

 As telescopes improved, astronomers discovered those impossiblerings. To this day, Saturn is one of the first objects that amateurastronomers turn to. The sight of the ringed planet never fails toinspire admiring, delighted sighs.

Saturn's beautiful rings are composed of particles of ice and ice-
covered dust. While most of the particles are no larger than dustmotes, some are as big as houses. The rings are about four hundredthousand kilometers across, yet not much thicker than a hundredmeters. They have been described as "proportionally as thick as asheet of tissue paper spread over a football field."

The rings' total mass amounts to that of an icy satellite no morethan one hundred kilometers in diameter. They are either the remainsof one or more moons that got too close to the planet and were brokenup by gravitational tidal forces, or leftover material from the timeof the planet's formation which never coalesced into a single bodybecause it was too close to Saturn to do so. 


 The rings are dynamic. Hundreds of millions of particles circlingthe mammoth planet, constantly colliding, bouncing off one another,
breaking into smaller fragments, banging and jouncing like an insanespeedway full of lunatic drivers.

The dynamics of the rings are fascinating. There are gaps betweenthe major rings, spaces of emptiness caused by the gravitationalpulls of Saturn's several dozen moons. The rings are accompanied bytiny "sheepdog" satellites, minuscule moons that circle just outsideor just inside each ring and apparently keep them in place with theirtiny gravitational influence. The rings are self-sustaining: Asparticles are sucked down into the planet, new particles are chippedoff the shepherd moons by constant collisions with the hurtling,
jostling particles, abraded off these tiny moonlets as they grindtheir way around the planet, constantly bombarded by the blizzard oftiny icy particles through which they orbit.

The main rings are actually composed of hundreds of thinnerringlets that appear to be braided together. Spacecraft time-lapsephotos also show mysterious spokes weaving through the largest of therings, patterns of light and dark that remain unexplained andfascinating. Perhaps Saturn's extensive magnetosphere electricallycharges the dust particles in the ring and levitates them, which maygive rise to the spokes.

The planet itself presented an enigma to the inquisitive scientistsfrom Earth. Like the more massive Jupiter, Saturn is heated fromwithin, its core of molten rock seething from the pressure of thegiant world squeezing down upon it. But Saturn is smaller thanJupiter, farther from the Sun, and therefore colder. Where Jupiterharbors a flourishing biosphere of aerial organisms in its thickhydrogen atmosphere, and an even more complex ecology of seagoingcreatures in its deep planetwide ocean, Saturn seems bereft of life,
except for the cold-adapted microbes that dwell in its upper clouddeck.

 "Saturn is a dead end, as far as multicellular life is concerned,"
pronounced a disappointed astrobiologist after the earliest probesscanned the vast ocean that swirls beneath the ringed world'sperpetual clouds, "just over the edge of habitability for anythingmore complex than single-celled organisms."

Wistfully, he added, "Just a little warmer and we would have had aduplicate of Jupiter."

Among the billions of ice particles that make up the rings, someprebiological chemical activity has been detected by robotic probes,
but no evidence for living organisms has been found, as yet.

Saturn's giant moon, Titan, is an altogether different matter,
however. A rich ecology of hydrocarbon-based microbes exists there,
placing Titan off-limits for any development or industrialexploitation. No one but scientists are allowed at Titan, and eventhey have refrained from sending to its surface anything exceptcompletely sterilized robot probes.

The scientific community and the International AstronauticalAuthority are agreed that humans must not endanger Titan's ecologywith the threat of contamination.

 But others do not agree.

 INTRADEPARTMENTAL MEMORANDUM

 TO: All Human Resources Department Personnel.

FROM: R. Morgenthau, Acting Director.

SUBJECT: Prayer Meetings.

 Several staff members have asked for a clarification of 
departmental policy concerning prayer meetings. Although habitatregulations do not specifically call for such meetings during normal 


working hours, neither do said regulations forbid them.

Therefore it will be the policy of the Human Resources Departmentto allow HR staff to conduct prayer meetings during working hours,
providing such meetings are cleared beforehand with the ActingDirector, and further providing that such meetings are no longer thanthirty (30) minutes in duration.

Staff members are encouraged to attend prayer meetings. The HumanResources Department will, furthermore, encourage all otherdepartments to follow a similar policy. Those who oppose prayermeetings are obviously attempting to impose their secularist opinionson the general population of this habitat.

R. Morgenthau.
Acting Director.
Human Resources Department. 
TIME, TIDES, AND TITAN

 Edouard Urbain imagined himself standing on the shore of Titan'shydrocarbon sea.

Larger than the planet Mercury, Titan is a cold and dark world,
some ten times farther from the Sun than Earth is. Only pale and weaksunlight filters through the clouds and smog of Titan's thick, murkyatmosphere.

Urbain pictured himself standing on an outcropping of ice, staringthrough his spacesuit helmet's visor at the black, oily sea surgingacross the rough, jumbled ice field below. In the distance a sooty"snowstorm" was approaching, a wall of black hydrocarbon flakesblotting out the horizon as it came closer.

Then the bleak, frozen landscape suddenly grew brighter. He lookedup, and the breath caught in his throat. The clouds had broken for amoment and he could see Saturn riding high above, magnificentlybeautiful, ten times larger than a full Moon on Earth, its rings aslim knife edge slicing across the middle of the gaudily striped bodyof the planet. There is no lovelier sight in the entire solar system,
he thought.

But the tide was coming in. Pulled by the immense gravitationalpower of Saturn, the hydrocarbon sea was a frothing tidal waveswiftly advancing across the broken landscape of ice, a slimycrawling monster swallowing everything in its path, submerging spiresand boulder-sized chunks of ice, covering the frozen ground inhissing, bubbling black oil, flooding the world from horizon tohorizon. Soon it would drown even the prominence Urbain was standingon, slithering halfway across Titan before reversing its course.

Someday I will stand by that sea, Urbain told himself, equipped tosample it and search for living organisms in the black, oily liquid.
Someday.

He sighed and looked around his cramped little office, returning toreality. No one will go to the surface of Titan, not for many yearsto come, he knew.

Then his eyes fell on the three-dimensional schematic of thelanding vehicle that hovered above his desk. It looked bulky andcumbersome, but to Urbain it was the epitome of pragmatic elegance.
You will go down to Titan's surface, my beauty, Urbain said silentlyto the drawing.

Designing the lander had been little more than child's play, herealized. It was being built by his engineers and technicians, underhis meticulous direction. That much was actually rather simple.

The big accomplishment was carrying it to Saturn, establishing thishabitat in orbit around the ringed planet, where Urbain and hisscientists could control the lander in real time.

 Time had defeated earlier attempts to explore Titan remotely. It 


took more than an hour to send a signal from Earth to Saturn, evenwhen the two planets were at their closest. Remotely-controlledprobes failed, no matter how sophisticated they were, because of thattime lag. For decades scientists on Earth gnashed their teeth infrustration as one probe after another trundled blithely into acrevasse or was blanketed in oily black snow, simply because it tookhours for their human controllers to get the proper commands to them.

No longer, Urbain told himself. Now we will control the lander froma mere few light-seconds away. If necessary, we can establish acommand post in orbit around Titan itself and cut the reaction timeto less than a second.

 But no human will set foot on Titan, he knew. Not for many years.
The thought saddened him, in his heart of hearts. He wanted to planthis own boots on that cold, dark, black-ice surface. Deep in theplace where he kept his most secret desires, Edouard Urbain wanted tobe the first man to reach the surface of Titan.

 DEPARTURE PLUS 317 DAYS

 "Jezoo, it's like a movie set down here."

Holly was leading Manuel Gaeta along the utilities tunnel that ranbeneath the village. Overhead lights flicked on automatically as theywalked along the tunnel, then went dark again once they had passed.
The walls were lined with electrical conduits, plumbing pipes,
valves, control panels, phone screens spaced every hundred meters.
More pipes ran overhead, color coded blue for potable water, yellowfor sewage heading to the recyclers, red for hot water going to thewaste heat radiators outside the habitat. The tunnel hummed with the 
constant throb of pumps and electrical equipment. Holly could feelthe metal deck plates vibrating through the soles of her softboots.

"What's a movie set?" she asked.

 "Where they shoot vids," Gaeta replied, eying all the ductworkaround them as they moved along the tunnel. "You know, if they needto do a scene in ancient Rome they build a set to look like ancientRome."

 "Oh. Sure. I click. But how does this look like a movie set?" He 
grinned at her. "Like the back side of a set. They're all fake, justa facade, usually made out of plastic. You go behind, it's allpropped up with girders and scaffolds."

"And this reminds you of that?" she asked, puzzled.

"Kinda," he replied. "I mean, a couple dozen meters over our headsis the village--"

"No, we're past the village now," Holly corrected. "We'reunderneath the park, heading for the farms."

"Whatever. Up top it all looks so real, but down here you realizeit's all fakery."

"It is not!" she said, with some heat. "It's as real as real canbe. You eat the food we grow on the farms, don't you? You sleep in anapartment in the village. How real can it get?"

Gaeta held up both hands in a mock surrender. "Hey, whoa. Don'ttake it so personal. I just meant, this whole habitat is anartificial construction. It looks like a real village and real farmsand all that, but when you're down here you realize it's all inside abig machine."

"Well, f'sure," Holly said. "Everybody knows that."

They walked in silence for a while, the overhead lights turning onfor them and off again once they passed. Like magic, Holly thought.
Then she remembered that she should have been in the office, working.
But this is fun, she told herself, exploring the tunnels. Why workall the time? A person ought to have a little fun now and then.

The tunnel branched up ahead, and one wall opened up to reveal 


another tunnel that crossed theirs at a lower level.

 "This way," Holly said, swinging a leg over the guardrail.

"Down there?" Gaeta asked.

 "Sure." She flipped over the metal railing, grasped its bottom rungand hung there for an instant, then dropped to the metal flooring ofthe lower tunnel, four meters below.

"Come on," Holly called up to Gaeta. "It's a shortcut to thefarms."

 He leaned over the rail, looking dubious. Then slowly,
methodically, he clambered over the rail and let himself drop downbeside her, landing lightly on the balls of his feet.

"For a stunt guy," she chided, "you're warping cautious."

"That's how a stunt guy stays in one piece," he replied, grinning.
"There are old stuntmen and bold stuntmen, but there are no old, boldstuntmen."

 Holly laughed, understanding.

"How far to the farms?" Gaeta asked.

 "Not far now."

 "How far?"

 She wrinkled her brow for a moment, then answered, "Less than threekilometers."

 "You certain of that?"

 "I've got all the tunnels memorized," Holly told him.

"All of them? Every one? Every kilometer?"

"Every centimeter."

He laughed. "All up in your head, huh?" he teased, tapping his owntemple.

Holly pulled her handheld from her tunic pocket and pressed thelocater key with her thumb. The screen showed a schematic of thetunnels that threaded beneath the habitat's landscaping, with ablinking red cursor identifying their location.

Gaeta peered at the little screen over her shoulder. She could feelhis warm breath on the back of her neck, sense his body heat.

"I'll be damned," he said, slightly awestruck. "You were right onthe button."

 "I told you, didn't I? I've memorized the whole layout of thehabitat. Every centimeter of it."

Gaeta placed his hand on his heart and made a little bow. "Perdoneme, senorita. I apologize for doubting you."

"De nada," said Holly, which just about exhausted her knowledge ofSpanish. She promised herself she would learn more.

Their adventure had started just before lunch, when Gaeta hadpopped into Holly's office asking about authorization for anexcursion outside the habitat.

 "Gotta test the suit," he explained. "We've made half a dozenmodifications to it and we need to test it in hard vacuum."

 Looking up at him from her desk chair, Holly noticed that his eyeswere the darkest brown she had ever seen.

 "You need to see the Safety Department about that," she said. "Thisis Human Resources."

 Gaeta made a small shrug. "Yeah, I know, but I thought maybe youcould help me with it. I don't know any of the people in the SafetyDepartment, and at least you and I have met before."

She thought that sounded something like a lie. Or maybe an excuseto see me? Holly wondered. With hardly a moment's thought, she phonedthe Safety office and made an appointment for Gaeta to talk withthem.

 Then he asked her to lunch and they began chatting about his plansfor getting down to the surface of Titan and living in the habitatand before she knew it Holly was telling him her life story, or asmuch of it she remembered.

 "Let's take the afternoon off," he suddenly suggested.

Holly sipped at her coffee, thinking that there was too much workwaiting at her desk even though Manny was kind of handsome in a beat



up way and when he smiled like that those dark, dark eyes lit up like

candles on a birthday cake.

"And do what?" she asked.

 He spread his hands and grinned at her. "Nothing. Just loaf. Takeit easy for a few hours."

"I have a better idea," Holly said, putting her coffee cup downwith a tiny clink.

"What?" he asked.

 "Let's go exploring," said Holly.

So she led him to one of the access hatches built into the back of 
the administration building and down the metal ladder into theutilities tunnel.

 "Like going down to the Morlocks," he muttered as they clambereddown the ladder.

 "Oarlocks?" Holly asked, puzzled.

Gaeta just laughed.

As they walked along the tunnel, talking, looking, discovering,
Holly realized that here she was all alone with this guy and nobodyknew where she was. What'll I do if he starts to come on to me? she 
wondered. And another part of her mind asked, What'll you do if hedoesn't come on to you?

He's a stallion, all right, Holly thought as they prowled along thetunnel. Not much taller than she, but strong, muscular. She had neverhad the chance to do any sexual experimenting while under hersister's watchful eye, although according to what Pancho had told hershe'd had her share of toy boys--and even serious lovers--when she'dbeen in school before she'd died.

 Could I make Malcolm jealous? she wondered. He hasn't paid anyattention to me at all. Maybe if he finds out I'm seeing this stud,
he'll take some notice. Maybe-


"How well do you know Dr. Cardenas?" Gaeta asked as they paused ata fork in the tunnel.

 Holly hesitated a moment, picturing the tunnel layout in her mind.
"That way," she pointed, "leads out to the farms. This way goes tothe factories."

 He scratched his chin. "We gonna walk all the way back to thevillage?"

"Sure. It's only three, four klicks."

"There's no transportation?"

Holly laughed. "Don't tell me you're tired!"

"Naw, not really. I was just thinking it's getting close todinnertime and I ought to take a shower, you know, and get into somefresh clothes."

 Holly felt her pulse speed up. Is he trying to get me to hisapartment?

"I got a dinner date with Dr. Cardenas," he explained, "and Ioughtta look decent for her."

Holly's face fell. "With Dr. Cardenas?"

He must have seen her disappointment. She realized that a blind mancould have seen it.

 "It's the only time we can talk about how she can make the nanobugsto decontaminate my suit," he explained. "She's so damn' busy settingup her lab the only chance I get to talk with her is at dinner."

"Oh."

 "It's strictly business."

"Yeah. I click."

 Gaeta gave her a sheepish little-boy look. "You wanna come, too?
Bring a friend--we can make it two couples."

With a start, Holly realized she didn't have a friend she couldcall for a dinner date. She had plenty of acquaintances, but most ofthem were from the office. Ever since coming into the habitat she hadspent all her time, all her thoughts, on Eberly. Until this day whenGaeta had popped into her office.

And now this. 


 "No," she said firmly. "Thanks anyway. I have a lot of work tocatch up on."

He nodded glumly. "I've taken you away from your work, huh?"

"That's all right," Holly said. "It was a fun afternoon."

She started back down the tunnel in the direction they had comefrom. Gaeta quickly caught up with her.

"Maybe you could have dinner with me tomorrow?" he suggested.

Holly brightened. "Tomorrow? Sure, why not."

"Great," he said, smiling at her.

 When Gaeta got back to his apartment he stripped, showered, anddecided the depilatory was still working well enough so that hedidn't need to shave yet. As he pulled on his clothes, one eye on thedigital clock by his bed, he commanded the phone to send a message toWendell Sloane, in Selene.

"Mr. Sloane," he said, slightly uncomfortable at being so formal.
"Progress report on Ms. Lane. Nothing much new to report. She's stillworking in the Human Resources Department. Doesn't appear to have anypersonal attachments; no boyfriends, not much of a social life atall. I had lunch with her this afternoon. She's really a fine younglady: very bright, very sharp. She seems happy in her work here inthe habitat. Tell her sister she's got nothing to worry about as faras she's concerned. But I'll keep on looking out for her, just likeyou want. Just wanna let you know there's no problems here."

That oughtta keep the suits back in Selene satisfied for a while.
Without their backing, this whole Titan stunt would go down thetubes. Astro Corporation was the major funding source for ManuelGaeta and his team.

 Sammi Vyborg sat rigidly at his desk, looking past the open door ofhis cubbyhole office at the larger office across the corridor. Itbelonged to his immediate superior, Diego Romero.

Vyborg glanced at the numerals of the digital clock flashing awayin the corner of his desk. Every day it's the same routine, Vyborggrumbled to himself. He spends the morning pretending to work, takeshis lunch, then goes out for the afternoon. I sit here buried induties and chores and he spends every afternoon out of the office.
The number two man in the department, and he only puts in half a day,
at best.

 Don't get mad, Vyborg reminded himself. Get even. It's time to setthis lazy old incompetent against the director. With a bit of luck, Ican bring them both down.

Romero stepped out into the corridor and slid his office door shut.
Turning, he noticed Vyborg watching him.

"Buenos tardes," he said, with a smile and a slight bow.

Vyborg smiled back at him, sourly.

As soon as Romero was gone, Vyborg got up from his desk and walkeddown the corridor to the office of the Communications Department'sdirector, Zeke Berkowitz. He rapped once on the half-open door,
making it rattle against its track.

"Come on in," Berkowitz called. As Vyborg slid the door all the wayopen and stepped into the office, Berkowitz smiled and said, "Ah,
Sammi. What can I do for you?"

Amiable was the word for Berkowitz. The man had spent a long andsuccessful career in the video news business, first as a localreporter, then as a network anchorman, and finally as a globalexecutive. He never made an enemy, although in the cutthroat world ofnews broadcasting many people had tried to chop him down, stab him inthe back, or even forcibly retire him. He survived it all with asmile and a homily about Christian charity, liberally sprinkled withself-deprecating Jewish humor.

When he reached mandatory retirement age, the still-youthful 


Berkowitz moved into academia, happily teaching a new generation ofwould-be journalists and public relations flacks the realities of thecommunications business. It was at an international conference that 
he met James Wilmot, the famous anthropologist; the two men becameinstant friends, even though they lived and taught on opposite sidesof the Atlantic Ocean. Years later, when Wilmot invited Berkowitz tobe head of the Communications Department on the Saturn-bound spacehabitat, Berkowitz--recently a widower after fifty years of lovingmarriage--accepted the opportunity to get as far away from hismemories as he could.

 Now he sat back in his desk chair, handsome and suntanned, slightlychubby, a series of holograms on the wall behind him showing him attennis tournaments and on golf courses. He smiled warmly at the dour,
pinch-faced Vyborg.

"What's the matter, Sammi?" Berkowitz asked jovially. "You look asif you swallowed something ugly."

Taking the chair in front of Berkowitz's desk, Vyborg began, "Idon't enjoy bringing this to your attention--"

"But you're going to do it anyway. Must be important."

"I think it is."

 "Okay. Out with it."

"It's Romero."

 "Old Don Diego? What's he done that bothers you?"

Vyborg hesitated just long enough to show Berkowitz that what hewas doing was distasteful to him. "It's very difficult for me to saythis, since he's my direct superior, but... well, he's simply notpulling his own weight."

"He isn't."

 "No, he isn't. He spends only half a day in the office and thenhe's gone. How can he do his work?"

"That's why we've got you, Sammi."

Startled, Vyborg blurted, "What?"

Berkowitz put on his most amiable grin and, clasping his handsprayerfully on the desktop, said, "Diego Romero is a wonderful oldcoot, a great teacher with a very distinguished career behind him."

"Behind him," Vyborg echoed.

"He's in this department more or less because Wilmot wanted himaboard this habitat and had to find a place for him somewhere. Sohe's working with us."

"But he's not working," Vyborg snapped. "He's hardly ever at hisdesk."

 "That's okay, Sammi. I haven't given him much to do. I rely on youto get the work done. Leave Don Diego alone. He's going to be veryvaluable to this habitat--as a teacher."

 "A teacher?" Vyborg gasped. "They got rid of him in Mexico becausehe was teaching unauthorized garbage. Do you want him teaching hisblasphemies here?"

Berkowitz's smile diminished by less than a millimeter. "Freedom ofthought is not blasphemous, Sammi. He's a great teacher."

Vyborg muttered, "Yes, and he's teaching the rest of the officestaff how to get by without working."

"If you find anybody goofing off in this department, you tell meabout it. Pronto. Don Diego's a special case. Leave him alone."

Admitting defeat, Vyborg nodded and rose from his chair. "Iunderstand. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"No bother at all," Berkowitz said grandly. "My office door isalways open to you, Sammi."

Vyborg looked around the director's office. It was much morespacious than his own. It even had a window that looked out onto thepark and the shimmering lake beyond. Without another word he turnedand walked out, thinking, I'll have to get rid of them both, somehow.

By the time he got back to his own office, Vyborg had brightenedconsiderably. Berkowitz wants to allow Don Diego to teach hereticalideas, he realized. That makes Berkowitz just as guilty as the old 


man himself. Perhaps I can get them both in one swoop.

But as he sat at his desk again his mood darkened once more. Thatmeans I'll have to wait until we're established at Saturn. Much too 
long. I can't wait all those months, more than a year, actually. Iwant to get rid of them now.

 DEPARTURE PLUS 318 DAYS

 When Holly got to her office the next morning there was a messageon her screen: see me immediately. morgenthau.

It still bothered Holly to see Ruth Morgenthau sitting at Eberly'sdesk. Even though nearly two months had passed since Eberly had leftthe office, Holly always expected to see Malcolm there. Instead, whenshe opened the director's office door, Morgenthau was behind thedesk, her fleshy face dark and ominous.

Even before Holly could sit down, Morgenthau demanded, "Where wereyou yesterday afternoon?"

Holly stiffened. "I took the afternoon off. I caught up on my workfrom my quarters, after dinner."

Morgenthau asked, "Were you ill?"

Holly thought that a simple lie could end this conversation.
Instead, she replied, "No. I--I just needed some time away from theoffice, that's all."

"Do you think you're working too hard?"

"I enjoy my work."

Morgenthau drummed her chubby fingers on the desktop. Despite thedress code they had agreed to, the woman's fingers were heavy withjeweled rings, and her tunic ablaze with colors. Holly noticed thatthe desk was littered with papers. Malcolm had always kept itimmaculately clear.

"Sit down, please, Holly," Morgenthau said.

Holly took one of the chairs in front of the desk, feelingresentment simmering inside her. I'm entitled to take an afternoonoff if I want to, she said to herself. I'm running this warpingoffice. I'm doing all the work. I can go off and have a little fun ifI want to. But she said nothing and meekly sat down.

Morgenthau stared at her for a long moment, then said, "You know,
and I know, that you are really running this office. I'm just afigurehead covering for Malcolm while you do all the real work."

Holly almost blurted out her agreement, but she managed to keepsilent.

 "I don't mind that arrangement," Morgenthau continued. "In fact, Ifind it quite satisfactory."

Holly nodded warily, expecting worse to come.

"But," Morgenthau resumed, "you don't have to rub my face in it.
You must show at least some outward respect for my position."

"I do!"

 "Yesterday you did not. It is not proper for you to take theafternoon off without informing me. Actually, you should ask mypermission, but I don't want to be a stickler. Still, how does itlook when someone like Professor Wilmot asks me a question and I tellhim that my assistant will look up the information and my assistantisn't at her desk? Isn't even in the office? And I don't know where 
she is?"

 "You could have called me. I always carry my comm."

"You should keep me informed of your whereabouts at all times. Ishouldn't have to search for you."

Holly's temper was rising. "You don't like me very much, do you?"

For an instant Morgenthau looked surprised, almost startled. Thenshe admitted, "You are not a Believer. And, worse, you're a reborn. Ifind that..." she struggled for a word, "...distasteful. Almost 


sinful."

 "It wasn't my decision. My sister did it when I was too sick toknow what was happening to me."

"Still. You tried to avoid God's judgment on you. You tried tocheat death."

 "Wouldn't you?"

"No! When God calls me, I'll be happy to go."

The sooner the better, Holly snarled silently.

"But my religious beliefs are not the subject of this conversation.
I want you to keep me informed of your whereabouts at all times."

Holding back her anger, Holly replied, "I understand."

Breaking into a smile that looked forced to Holly, Morgenthauadded, "During office hours, of course. What you do when the officeis closed is on your own conscience, naturally."

"Of course."

 "Unless it involves Dr. Eberly."

So that's it! Holly realized. She's clanked up because she can seethat I'm interested in Malcolm. Maybe she knows more than I do. Maybeshe can see that Malcolm's interested in me!

 "Dr. Eberly is much too busy for personal involvements of any kind,
Holly. You should stop trying to distract him."

She's trying to protect him. She's standing between Malcolm and me.

Holly got to her feet. "I should have told you I was taking theafternoon off," she said coldly. "It won't happen again."

"Good!" Morgenthau smacked her hands together loudly enough tostartle Holly. "Now that that's out of the way--I'll be out of theoffice all day. You'll be in charge."

Surprised at her sudden change in tone, Holly asked, "Where willyou be?"

Morgenthau laughed lightly and waggled a finger in the air. "No,
no, it's not necessary for me to tell you where I'm going. I'm thedepartment chief, remember. I can come and go as I wish."

"Oh, right. F'sure."

"For your information, however," Morgenthau said as she pushedherself up out of the desk chair, "I will be with Malcolm all day. Weare going over several drafts of possible constitutions."

 Eberly sipped herbal tea while Vyborg and Jaansen argued with quietpassion. Kananga was obviously bored with the argument, whileMorgenthau watched it in silence as she nibbled on pastries.

Kananga's a man of action, Eberly thought. He doesn't think verydeeply, which is good. He makes a useful tool. Morgenthau, though,
she's different. She just sits there watching everything, silent as asphinx. What's going on inside her head? How much of this is shereporting back to Amsterdam? Everything, I suppose.

"If you allow the people all these personal freedoms," Vyborg wassaying, almost hissing, actually, "the result will be chaos.
Anarchy."

"Most of the inhabitants have come to this habitat to escaperepressive regimes. If their individual liberties are not guaranteed,
they'll reject the constitution altogether." Jaansen leaned back onthe sofa, smiling as if he had won the argument.

"Individual liberties," Vyborg spat. "That's the kind of licensethat nearly caused the collapse of civilization. If it weren't forthe New Morality--"

"And the Holy Disciples," Morgenthau interjected, then, glancing atKananga, she added, "and the Sword of Islam."

Jaansen frowned at her and Vyborg, both. "No matter what you think,
these people will not accept a constitution that doesn't guaranteetheir historical freedoms. They're here because they got fed up withthe restrictions back on Earth."

 Vyborg thought otherwise. He continued to argue.

Sitting at the end of the coffee table, Eberly thought that Vyborg, 


in the room's best armchair with his skinny legs tucked under him,
looked rather like a coiled snake: lean, small, dark, his eyesglittering menacingly. Jaansen was just the opposite: cool, pale, butas immovable as a glacier. And he kept that damned palmcomp in hishand, fiddling with it like some voodoo charm.

Kananga butted in. "In a closed ecology like this, we can'ttolerate fools and troublemakers. Pop them out an airlock without asuit!"

 Morgenthau laughed. "My dear Colonel, how can we resort to airlockjustice if each citizen is guaranteed due process of the law for anyoffense they might commit?"

"Exactly my point!" Vyborg exclaimed, staring straight at Jaansen.
"We have no room here for legal niceties."

Pursing her lips for a moment, Morgenthau said, "There is anotherpossibility."

"What?"

 "I've heard that some scientists on Earth are experimenting withelectronic probes they put inside peoples' skulls. They attach theprobes to the brain--"

"Bioelectronics," Jaansen said.

"Yes," agreed Morgenthau. "With these probes attached to variousbrain centers they can control a person's behavior. Prevent violentcriminal behavior, for example."

Vyborg scowled. "What of it?"

"Perhaps we can use such probes to control behavior here," saidMorgenthau.

"Insert neural probes to control people's behavior?" Jaansenshuddered.

 "It could work," said Morgenthau.

"They would have to agree to the operation," Vyborg pointed out.

Kananga countered, "Not if they were found guilty of criminalbehavior."

 "It might be a way to control the people," Morgenthau said.

Shaking his head, Jaansen said, "The population would never agreeto it. These people aren't stupid, you know. They wouldn't give thegovernment that kind of power over them."

"We wouldn't have to tell them," Kananga said. "Just do it."

That started an argument that grew steadily more fervent. Eberlywatched and listened, sipping his tea, while they squabbled louderand louder.

 At last he asked them, "May I make a point?" He spoke softly, butall eyes immediately turned to him.

"Even in the so-called democracies back on Earth, the desperateconditions caused by the greenhouse crash have led to veryauthoritarian governments. Even in the United States, the NewMorality rules most of the large urban centers with an iron fist."

"Which is why most of these people joined this habitat," Jaansenpointed out. "To find more freedom for themselves."

"The illusion of freedom," muttered Kananga.

"Secularists," grumbled Morgenthau. "Troublemaking unbelievers.
Agnostics and outright atheists."

Jaansen shifted the palmcomp from one hand to another as he said,
"I don't disagree with you, really. I'm a Believer, too. I understandthe need for firm control of the people. But those secularists aren'tfools. Many of them are scientists. Even more are engineers andtechnicians. All I'm saying is that if you try to get them to agreeto a constitution that does not include the kind of individual 
liberties they expect, they'll reject the constitution."

"Not if we count the votes," Morgenthau said with a heavy wink.

"Be serious," Jaansen countered.

"It's been done," she said, snickering.

Eberly let out a long sigh. Again, they all turned to him.

"None of you understand history," he said. "If you did, you wouldsee that this problem has been faced before, and resolved properly." 


 "Resolved?" Vyborg snapped. "How?"

Smiling with superior knowledge, Eberly said, "More than a hundredyears ago Russia was part of the conglomeration called the Union ofSoviet Socialist Republics."

"I know that," Vyborg said sourly.

"Soviet Russia had a constitution, the most liberal constitution onEarth. It guaranteed freedom and brotherhood to everyone. Yet theirgovernment was among the most repressive of them all."

Jaansen seemed intrigued. "How did they manage that?"

"It was simple," Eberly replied. "In the midst of all thosehighflown constitutional phrases about liberty and equality and thebrotherhood of man there was one tiny little clause that said, ineffect, that all the rest of the constitution could be suspendedtemporarily in case of an emergency."

"An emergency," repeated Kananga.

"Temporarily," said Vyborg.

Eberly nodded. "It worked quite well. The Soviet Union was in apermanent state of siege, and the government ruled by terror anddeceit. It worked for nearly three quarters of a century, until theSoviet government collapsed under pressures from the Western nations,
especially the old United States."

"We would have no outside pressures to contend with," Vyborg said.

Eberly spread his hands. "So we give the people the sweetest,
kindest, most liberal constitution they have ever seen. But we makecertain that we have that emergency clause in it."

Morgenthau laughed heartily. "Then, once the constitution is ineffect, all we have to do is find an emergency."

"Or make one," Vyborg added.

Even Jaansen smiled. "And then, if anyone objects--"

"We stick a neural probe into his brain," Morgenthau said, "andturn him into a model citizen."

 "A model zombie," Jaansen muttered.

"Or better yet," said Kananga, grinning, "out the airlock withthem."

 JUPITER ENCOUNTER MINUS THREE DAYS

 Eberly asked Jaansen to sweep his apartment for bugs at least oncea week.

 "Are you really worried that Wilmot is spying on you?" the tall,
pale Norseman asked as he walked across the bedroom, electronicdetector in his hand.

 Eberly, shorter, darker, replied, "It's what I would do if I werein his place."

"Are you bugging his office?" Jaansen asked, with a smile.

"Of course."

 "Well, in three days we fly past Jupiter," said Jaansen. "It's amilestone."

 Eberly agreed with a curt nod. "I'm more interested in what happensinside the habitat than outside."

 Jaansen, ever the engineer, pointed out, "We'll be taking on freshfuel. Without it we won't be able to get to Saturn."

"I have other things on my mind. More important things."

"Such as?"

 "The coming elections."

Jaansen clicked off the detector and announced, "You're all clean.
No cameras, no microphones, no electrical power drain anywhere, downto the microvolt. Nothing that shouldn't be here."

"Good." Eberly walked him back into the sitting room and gesturedhim to the sofa.

 Sitting himself in the easy chair, Eberly said, "Sooner or later, 


we must get the people to vote on a new constitution and newleaders."

 Jaansen nodded, tucked the detector into one pocket and pulled outhis inevitable handheld computer from another.

"I've been thinking about the elections," Eberly said.

"They're a long way off."

"Less than a year now. We must prepare for them."

Jaansen nodded, fiddling with his palmcomp.

"The scientists will vote for one of their own, probably Urbain."

Another nod from Jaansen.

 "They form a sizable bloc of votes."

"Not a majority, though."

"Not of themselves," said Eberly. "But suppose the engineers andtechnicians vote with them?"

 Recognition dawned on Jaansen's face. "That could be a majority. Asolid majority."

"Therefore we must somehow split the engineers and technicians awayfrom the scientists," Eberly said.

"How can we do that?"

 Eberly smiled. "Let me explain what I have in mind."

 Edouard Urbain tried to control the trembling he felt inside him ashe stared out the observation port. The giant planet Jupiter, no morethan a bright star only a few days ago, was now a discernable diskeven to the naked eye, obviously flattened at its poles, streakedwith muted colors from bands of clouds racing across the face of thatenormous world. Four tiny stars flanked the disk: the moons thatGalileo discovered with his first telescope.

Tucked into a close orbit just above those multihued clouds, Urbainknew, was the research station Thomas Gold. I could have been there,
he told himself for the thousandth time. I could have been leadingthe teams studying the life-forms on Europa and Jupiter itself.
Instead I am here in this glorified ark, stuck in along withrenegades and madmen like this Gaeta fellow.

He knew it was his imagination, but Jupiter seemed to be gettinglarger as he watched. No, we are not that near to it yet, Urbain saidto himself. Three days from now, that is when the spectacle willoccur.

 Habitat Goddard's complement of scientists and their equipment wasfar smaller than Urbain had asked for. The university consortium wasunwilling to send their best people on a multiyear voyage out toSaturn. Let them sit on their thumbs while the habitat lumbers its 
way out to that distant planet? No, never. Urbain recalled the faceof the consortium's chief scientist with perfect, painful clarity:

"We can't tie up our best people for several years like that,
Edouard. You take a skeleton team out to Saturn. Once you'reestablished in orbit about the planet, we can shoot our topresearchers out to you on a torch ship, get them there in a month ortwo."

 The implied insult still burned in Urbain's heart. I am not one oftheir top people. A lifetime of work on Mars and the Moon, threeyears in orbit around that hellhole of Venus, a life dedicated toplanetary science, and all they think me capable of is playingnursemaid to a skeleton crew of also-rans.

 It rankled. It cut. His wife had refused to come with him; instead,
she sued for a divorce. She had warned him, over the years, that hewas foolish to ignore the political aspects of his career.

"Make friends," Jeanmarie had told him, over and again. "Play up tothose who can do you good."

He could never do it. Never play that game. He had done good work,
solid work, perhaps not the level that wins Nobel Prizes, butimportant contributions nevertheless. And now this. The end of theroad. Exiled to Saturn. I'll be retirement age by the time I can work 


my way out of this habitat.

I should have paid more attention to Jeanmarie. I should haveheeded her advice. I should have paid more attention to the NewMorality counselors. They pull the strings behind the scenes.
Mediocre Believers get promotions while honest researchers like meare left behind.

 A wasted life, he thought.

Yet, as he looked out at Jupiter glowing like a beacon in the darkdepths of infinite space, the old excitement simmered within him.
There's a whole universe out there to explore! Worlds upon worlds! Iwon't be able to study Jupiter or its moons, but I'll be at Saturnbefore any of the others. I'll be directing the first real-timeprobes of Titan's surface.

He thought of the tracked rover vehicle that his staff wasbuilding. It will roam across the surface of Titan and obtain moredata about that world in a few weeks than all the scientists back on 
Earth have been able to amass in their lifetimes. Before the brightyoungsters get there on their torch ships I'll already be gettingdata from Titan. And from the cloud deck of Saturn. And the ice 
rings.

Perhaps my life won't be a waste, after all, thought EdouardUrbain. Perhaps this time I'll hit the jackpot. Perhaps there is aNobel Prize waiting for me in the future, after all.

Perhaps, he even thought, Jeanmarie will return to me.

 In the workshop where he and his team labored, Manny Gaeta waswalking Kris Cardenas around his EVA suit. Von Helmholtz and his fourtechnicians stood at the benches that ran along two walls of thechamber, watching their boss and the nanotech expert as they slowlypaced around the heavy, bulky suit, like shoppers inspecting a newoutfit built for Frankenstein's monster.

 She had arrived at the lab carrying a small briefcase, which shehad left on the floor by the door as soon as Gaeta came over to greether. The technicians stayed well clear of it.

Now she and Gaeta stared up at the suit, looming head and shouldersabove them, gleaming in the light from the ceiling lamps.

"It's big," Cardenas murmured. With its helmet and jointed arms, itreminded her of a medieval suit of armor.

 "It's gotta be big," Gaeta said as they paced slowly around it.
"Lots of gear inside."

"You've got room in there for a cafeteria," she joked.

With a rueful grin, Gaeta answered, "Nope. Just enough room insidefor me to squeeze in. The rest is packed with sensors, cameras, VRtransmitters, servomotors to move the arms and legs, radiation armor,
life support systems--"

"Systems? Plural?"

"You bet. Redundant systems are the only way to go. One craps out,
you can live on the other."

Cardenas peered at the gleaming armor's bright finish. "Is thiscermet?"

 "Partly," said Gaeta. "Lots of organometallics in it, too. Andsemiconductor surfaces, protected by borosilicates and Buckyfilamentshields."

 "How do you put it on?"

He walked her around to the suit's back. "You climb in through thehatch."

 Cardenas broke into a laugh. "Like the trapdoor in old-fashionedlong johns!"

Gaeta tilted his head to one side. "I never thought of it likethat, but yeah, you're right. Kinda like that."

Sobering up somewhat, Cardenas said, "Could you show me how you getinto it?"

 "Sure. You want to go in? It's okay, I can help you." 


 Cardenas shook her head. "No. You get into it." Nodding toward thebriefcase she had left by the door, "Then I can take samples ofwhatever residues you leave on the outside."

"Samples?"

"If you want nanomachines specifically tailored to clean up yourresidues, I have to know exactly what they are, down to the molecularlevel."

 Gaeta nodded his understanding. "Okay." He called to von Helmholtz,
"Yo, Fritz, I gotta get inside."

Von Helmholtz and the four techs started for the suit. The chief 
technician hesitated, though, and asked, "Dr. Cardenas, will you needyour case?"

"Yes I will, thank you."

He brought the briefcase to Cardenas while two of the techniciansbegan unsealing the suit's hatch and the other two booted up themonitoring consoles standing along the far side of the lab.

"You plan to go outside when we pass Jupiter?" Cardenas asked Gaetaas von Helmholtz handed her the briefcase.

 "Yep. We'll have a couple hundred million VR viewers sharing theexperience as we zip past Jupiter. Should be fun."

"Flying past Jupiter as seen from outside. I'd like to experiencethat myself," Cardenas said.

The technicians swung open the hatch in the back of the suit andGaeta stepped to it. Over his shoulder he told Cardenas, "Sure, whynot? Fritz can fix you up with a VR rig, can't you Fritz?"

"It would be an honor," said von Helmholtz. Cardenas couldn'tdecide if he meant it or he was being snotty.

She watched as Gaeta hiked one leg up over the rim of the hatch,
grabbed the sides with either hand, and then pulled his other leg in.
His head disappeared into the darkness inside.

She heard a thud, then a string of muffled Spanish curses.

"It's pretty tight in there," one of the technicians said, grinningat her.

 Gaeta called, "Okay, I'm set." The techs closed the hatch andsealed it shut.

 Walking around to the front of the suit, Cardenas had to crane herneck to see Gaeta's face through the heavily tinted visor of thehelmet.

 The right arm of the suit stirred into motion with a buzz and whirrof servomotors.

 "Hello, Kris," boomed Gaeta's voice, amplified powerfully, as hewaved at her. "Wanna dance?"

 But she was already on one knee, opening the briefcase that carriedher analysis tools, all business.

 JUPITER ENCOUNTER MINUS TWO DAYS

 The cafeteria was bustling and noisy with the clatter of silverwareand a hundred buzzing conversations. Ilya Timoshenko ignored thelines of people waiting at the various counters, preferring to punchout his lunch selections from the automated dispensers. He had filledhis tray with a McGlop sandwich and a bowl of steaming soup; now hestood before the beverage dispenser.

"Decisions, decisions."

Timoshenko turned his head to see that it was Jaansen, one of thetop engineers, standing next to him, tall and lean and pale as thewinter sun.

 Without a word, Timoshenko slid his plastic cup beneath the colanozzle and leaned on the button. Then he walked away, looking for atable where he could be alone. As he unloaded his tray, though,
Jaansen walked up to the table, carrying a salad and a glass of milk. 


 "Do you mind if I sit here?" Jaansen asked, already putting hissparse lunch on the table. "I need to talk with you."

Timoshenko said, "About what?" Jaansen was one of the bosses,
several rungs up the ladder above him.

"Politics," said Jaansen as he pulled out his chair and sat down.
Suddenly Timoshenko had no appetite. He sat facing the pale Norseman.
"I have no interest in politics."

"You did once. You were quite an activist."

"And look where it's got me."

Jaansen waved a hand vaguely. "This isn't so bad, is it? If youhave to be exiled, this is better than most places."

Despite himself, Timoshenko asked, "Were you exiled?"

"No, I chose to come here. For me, this is an opportunity to be incharge of a major engineering operation."

"To be a boss, you mean."

"You could be a boss, too," Jaansen said. "The biggest boss ofall."

 Timoshenko scowled at him.

 "I mean it, Ilya. You could run for the office of chiefadministrator, once the new constitution is put into effect."

"You're joking."

"I'm serious. You could run, and you could win. All the engineersand technicians would vote for you. That's a major bloc of votes."

"Why would they vote for me?"

"Because you're one of us. Everybody knows you and respects you."

Timoshenko grunted derisively. "I have very few friends. Hardlyanybody knows me, and those who do don't like me very much. I can'tsay that I blame them, either."

Jaansen would not be put off. Pulling his palmcomp from his tunicpocket he began tapping out numbers as he spoke.

"Politics boils down to arithmetic," he said, pecking away. "Youare much more respected by your fellow workers than you think.
They'll vote for you in preference to Urbain, and--"

"Urbain? He'll be running for office?"

"Of course. He's head of the science department, isn't he? Thescientists think they own this habitat. They think we're all here toserve them. Of course he'll run. And he'll win, unless you can rallythe engineers and technicians."

Timoshenko shook his head. "I have no interest in politics," herepeated. But he stayed and listened and looked at the numbersJaansen was pecking out on his palmcomp.

 Half an hour later, on the other side of the crowded, noisycafeteria, Edouard Urbain was trying to finish his lunch and get backto his office. The cold potato soup was a poor imitation ofvichyssoise. He hadn't had a decent meal since leaving Montreal.
Wilmot has no interest in cuisine, of course. Once I become chiefadministrator I will see to it that the cooks learn how to cook.

 There were a thousand things to do; construction of the rovingvehicle was running into difficulties and the Jupiter encounter wasalmost upon them and this man Eberly wanted to draft a constitutionfor the habitat and make himself the chief administrator. Impossible!
Urbain told himself as he sipped the unappetizing soup. This is ascientific mission, the entire purpose of this habitat is science. Ascientist must head the government.

"Are you as excited as I am?"

Urbain jumped as if someone had poked him. Looking up, he saw thechief engineer, the Norseman Jaansen, smiling gently at him.
Reluctantly, Urbain gestured him to the empty chair on the other sideof his table.

 "Excited?" he asked as Jaansen took the proffered chair.

"About the Jupiter flyby."

"Ah, yes. I suppose I am," Urbain muttered as he spooned up the 


last of the mediocre soup. Then he noticed that Jaansen was empty-
handed. "Aren't you having lunch?"

"I've already eaten," said the engineer. "I was on my way out whenI saw you sitting alone."

Urbain preferred to eat alone. But he said nothing and reached forhis cup of tea. They served wine, of a sort, in the restaurants. Thecafeteria did not.

 Jaansen said, "I can't think of anything but the flyby. And therefueling procedure. I've checked everything associated with theprocedure a dozen times, but still I can't help worrying that I'veforgotten something."

"That is why we create checklists," Urbain said tartly.

Jaansen smiled. "Yes, I know. But still..."

Urbain finished his tea. "If you'll pardon me," he said, startingto push his chair back from the table.

Jaansen touched his sleeve. "Do you have a minute? There'ssomething I'd like to discuss with you."

"I must get back at my lab."

Jaansen nodded, his ice blue, pale-lashed eyes lookingdisappointed. "I understand."

Nettled, irritated at the pang of guilt he felt, Urbain conceded,
"A minute, you say?"

"Maybe two."

"What is it?" Urbain asked. He leaned over to pull his tray frombeneath the chair and began placing his dishes on it.

"I need your help. Your guidance."

"About what?"

 The engineer glanced around almost furtively before replying, "Youknow that the chief of Human Resources is forming a committee todraft a new constitution for us."

 "Yes, so I have heard."

"And once the constitution is put into effect, we will vote on agovernment."

Urbain nodded as he asked himself, What is he driving at?

"I presume that you will head that government," Jaansen said.

"Ah, yes. I suppose I will."

Looking quite earnest, Jaansen asked, "Are you prepared to makesuch a sacrifice? It will be a heavy responsibility."

Urbain began to reply, hesitated, then formed the words in his mindbefore answering, "I have thought about this quite seriously. It is aserious responsibility, you are entirely correct there. But sincethis is a scientific endeavor, it must have a scientist at its head.
As chief scientist, I really have no choice in the matter. I mustaccept the responsibility."

"Assuming the people elect you," said Jaansen.

"Of course they will elect me. Who else could they vote for?"

 JUPITER ENCOUNTER MINUS ONE DAY

 "And where will you be when we fly past Jupiter?" asked Don Diego.

Holly looked up from the raspberry bush she was planting along theembankment. "In my office," she said with a smile. "I've got to getmy work done sometime."

The old man wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of a glovedhand. "You don't consider what we are doing as work?"

"This is fun. I mean, it's physical labor, y'know. But it's fun.
Besides, when I say 'work' I mean the job I was hired to do."

"You seem to spend part of each day here with me," Don Diego saidas he tugged at a stubborn coil of steel cable, half-buried in theground.

"I like being out here." Holly realized that she enjoyed being 


outdoors, away from her office. She enjoyed working and talking withthis older man, this serious yet lighthearted man who listened sowell and had so much to teach her.

 "Careful," Holly warned as he strained to pull the stubborn cableout of the ground. "That might be connected to something important."

He shook his head. "No, it is just some of the junk that theconstruction crews left behind. Instead of cleaning up the area asthey were paid to do, they threw most of their leftovers down theembankment, figuring that no one would notice."

Holly went over to help him. Together they pulled the coiled lengthof cable free. Sure enough, it was connected to nothing. Justleftover trash from the habitat's construction.

 "Maybe we ought to organize cleaning crews to go through all theculverts and embankments," Holly thought aloud. "We could prob'lyscavenge some useful materials."

"I worry more about the effects on our health. Steel rusts, and therust seeps into our drinking water supplies."

"Everything's purified when the water's recycled," Holly said.

He nodded warily. "Still, I worry."

Holly returned to the raspberry bush, tamped down the freshlyturned earth around it, then straightened up slowly, hands on thesmall of her back.

 "That's enough for me," she said, looking up at the long solarwindow. It was half in shade. "Dinnertime."

 "Will you allow me to make dinner for you at my hacienda?" DonDiego asked, pulling off his stained, soiled gloves.

Holly smiled. His hacienda was a one-bedroom apartment, she knew,
just about the same size and layout as her own.

"Why don't I cook tonight?" she suggested.

He looked embarrassed for a moment, then said, "You are a wonderfulperson in many ways, Holly, but I think I'm a better cook than you."

"Will you teach me how to make chili?" she asked eagerly.

"Out of soymeat and pinto beans," he replied. "Of course. I willeven show you how to prepare the beans so they do not cause gas."

 "Ain't I ever gonna get dinner?" Manny Gaeta complained. "Thecafeteria's probably closed by now."

"Then it doesn't matter, does it?" retorted Fritz von Helmholtz.

Inside the armored suit, Gaeta was standing a good half-meter offthe deck plates. He looked down at von Helmholtz through the heavilytinted visor of the helmet.

 "Cabrón," Gaeta muttered. Fritz can be a real pain in the asssometimes, he thought.

Von Helmholtz looked up from his handheld and frowned at him. "Wehave to do the vacuum test first."

 "It's damned hot in here. I'm sweating."

"Turn up the cooling," von Helmholtz said, unfazed.

"I don't wanna run down the batteries."

 "We can recharge them overnight."

Gaeta knew he could stop the test by simply powering down the suitand popping the hatch. He'd been in the clunker for hours now, goingthrough every procedure that they would need to record the Jupiterflyby. Gaeta felt tired and sweaty and uncomfortable.

But Fritz is right, he knew. Check everything now. Make certaineverything is working. Don't want any surprises when you're outside.

"Vacuum test, right," he muttered, scanning the Christmas tree ofmonitoring lights set into the collar of the helmet. Everything inthe green, except for two amber lights: a low battery and an air fanthat was running slower than design nominal. Maybe that's why it's sodamn hot in here, he thought.

Fritz was over by the big monitoring console, studying thediagnostics screen. "That fan will have to be replaced," he said intothe pin mike at his lips. 


 One of the technicians nodded glumly. "There goes my dinner date,"
he grumbled.

Straightening up and turning toward Gaeta, Fritz curled a beckoningfinger. "Come, my little sylph. To airlock number fourteen."

Gaeta began to walk. The suit felt stiff, despite the servomotorsthat were slaved to his arms and legs. "I feel like the Tin Woodsmanin here," he told Fritz. "Oil can! Oil can!"

Fritz did not smile one millimeter. "The bearings are self-
lubricating. As you exercise the suit, the joints will smooth out."

"Yeah. Sure."

 Gaeta followed Fritz toward the wide double doors of the lab. One 
of the other techs opened them. Gaeta was surprised to see Holly Lanestanding in the hallway outside. Her eyes went wide when she saw thesuit clunking toward her.

He moved one arm slowly and flexed the fingers in a robotic wave.
"Hi, Holly," he called.

"Manny? Is that you in there?"

"It's me."

 She hefted a small plastic bag. "I brought you some chili.
Homemade."

 Von Helmholtz said, "We have no time for a meal at present. We arevery busy."

"Come on along, Holly," Gaeta called. "We're goin' down to airlockfourteen." He resumed his plodding walk out into the hallway.

"You're going outside now?" Holly asked, scampering out of his way.

"Naw. The Safety guys nixed my EVA. They got a whole crew out thereto take on the fuel tanks comin' up from Jupiter. I'll just stay inthe 'lock while they open it to the outside, keep out of their way.
We'll vid the Jupiter pass tomorrow; that's when we'll be closest."

"Can I watch?"

 "Sure," Gaeta said, enjoying the nervous tic in Fritz's rightcheek. "Come on along."

 TANKER GRAHAM

 "Hey, Tavalera, look sharp now, we're starting the rendezvousmaneuver."

 Raoul Tavalera grumbled an obscenity under his breath. I know we'restarting the frigging rendezvous maneuver, he answered the skippersilently. Why the fuck else are we out here?

The Graham was little more than a pair of powerful fusion enginesand a habitation pod that housed its crew of two: the hardassedskipper and Tavalera, who was counting the days until his obligatoryPublic Service duty was finished and he could return to his nativeNew Jersey. Once he got back, he planned to kiss the ground andnever, ever leave the surface of planet Earth again.

Cramped little Graham towed three enormous spheres full of thehydrogen and helium isotopes that fed fusion engines. They would soonbe attached to the approaching habitat; once that task was finished,
Graham and her two-person crew could return to the relative safetyand dubious luxury of station Gold, in orbit around massive Jupiter.

The skipper was buckled into her command chair, her ugly, pastyface almost completely hidden beneath her sensor helmet. All Tavaleracould see of her was her mean, lantern jaw and the cruddy coverallsthat she'd been wearing ever since they had left the space station,
four days ago.

When Tavalera had first come out to Jupiter he had been excited bythe prospect of skimming the Jovian clouds. He pictured a daredeviloperation, diving into the upper fringes of Jupiter's swirlingclouds, scooping those isotopes out of the planet's incredibly deepatmosphere. Risky and exciting--and vitally necessary. Jovian fusion 


fuels fed civilization's electrical power generators and nuclearrockets all across the solar system, from Earth out to the AsteroidBelt and beyond.

Back then, Tavalera had envisioned an exhilarating life ofthrilling missions into Jupiter's clouds and swarms of adoring chicksbegging for his attention. The reality was boringly different. Thescreaming dives into the maelstrom of clouds were done by robotspacecraft, teleoperated from the safety of station Gold. Tavalera'sonly flight missions were routine ferrying jobs, transferring fueltanks to ships from the Earth/ Moon region or the Belt. And the womenaboard the space station chose their men by rank, which meant thatTavalera--a mere grubby engineer doing his Public Service tour ofduty--was quite low on the totem pole. Besides, he growled inwardly,
most of the women were ugly, and the few pretty ones were likely tobe dykes.

He began to count the missions, count the days and hours andminutes until he could be released and go home. This mission had beenparticularly dull; four frigging days towing three enormous fuelcontainers, plodding out to a rendezvous point to meet theapproaching habitat, on its way to Saturn. Tavalera's own coverallsstunk with four days' accumulated crud. The skipper had tweaked himabout it, asked him why he couldn't take a shower with his clotheson. Bitch! he thought.

Now all he had to do was sit tight and watch the control paneldisplays while the skipper maneuvered those three huge tanks to theapproaching habitat. It had been a difficult mission; they'd used upmost of Graham's own fuel climbing up over Jupiter's north pole toget clear of the fifty million--electron-volt synchrotron radiationthat hugged the planet's equator. Then they had to maneuver fartherfrom Jupiter than any of his earlier missions had gone, a full twentydiameters upsun, outside the bowshock of the planet's enormousmagnetosphere and its own fearsome radiation. Downsun themagnetosphere's tail stretched all the way out to Saturn's orbit.

The main display screen showed the habitat in a false-colorinfrared image. Tavalera looked up at the observation window and sawit dimly outlined in sunlight that glinted off its long, tubularbody. To him it looked like a section of sewer pipe floating silentlythrough empty space.

"Releasing tank number one," said the skipper, mechanically.

Tavalera saw that the release light winked on, green. Cranking upthe magnification on his screen, he watched a small army oftechnicians in spacesuits and one-man transfer flitters hovering atthe far end of the habitat, waiting to grapple the spherical tank andattach it to the flying sewer pipe.

Tank one went smoothly, as did tank two.

Then the skipper said, "Uh-oh."

Tavalera's heart clutched in his chest. Trouble.

 "Got a hangup on tank three," she said calmly. "You'll have to gooutside and clear it."

 Tavalera had been dreading that possibility. He didn't mind flyingthrough the dead vacuum of space inside a ship, even a gnat-sized onelike Graham. But being out there in nothing more than a flimsy spacesuit--
that was scary.

The skipper raised the sensor helmet off her face. "Well,
brightboy, didn't you hear me?" she snapped. "Get into your suit!
We've got to clear that hangup before that bugger of a habitat sailsout of our range."

We, Tavalera muttered to himself. She said "we" have to clear thesnag. But she means me. She's staying in here.

Reluctantly he unstrapped and pushed himself off his chair,
floating to the rear of the module where the spacesuits were stored.
It took only twenty minutes or so to get into the suit and connectall the lines, but from the way the skipper swore at him it seemedlike hours. She came back to check him out, and did it so swiftly 


that Tavalera knew she couldn't have done it right. Then she shovedhim toward the airlock.

 "Get going, chump."

 Gaeta felt hungry, tired, sweaty, and generally dismal as he waitedfor the technicians to open the airlock's inner hatch. Looking downon them from inside the armored suit, he wondered what was taking theidiotas tarugas so long to simply tap the right numbers on theairlock's wall-mounted keyboard.

Fritz pressed one hand to his earplug and muttered something intothe pin mike at his lips.

"What's the holdup?" Gaeta demanded.

"Safety director," said Fritz. "They have a team of people EVA andthey want to make certain they're nowhere near this airlock when weopen it."

"Maldito. I'm not going outside, I'm just going to stand in theopen airlock. Haven't you told them that?"

"They know--" Fritz tilted his head and pressed at the earplugagain. "Say again?" He listened, nodded, then looked up at Gaeta.
"Five more minutes. Then we can cycle the airlock."

"Five minutes," Gaeta grumbled.

Holly stepped in front of him, looking almost like a little elf asshe peered up toward the visor of his helmet.

"Is there any way I can get some of this chili to you?" she askedwith a smile. "You must be starved in there."

 He grinned back at her, wondering how much of his face she couldsee through the heavily tinted visor. Silently he thanked her for herunwitting beneficence to him. Gaeta had tried for more than a year tohitch a ride on the Saturn-bound habitat. Then Wendell had called 
from the Astro corporate headquarters and in less than two weekseverything had been arranged. All he had to do was keep an eye onthis skinny kid, which was no hardship at all. In fact, as Gaetalooked down on Holly, he realized that she wasn't skinny; she wasslim, trim, and altogether pretty damned attractive. Una guapachiquita.

"I'm starving, all right," he said to Holly, "but there's no way toopen this tin can without ruining the test we want to make."

She nodded, a little glumly.

Fritz abruptly waved her away from Gaeta as he said to thetechnicians, "Open the inner hatch."

"I thought you said five minutes," Gaeta snapped, surprised.

As one of the techs tapped out the hatch's code, Fritz saidtightly, "Five minutes until we can open the outer hatch. We can getready for that now. I haven't had any supper, either."

Gaeta laughed as the heavy hatch popped slightly ajar. Two of thetechs swung it all the way open. Massive though it was, his suitcould only fit through the outsized airlock hatches designed toreceive cargo. The suit was not built to bend at the waist or to flexin any way except at the arms and legs. Inside it, Gaeta felt as ifhe were driving an army tank.

He caught a glimpse of Holly standing to one side, watchingintently, as he thumped across the coaming of the hatch and plantedboth his booted feet inside the airlock.

 "Closing the inner hatch," came Fritz's brittle voice in theearphones built into his helmet.

"Copy you're closing inner hatch," Gaeta said.

They were all behind him now, outside his field of view. He couldsee the airlock's control panel on the bulkhead to his left, red andgreen displays. The light dimmed as the inner hatch closed and one ofthe red telltales flicked through amber to green. Gaeta was sealedalone inside the blank-walled chamber, like an oversized robot in ametal womb. He felt a need to urinate, but that always happened whenhe was nervous. It would go away. It better, he thought; we didn't 


bother to connect the relief tube.

 "Pumping down," said Fritz.

"Pump away," he replied.

He couldn't hear the pumps that sucked the air out of the chamber;
couldn't even feel their vibrations through the thick soles of thesuit's boots. How many times have I been in this suit? Gaeta askedhimself. The first time was the trek across Mare Imbrium. Then the 
Venus plunge. And skimming Jupiter. About ten, twelve test runs foreach stunt. Close to fifty times. Feels like home, almost.

"Opening outer hatch in thirty seconds," Fritz said.

"Open in thirty."

"No foolishness, remember."

Gaeta shook his head inside the helmet. The perfect worry-wart,
Fritz was. "I'll just stand here like a statue," he promised. "Notricks."

 "Ten ... nine..."

 Still, Gaeta thought, it would be fun to just step out and jetaround a little. Maybe do a loop around the habitat. We've got totest the suit's propulsion unit sooner or later.

"Three ... two..."

 Fritz would shit a brick, Gaeta chuckled to himself.

"Zero."

 The outer hatch slid slowly open. At first Gaeta saw nothing butempty blackness, but then the polarization of his visor adjusted andthe stars came into view. Thousands of stars. Millions of them. Hard 
little points of light spangling the emptiness out there likebrilliant diamonds strewn across a black velvet backdrop. And off toone side slanted the gleaming river of the Milky Way, a sinuous pathglowing across the sky, mysterious and beckoning.

Gaeta was not a religious man, but every time he saw the grandeurof the real world his eyes misted and he muttered the same hymn ofpraise: "The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof, the worldand those who dwell therein."

 RENDEZVOUS PROBLEM

 Like a lobster crawling across the sea bottom, Tavalera inchedweightlessly hand over hand along the rigid Buckyfiber cableconnecting Graham to the fuel pod. Once he reached the tank, heclambered slowly from one handhold to another across the huge metalsphere. As soon as he reached the balky connector, he snapped atether to the nearest clamp built into the tank's curving surface. Itfrightened him to work in empty space without a safety line, but thesuit tethers were too short to span the distance between Graham'sairlock and the jammed connector on the fuel tank. Once safelyconnected, he leaned forward as far as he could in the spacesuit,
trying to play his helmet light on the connector that refused tounlock.

 Every time he had to do an EVA he expected to feel cold, numbed bythe frigid vacuum of deep space. And every time he was surprised thathe got so hot inside the suit. Five minutes out here and I'm boilinglike a guy in a soup pot, he grumbled to himself. He blinkedperspiration out of his eyes and cursed himself for forgetting towear a sweat-band.

 "Well?" The skipper's voice sounded nastier than usual in hishelmet earphones.

"I'm trying to see what the hangup is," Tavalera said. "Gimme acouple minutes."

"Put the camera on it, let me take a look."

I'd like to shove the camera up your skinny ass, Tavalera growledsilently. He dutifully unhooked the minicam from his equipment belt 


and clicked it into its slot on the left shoulder of his suit. Its 
light added to the light of his helmet lamp.

Shaking his head, Tavalera said, "I can't see why it won't unlock.
Everything looks normal to me."

The skipper muttered something too low for him to make out. Thenshe said, "Check the receiver."

Tavalera instead checked his tether. He had no intention of 
drifting off the fuel tank and wafting off into interplanetary space.
Sure, there were plenty of people from the habitat outside, but howcould he be certain they'd be able to grab him? Or even try to?

"Well?" Even testier than before.

 "I'm workin' on it," he grumbled.

The receiver checked out: Its battery was almost fully charged andit was receiving the command signal from the ship.

"Must be a mechanical problem," Tavalera said.

"Try the override."

"That won't do any good if the problem's mechanical."

"Try the override," the skipper repeated.

Huffing impatiently, wondering how much radiation he was absorbingby the second, Tavalera punched out the override commands on thereceiver's miniature keypad, not an easy thing to accomplish in aspacesuit's gloves.

"No joy," he reported.

"I can see that," said the skipper. "It must be mechanical."

"Right." That's what I told you, fartbrain, he added silently.

"If we don't get it loose in fourteen minutes we're going to missthe rendezvous. The habitat will be too far away from us."

And then we can go home, Tavalera thought. Let somebody else flythe frigging fuel tank out to those dipshits. Who the hell told themto go out to Saturn in the first place?

"You'll have to disconnect it manually," the skipper said.

"Great."

 "Get to it!"

 There was no way to open the metal latch with his hands, he saw. Itwas made of heavy asteroidal aluminum, thick and sturdy, designed tostay closed until it received the proper electronic command. If itopened easily it could release the tank prematurely, or even cause acollision.

 "Cut it off," said the skipper. "Use the laser."

Tavalera looked up at the Graham, hanging a hundred meters or soaway from the spherical tank. To him, it looked more like a thousandkilometers. Through the transparent bubble of the crew module hecould see the skipper sitting in her command chair, although hecouldn't make out the features of her face. Just as well, he thought.
She makes a hatchet look lovable.

 "Come on," the skipper urged, "the clock's ticking."

He pulled the hand laser from his equipment belt, wondering if itwas powerful enough to saw through the aluminum latch. Probably drainmy suit batteries and I'll asphyxiate out here. A lot she cares.

"Move it!"

 "I'm movin' it," he yelled back, clicking the safety off the laserand holding its stubby snout a bare centimeter from the obstinatelatch.

 Grimacing, he pressed the firing stud. Harsh bright sparks leapedfrom the stubborn latch.

 Gaeta stood in the airlock, looking out at the universe, resistingthe urge to go sailing out there.

"All systems in the green," Fritz told him. "Four more minutesuntil termination of the test."

 Four minutes, Gaeta thought. I bet I could swoop all the way aroundthe habitat in four minutes.

 As he looked out, though, he saw two huge spherical tanks swing 


into view, and several spacesuited figures clambering on them. Thefuel tanks, he realized. Better not get snarled up with those guys.
Men at work. And women.

 Jupiter came into view as the habitat rotated, a distant fat spherestreaked with faint colors, flattened at the poles like a beach ballthat some kid was sitting on. And then another sphere, farther awaythan the others. Or maybe just smaller.

Another fuel tank? Gaeta remembered somebody saying there werethree of them. A small spacecraft hovered near the tank. Probably theferry ship, he thought. Then he saw sparks flashing from the tank.
What the hell are they doing to it?

"Three minutes," came Fritz's flat voice. He sounded bored.

Gaeta grinned. I've got enough juice in the propulsion tank to jetall the way around this sewer pipe, he told himself. Fritz wouldn'tbe bored then!

 "What are you laughing about?"

Gaeta realized he must have chuckled and Fritz picked it up.
"Laughing? Who, me?"

Fritz replied, "No, the Man in the Moon. What were you laughingabout?"

 "Nothing," Gaeta said, still thinking what fun it would be to takeoff and do a spin around the habitat.

 "Well?" the skipper demanded, testier than ever.

Tavalera clicked off the laser and peered at the latch. The beamhad cut halfway through it.

"Gimme another couple minutes," he said.

"Get with it, then. Our window closes in less than ten minutes."

Nodding inside his fishbowl helmet, Tavalera turned on the laseragain. Sparks flashed blindingly.

"What's the holdup?" demanded a new voice in his earphones.

Probably the boss of the habitat crew waiting for the third fueltank, Tavalera realized.

"We have a malfunction on the tank's release mechanism," theskipper answered. "We're on it. We'll have it on its way to you in amatter of minutes." Her tone was a half-million times sweeter than 
when she spoke to Tavalera, he thought.

"The attachment point is rotating out of position," came the othervoice, male, deep, irritated. "And my crew is running out of time. Weweren't scheduled to be out here this long."

"I'll adjust the capture angle," the skipper said, a little tenser.
"It should be no problem."

"Time's burning."

"Yes, yes, just be a little patient. We're working it."

We, Tavalera grumbled silently.

"Tavalera," the skipper yelled at him loudly enough to make himwince. "Get it done!"

 "It's almost there," he said, angling his shoulder so she could seethat the latch was nearly burned through.

Then the laser winked out.

 "What's happening?" she bellowed.

"Dunno," Tavalera muttered, shaking the stupid little gun.
"Capacitor needs to recycle, I think."

"Bend it back!"

 "Huh?"

 "The latch, you stupid slug! It's almost sawn through. Bend it backwith your hands! Now!"

Without thinking, Tavalera let the laser float off on its tetherand grabbed the metal latch with both gloved hands. It wouldn'tbudge.

"Break it off!" the skipper screamed at him. "Get it!"

Desperate, Tavalera grabbed the laser with one hand while he stillgripped the latch with the other. Maybe the capacitor's got one more 


squirt, he thought, pulling the trigger.

It all happened so suddenly that he had no chance to stop it. Thelaser fired a set of picosecond pulses and the latch came loose inTavalera's hand, throwing him badly off balance. He went sprawlingand dropped the laser, which went spinning out to the end of itstether, then snapped back toward Tavalera and fired off another setof pulses that hit the leg of his suit.

He screamed in sudden pain as the fuel tank jerked loose of itsconnection with Graham and began drifting out into space.

"It's heading away from us!" the habitat's crew chief roared.

"I can't stop it," the skipper yelled back.

Tavalera didn't care. The pain searing through his leg was enoughto make him giddy, almost delirious. He knew he was going to die, theonly question in his mind was whether it would be from loss of bloodor from asphyxiation as the air leaked out of his suit.

 RESCUE

 With nothing else to do but stand in the airlock and wait for Fritzto tell him the test was finished, Gaeta tapped at the keypad on thewrist of his suit to listen in on the chatter from the crew that was 
attaching the fuel pods to the habitat. Something was obviously wrongwith the third tank, it was still out by the ferry ship and somebodywas using a welding laser on it. More likely the laser was cutting,
not welding, Gaeta thought.

"...stupid piece of crap," he heard a woman's sharp-edged voice,
"how the hell did you puncture your suit?"

"I need help!" came another voice, scared. "I'm bleeding."

Bleeding? Gaeta wondered. Punctured suit?

Then a third voice, male, angry and aggravated, "The tank's offcourse! We can't reach it!"

 "There's nothing I can do," the woman whined. "He knocked it out ofline."

 "Help me." The bleeder's voice.

"We can't fucking reach you!" the angry male bellowed. "You'regoing off in the wrong direction and you're already too far for us toget to you."

"I'm dying..."

"It's your own stupid fault," the woman screeched.

Switching back to his intercom frequency, Gaeta said into hishelmet microphone, "Turn on all the cameras, Fritz."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Turn on all the cameras, dammit!" Gaeta snapped, launching himselfout of the airlock. To himself he added silently, This looks like ajob for Superman.

The suit's propulsion jets ignited smoothly and Gaeta felt himselfhurtling toward the errant fuel pod in the utter silence of emptyspace. But his earphones were far from silent.

"Come back!" Fritz yelled. "You can't-"

Gaeta simply turned off the intercom frequency and tapped into theothers' frantic chatter.

 "... not a damned frigging thing we can do," the crew chief wasyammering.

"He'll die out there!" the woman pleaded.

Nothing from the guy who was hurt.

"Hang on," Gaeta said into his mike. "I'll get him."

"Who the hell is that?"

 "Manuel Gaeta," he told them. "I'm on my way to the injured man.
Can you see me?"

"Yes!" said the crew chief and the woman simultaneously.

The fuel pod was getting bigger. Jesoo, Gaeta realized, it's huge! 


Despite everything, he laughed. Huevos tremendos.

"What's his name?" Gaeta asked as he rocketed toward the fuel tank.

 "What?"

 "Who said that?"

 "His name, the guy who's hurt. What's his name?"

"Tavalera," the woman replied. "Raoul Tavalera."

A chicano, Gaeta thought. He called, "Hey Raoul, habla espańol?"

No answer.

 "Raoul!" Gaeta shouted. "Raoul Tavalera! You there? You okay?"

"I'm... here." His voice sounded very weak. "Not for long, though."

"Hang in there, man," Gaeta said. The fuel tank was blotting outmost of his vision now, a tremendous curving world of metal rushingup to meet him. "Your suit's prob'ly sealed itself, maybe cut off thebleeding, too."

Nothing.

"Where you hurt, man?" Gaeta asked as he slowed his approach andgot ready to touch down on the massive sphere.

"Leg...."

"Ah, that's not so bad. You'll be okay."

"Hey, Gay-etta or whatever your name is," the crew chiefinterrupted. "I'm bringing my gang in to replenish their air andbreak out a couple more flitters so we can capture that tank."

"What about Tavalera?" the woman snapped.

Gaeta was drifting around the tank's curving surface now, lookingfor the injured man. "I see him!" he shouted. "I'll take care ofhim."

 Tavalera was floating a few meters off the surface of the tank,
held by his tether. Gaeta could see that his left leg was dotted bythree little burn holes. The hard-shell suit appeared otherwiseundamaged; the emergency cuff must have sealed off the leg the way itwas designed to do.

Gaeta unhooked Tavalera's tether and clicked it to his own armored 
suit. Then he started back for the habitat's airlock with the injuredastronaut in his arms.

 "You awake, man?" he asked Tavalera, rapping on his fishbowlhelmet.

 Tavalera opened his eyes. Groggily, he asked, "Who the hell areyou?"

Gaeta grinned. "Your guardian angel, man. I'm your frickin'guardian angel."

 Holly watched the whole thing on Fritz's portable display monitor.
Standing with the other technicians, she saw Gaeta sail back into theairlock, carrying the limp astronaut in the powerful arms of hisarmored suit.

 He saved him, Holly thought, her heart racing. He's saved thatman's life.

 While the technicians cycled the airlock Holly rushed to the wallphone by the inner hatch and called for emergency medical services.
Surprise showed clearly on the medic's face, even in the palm-sizedscreen of the wall phone, but he promised to have a team at theairlock in less than five minutes.

 The inner hatch sighed open and Gaeta clumped through, stillholding the injured, spacesuited man.

"Did you get it all down?" Gaeta asked, his voice booming throughthe suit's amplifier. "Cameras all on?"

"Yes, yes," said Fritz, sounding annoyed. "You will be on all thenews nets, never fear."

Three medics in white coveralls came pounding down the corridor tothe airlock, trailed by a powered gurney and a crash wagon. Theyquickly got the injured man's helmet off, slapped an oxygen mask overhis face, pulled the suit torso off him and jabbed a hypo into hisarm. Then they whisked him off toward the infirmary in the village. 


 Holly turned back to Gaeta, still in his massive suit.

"You saved his life," she said, looking up at him. She could barelymake out his face through the heavily tinted visor.

"He generated good publicity," said Fritz, a little sharply.

Holly countered, "He risked his own life to save a man in danger."

With an almost exasperated sigh, Fritz said, "He risked his life,
yes. He also risked the suit, which is worth several hundredmillions." Glancing up at Gaeta he added, "We can always find anotherdaredevil; replacing the suit would not be so easy. Or cheap."

Gaeta laughed; it sounded like thunder echoing off the corridor'smetal walls. "C'mon, Fritz, let's get back to the shop so I can getout of this tin can."

 Holly walked beside Gaeta, still clutching her container of chiliin one hand. It was ice cold now, she knew. Gaeta plodded down thecorridor like a ponderous robot in a bad vid, with Fritz on his otherside. The technicians trailed along behind.

At last they reached the workshop and the technicians unsealed thehatch at the suit's rear. Gaeta crawled out, stood up, and stretchedhis arms over his head languidly. Holly heard vertebrae pop.

"Damn, that feels good," he said, smiling.

She stepped closer to him and saw that his clothes were drenchedwith perspiration. He smelled like old sweat socks.

Gaeta caught her hesitant expression. "Guess I oughtta shower,
huh?"

 Fritz was still unhappy with him. "An extravehicular excursion wasnot planned. You shouldn't have done it. What if the propulsion unithad failed? It hasn't been properly tested for flight activity."

Gaeta grinned at him. "Fritz, everything worked fine. Don't be sucha gloomy fregado. Besides, I couldn't leave the guy out there, hemight have died."

"Still, you had no right to--"

"Can it, Fritz. It's over and no damage was done to the precioussuit." To Holly he said, "Wait there just a couple mins, kid. I gottaget outta these clothes and hit the shower."

He ambled to the lavatory off at the workshop's rear, whistlingtunelessly. Holly watched the techs clambering over the suit,
checking all its systems and shutting them down, one by one.

Gaeta came back, his hair glistening and slicked back, wearing afresh set of coveralls.

 "Now, where do we eat?" he asked. "I'm starving."

Fritz glanced at his wristwatch. "The restaurants are all closed bynow. We'll have to eat in our quarters."

Holly held up her plastic container. "I've got some chili, but it'sgot to be reheated."

"Chili! Great!" said Gaeta.

 Glancing at Fritz and the other techs, Holly said, "There isn'tenough for all of us."

Gaeta took her by the arm and started for the lab's door. "There'senough for us two, right? These other clowns can get their ownsuppers."

Holly let him lead her out into the corridor without a glance backat the others. But in her mind she was saying, Malcolm'll have tonotice this!

 Charles Nicholas was a chubby, chinless little man who had learnedto wear clothes so that he somehow managed to look dapper even in aplain sports shirt and comfortable slacks. As the senior man on dutyat the Communications office that evening, he had watched Gaeta'sheroics in fascination.

 His assistant, Elinor, happened to be his wife. She was slightlytaller than he, much slimmer, and wore clothes even better than hedid. They always tried to have their working shifts together. Theyspent every waking moment together and, of course, slept in the same 


bed. Yet while Charles was openly admiring of Gaeta's feat inrescuing the injured astronaut, Elinor was somewhat dubious.

"They might have staged the whole thing," she said to her husbandin her squeaky, strangely sexy voice.

Charles was rerunning the vid. "Staged it? How could they stage it?
It was an accident. That kid could've died."

 "They could have set it up weeks in advance. For the publicity."

"Nobody was watching except us and the EVA crew."

"But they got it all on a chip, didn't they? They'll want to beamit to the nets, back Earthside."

Charles shook his head. "They'll have to get permission for that.
They'll have to ask Vyborg, he's in charge of news releases."

"He'll okay it," said Elinor. "All they have to do is ask him. Helikes publicity."

"Professor Wilmot doesn't."

 "So they won't ask Wilmot. They'll ask Vyborg and he'll okay itwithout bucking it upstairs."

"You think so?"

 "Bet you five credits," Elinor replied.

Charles said nothing, thinking that Elinor was probably right. Sheusually was. Sure enough, a call came through from somebody named VonHelmholtz, who identified himself as Gaeta's chief technician, askingpermission to beam their vid of the rescue to the news nets on Earthand Selene. Charles routed the request to Vyborg's private line. Inless than ten minutes Vyborg called back, gladly granting permission.

"You owe me five," Elinor said, grinning evily at Charles.

"I never bet," he said.

"Makes no difference," she said loftily. "It's a moral victory forme."

 He tried to change the subject. "Have you made up your mind aboutwhat we should call our village?"

"Something better than Village C," she said.

"I think we should name it after some great figure from literature.
Cervantes, maybe. Or Shakespeare."

"You know they both died the same year?"

"No."

 "Yes; 1616. You can look it up."

"I don't believe it."

 "Bet five?"

 "That I will bet on," Charles said, sticking out his hand.

They shook on it, Elinor thinking, We're married more than tenyears and he still doesn't realize that I only bet on sure things.
She smiled kindly at her husband. It's one of things that I loveabout him.

 Holly and Gaeta were walking slowly along the gently climbing paththat led toward her apartment building. It was well past midnight;
the habitat was in its nighttime mode. The solar windows were closedand everything was dark except for the small lights set atop slimpoles along the edges of the path, and the windows of some of theliving quarters up ahead.

"Look up at the stars," Gaeta said, stopping in the middle of thepath.

"They're not stars," said Holly, "they're lights from the land upthere."

 "Those over there look like the petals of a flower to me," he said,
pointing overhead. "I think I'll call it the Flower constellation."

She giggled. "They're just lights, Manny. See, those meanderingones over there?" She pointed too. "Those are the bike paths betweenthe food factory and Village C. And the village itself--"

"Looks like a giant squid, doesn't it? See, there's the body andthere's the tentacles stretching out."

She was standing so close to him in the darkness that she couldfeel the heat of his body.

"And what's that one?" she asked, pointing up at the neat rows of 


lights marking one of the orchards.

"Let's see now," he muttered. "How about the Tic-Tac-Toeconstellation?"

 They laughed together and then she was in his arms and he kissedher. Jeeps, Holly thought, what am I getting into?

 "He brought the man here?" Eberly asked.

Eberly was standing at his kitchen sink, a bowl of breakfast cerealin his hands. Kananga had barged in without warning, simply one sharprap on the apartment's door and he entered without being invited.
Eberly was certain he had locked the door before retiring for thenight. How did Kananga get it open? The man had been a policeofficial back on Earth, Eberly remembered. He must be quiteaccustomed to getting past locked doors and entering someone's homewithout asking.

Kananga nodded somberly. "He's in the hospital. Apparently thewounds on his leg were not too serious. The laser cauterized as itpenetrated the flesh, so there was very little bleeding. He sufferedmostly from shock."

"How long must he remain in hospital?" Eberly asked, absentlypouring flakes into a plastic bowl. "We ought to send him back to theJupiter station as soon as possible."

"It's already too late for that," said Kananga, standing on theother side of the counter that served as a partition between thekitchen and sitting room. "We've moved too far from Jupiter for themto send a spacecraft to pick him up. It would take a special torch-
ship flight, and the station staff are unwilling to send for one tofetch him."

 "You mean we're stuck with this man?"

 Kananga nodded again. "The medical people have him under quarantineuntil they can establish that he's not carrying anything harmful inhis bloodstream."

 "But he can't stay here! This habitat isn't a shelter for thehomeless!"

 "Do you want me to push him out an airlock?"

Eberly stared at the colonel. His question was obviously meant tobe humorous, but there was no trace of a smile on his dark, utterlyserious face.

 "Don't be funny," Eberly said.

"Then he's here to stay. He doesn't know it yet, by the way.
Someone will have to break the news to him. He probably won't likeit."

 Eberly put his cereal bowl down on the kitchen counter and camearound to the sitting room.

"I'll get Holly to tell him. Or perhaps Morgenthau--she's theacting head of the Human Resources Department. They'll have to makeroom for him somewhere in the habitat's population."

"He won't like it," Kananga repeated. "He was due to return toEarth in a few weeks."

 "He's here to stay, unless he can afford a torch ship to pick himup."

"He'll expect us to do that."

With a shake of his head, Eberly said, "There's no provision in ourbudget for that. Wilmot wouldn't spend the money. He couldn't. Thereisn't any money to spend."

"Perhaps one of the news services," Kananga suggested. "The rescuemade quite a sensation on the nets this morning."

"Perhaps. I'll ask Vyborg to look into that possibility." Eberlyhesitated, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "On the other hand, perhapswe can use all this to our advantage."

"How?"

 "I don't know ... yet. But there should be some way to turn this toour advantage. After all, we have a genuine hero in our midst, this 


stuntman Gaeta."

 "He's an outsider. He'll be returning to Earth after he's performedhis exploit."

"Returning to Earth? Someone will send a ship for him?"

Kananga looked surprised at the idea. "I hadn't thought about it.
Perhaps he can take the refugee back with him."

"Perhaps. But in the meantime, we should work out a way to use him.
Use them both, perhaps."

Kananga asked again, "How?"

"Heroes are always valuable," Eberly replied, "if they can bemanipulated. I'll have to think of a way to bring Gaeta into ourcamp."

Kananga shrugged. "At least we have one consolation."

Eberly looked at him sharply. "What's that?"

"It won't happen again. We won't take any more refugees aboard. TheJupiter station was the last human outpost. There's no one out thisfar except us."

With that, he turned and left the apartment. Eberly realized he wasright. The habitat was sailing now farther than any humans had evergone before. Beyond the frontier, into the unknown.

Frowning, Eberly tried his front door. It was securely locked. YetKananga had entered and left as if it had been wide open.

 DEPARTURE PLUS 425 DAYS

 Holly awoke slowly, remembering what seemed to be a dream. But itreally happened, she knew. It really happened.

Manny was gone, of course. He had left her after they had madelove, right here in her bed, left her drowsy and languid and warmwith the touch of his hands, his lips, his body pressed against hers.

She smiled up at the ceiling. Then she giggled. I'll have to tellDon Diego what terrific chili he made. A love potion.

A glance at the digital clock on her night table told her that sheought to get up, shower and dress and get to the office. Yet she layback on the rumpled, sweaty sheets, remembering.

But a sudden thought snapped her out of her reverie. Malcolm! Whatif he finds out? I just wanted to make him jealous, make him noticeme. This'll make him hate me!

 The phone buzzed.

"No video," Holly said sharply. "Answer."

Malcolm's face appeared floating above the foot of her bed. Heknows! she screamed silently. He's found out! Holly jerked up to asitting position, clutching the sheet to her despite knowing thatEberly could not see her, waves of guilt washing over her, drowningevery other emotion.

"Holly, are you there?" Eberly asked, squinting slightly, as ifthat would make her image appear in his apartment.

"Yes, Malcolm," she said, straining to keep her voice level. "I-I'm 
running a little late this morning."

"About this man that Gaeta brought aboard the habitat lastevening," Eberly said, ignoring the tremble in her voice. "He's goingto stay aboard the habitat unless someone wants to send a ship out tofetch him."

 He doesn't know! she thought, so relieved that she nearly saggedback on the pillows. To Eberly's image she managed to utter:

"Yes?"

 "I want you to interview him as soon as the medics lift hisquarantine. We need a complete dossier on him."

He doesn't know, she repeated to herself. It's all right. Hedoesn't know. "I see. Of course."

 "Good. Get on it right away." 


 Holly's mind began working again. "Have you told Morgenthau aboutthis?" Holly asked.

His brows knit slightly. "I'm telling you."

She nodded. "Kay. Right. I'll inform her. She wants to be keptinformed, y'know."

"You take care of it," he said, almost crossly.

"Kay. I'll do it."

At last he seemed to catch the reluctance in her voice. "Holly,
would you rather I speak to Morgenthau?"

Her heart fluttered. "Oh, Malcolm, I don't want to bother you withthat." But silently she was rejoicing, He cares! He really caresabout me!

 "I'll call her right now," he said, smiling at her. "By the timeyou get to the office, she'll know all about this."

"Thank you, Malcolm!"

"It's nothing," he said. Then he cut the connection and his imagevanished.

 Leaving Holly sitting in her bed, suddenly wretched that she hadmade love with another man, and terrified that Malcolm might findout.

 When Ruth Morgenthau arrived at her office that morning, she foundSammi Vyborg already sitting in front of her desk, waiting for her.

"I thought you'd be watching the Jupiter flyby," she said, sweepingaround her desk and settling heavily in its padded chair.

Vyborg hunched forward in his chair. "That stuntman's heroics havemade the flyby seem tame, by comparison. Every network is carryingthe video."

 "So?" Morgenthau asked. "Then why are you here? If it's about therefugee," she said airily, "I've already spoken with Eberly about it.
He wants Holly to--"

"It's not about the refugee," Vyborg snapped.

She looked at him carefully. His narrow death's head of a face waseven grimmer than usual, tense with repressed anger.

"What is it, then?"

"Eberly promised to make me head of the Communications Department.
But he's done nothing to make that happen."

Morgenthau temporized, "That sort of thing takes time, Sammi. Youknow that. You must be patient."

"He hasn't lifted a finger," Vyborg insisted.

"Patience, Sammi. Patience."

Strangely, Vyborg smiled. To Morgenthau it looked like the smile ofa rattlesnake gliding toward its victim.

"I once saw a cartoon," he said slowly, "that showed two vulturessitting in the branches of a dead tree. One of them was saying to theother, 'Patience, my ass! I'm going to kill somebody.' "

Morgenthau felt her cheeks flush at Vyborg's crude language. "Andjust who do you intend to kill?"

"The two people who stand between me and the top of theCommunications Department, of course."

"I wouldn't advise--"

 "Neither one of them is a Believer. The department head is a Jew,
not that he observes his own religion. The other one is asuperannuated old Mexican who spends more time gardening than he doesat his desk. He should be easy to dispose of."

"You mustn't do anything without getting Eberly's approval first."

"Don't play games with me. We both know that Eberly is nothing morethan a figurehead. You're the real authority here."

"Don't underestimate Eberly. He can win over people. He canmesmerize crowds. I don't want you to act precipitously."

"Yes, yes. But I believe the old adage that the Lord helps thosewho help themselves. I'm finished waiting. The time for action hascome." 


 Morgenthau pursed her lips disapprovingly. But she said nothing.

 Showered, combed and dressed, Holly phoned Morgenthau beforeleaving her apartment.

"Dr. Eberly wants me to interview the newcomer," she said toMorgenthau's fleshy image. "I've checked with the medical departmentand they're lifting his quarantine this morning, so I'm planning togo straight there instead of to the office."

Holly spoke the words as a declaration, not a question, not arequest for permission. Eberly's name was all the permission sheneeded.

 Morgenthau seemed to feel the same way. "Eberly called me earlierand told me about it. But thanks for informing me, Holly. I'll seeyou in the office when you return from the hospital."

Raoul Tavalera was sitting in the hospital's tiny solarium, aglassed-in bubble on the hospital's roof. Even though it wasmidmorning and sunlight streamed through the habitat's solar windows,
to Holly it looked like a slightly overcast day; the sunlight seemedweak, as though filtered through a layer of thin clouds. We're morethan five times farther from the Sun than the Earth is, she realized.
Naturally the sunlight is weaker.

Tavalera was dressed in ill-fitting gray coveralls, his long, horsyface looking glum, almost sullen. He did not get up from his chairwhen Holly walked over to him and introduced herself. She wore acrisply tailored dusky rose blouse over dark gray slacks: officegarb.

"I'm from the Human Resources Department," Holly explained, onceshe had pulled up a chair to sit next to Tavalera. He did not move amuscle to help her. She made a smile for him and went on, "I'm hereto get your complete life story."

He did not smile back. "Is it true? I'm stuck here for a friggin'year or more?"

"Unless someone sends a ship to pick you up, yes, I'm afraid you'regoing to be with us all the way out to Saturn."

"Who the fuck would send a ship out for me?" he muttered. "I'm justa turd engineer, friggin' slave labor, that's all I am."

Holly took a breath. "Mr. Tavalera, I'm no saint, but I'dappreciate it if you notched up your language a little."

He gave her a sidelong glance. "A Believer?"

"Not really. I'm not a churchgoer."

"The frig--uh, I mean, it was the New Morality that sent me outhere in the first place. I hadda do two years of public service. Nochoice."

 "I see."

 "Do ya? I only had a couple more weeks to go and they would'vebrought me back home. Now I'm goin' out to fri--to Saturn forchrissakes."

 Gesturing toward the rooftop view of the village and the habitat'slovely green landscape, Holly said, "There are worse places, y'know.
You might actually like it here."

"I got family on Earth. Friends. I was gonna get my life backtogether...." His voice trailed off. Holly could see that he wasstruggling to keep from flying off into a rage.

"You can send them messages. We can find useful work for you to do.
You'll enjoy living here, betcha."

Tavalera glowered at her.

"I know it must seem like a bugging disaster to you," said Holly asreasonably as she could, "but you're here and you should try to makethe best of it."

 "Easy for you to say," Tavalera muttered.

"We'll do everything we can to help you while you're here."

"We?"

 "The people here in the habitat. The Human Resources Department." 


 "Does that include you?"

Nodding, Holly replied, "I'm with the Human Resources Department,
yes."

Tavelra seemed to brigthten a little. But only a little.

 Eberly paced leisurely along the path that wound around theperimeter of the lake, Morgenthau at his side.

"It's good to be out in the open air," he was saying. "Away fromprying eyes and snooping ears."

"They're spying on you?" Morgenthau asked. She knew how simple itwas to spray molecule-thin microphones on a wall or ceiling. Camerasno bigger than a teardrop could be inserted almost anywhere.

"Probably not. Wilmot's too naďve even to understand what we'redoing. But it's best to be prepared against all possibilities, don'tyou think?"

"We have a problem with Vyborg," she said, as if making anannouncement.

 "He's impatient, I know."

Morgenthau said, "He's more than impatient. He's going to dosomething violent."

"Violent?" Eberly felt a pang of alarm in his guts. "What do youmean?"

 Morgenthau replied calmly, "He's not willing to wait for you toremove the two men above him in the Communications Department. He'sready to strike against them."

Fighting against the fear rising within him, Eberly snarled, "Thelittle snake! He'll ruin everything." Inwardly he asked himself, Howcan I stop him? How can I prevent him without seeming weak,
indecisive? I want their loyalty, but if I try to thwart them,
prevent them from acting, they'll go ahead without me. And then wherewill I be? When we get to Saturn they'll send me back to Earth. Backto prison!

"He's going to resort to violence, I tell you," Morgenthauinsisted.

 It took an effort of will for Eberly to keep from wringing hishands. "What can I do? How can I stop him?"

Morgenthau smiled knowingly. "Don't stop him."

"What?"

 "Let him take action. Just make certain that whatever he does can't 
be traced back to us."

 Eberly stared at her, trying to understand what she was saying.

Still walking along as if on a casual stroll, Morgenthau explained,
"We want Vyborg to take command of the Communications Department. Ifhe's ready to take a step in that direction, why stop him?"

"What if he commits a crime? What if he's discovered, caught,
arrested?"

 "That's why we must have no connection with him, not until afterhe's succeeded."

 "But if he fails..."

 "If he succeeds, he's one step closer to our goal. If he fails, wecan honestly say we had nothing to do with it."

"Suppose he fails," Eberly questioned, "and he's caught, and heblames me?"

 "You can show clean hands and a pure heart," Morgenthau repliedsweetly. "With your powers of persuasion, I'm sure you can makeWilmot and the whole population believe that you've been falselyaccused. Because that will be the truth."

 Eberly walked on in silence, with Morgenthau keeping pace besidehim. She wants Vyborg to act. Even if he commits murder, she's infavor of his acting. Why? he asked himself. And the answer cameimmediately: Because that will give her a stronger hold on Vyborg.
And a stronger hold on me. She's allowing me to be the publicfigurehead because I can organize people and sway them to our side. 


But she's the power behind the throne. She's the real power here.

 INTERFAITH CHAPEL

 With ten thousand souls in the habitat and only one small chapelfor them to worship in, you would think this house of God would befilled to overflowing every hour of the day and night, thought RuthMorgenthau as she sank to her knees in the first pew. But no, it'sempty except for me.

Cold anger filled her. Ten thousand people and not one of themloves God enough to kneel here in prayer. Only me. I'm the only onehere.

 Not so, came a stern voice from within her. God is here. Bow yourhead in prayer. Acknowledge your sins and beg your Maker forforgiveness.

Morgenthau prayed.

She had found God--or, rather, God had found her--when she had beena skinny fourteen-year-old prostitute in the filth-littered backstreets of Nuremberg, speeding toward an early death frommalnutrition, disease, and drug abuse. The Holy Disciples rescuedher, healed her body and cleansed her soul.

Yet the hunger remained. She realized, in time, that the hunger wasthe devil's work, the insidious, inescapable hunger that would pullher down to eternal damnation unless she dedicated her every wakingmoment to the service of God. She prayed for relief, for the strengthto overcome its constant searing need. Often she prayed for death,
for she thought that only death would end the torture of her soul.
She denied herself the companionship of women, slept alone in a baremonk's cell, to keep from temptation, to stave off the yearninghunger.

And then she found the substitute, the permissible passion thatsublimated her forbidden hunger. Power. By working with men, byspending virtually every waking moment surrounded by the men sheloathed and feared, eventually she learned to play their games ofpower. She deliberately allowed her body to bloat, to becomeunattractive physically. But she honed her mind and her instincts.
She rose in the councils of the Holy Disciples. No one suspected hersuppressed yearning. Women and men alike respected her growing power.

When she was asked to go on the mission to Saturn she agreedgladly.

"We have selected a man to organize a God-fearing government in thespace habitat," her superior told her, "but he is not the mostreliable of souls. He claims to be a Believer, but his past record ofchicanery makes me doubt his faith."

Morgenthau nodded. "I understand," she said. And she did. This wasan opportunity for real power, control of ten thousand men and women.
A great opportunity. And a terrible temptation.

So she knelt alone in the habitat's little chapel and prayedfervently for guidance. And power. Power was good, power in theservice of God was an absolute blessing. It kept the hunger at bay.
It calmed the devils that burned within her.

 Morgenthau prayed for inner peace, for humility, for understandingthe path that God wished her to take. But most of all, she prayed forpower.

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 335 DAYS

 Holly felt awkward when she saw Gaeta again, two days later. She 


found a good business reason to call him, yet instead of asking himto come to her office, she invited him to lunch. He easily agreed, onthe condition that it was at the Bistro, not the cafeteria. WhenHolly hesitated, wondering if he considered that more romantic, hesaid:

 "Don't worry, it'll be my treat."

Despite herself, Holly laughed and agreed to meet him at theBistro.

 Yet she grew more nervous as noon approached. We spent a nighttogether and he hasn't made a move to see me since then. I call himto talk business, but he wants to have lunch in the Bistro becauseit's quieter and the food's better and maybe he thinks we can go backto my place or maybe his afterward and go to bed together. Whichwouldn't be altogether a terrible thing, she thought, grinningdespite her pangs of guilt. But I can't get involved with him oranybody else because Malcolm's the man I really want.

A faint voice in her head asked, Is that really true? Malcolmhasn't even held your hand. Are you really in love with him?

Yes, she replied so swiftly that she did not allow herself anydoubt. The faint voice said nothing more.

Gaeta was already at their table when Holly arrived at the Bistro.
He shot to his feet, a bright smile on his rugged face.

The Bistro was so small that most of the tables were outside, onthe grass. There was never any rain to worry about in the habitat,
and the only winds were the gentle breezes that were stirred by themassive air circulation pumps set into the endcaps. Underground hoseswatered the lawns and the crops, as needed, without spraying waterthrough the air. Sensors in the ground kept track of soil moistureand nutrient levels.

 There were no flies or other buzzing pests in the habitat, althoughHolly knew that the ground was honeycombed by ants and worms and themicroscopic creatures that turned inert, dead dirt from the Moon'sregolith into living, productive soil.

"Sorry I'm late," Holly said, slipping into the chair that Gaetaheld for her.

 "Only five minutes," he said, sitting down again.

"Sometimes it's almost impossible to get out of the office. There'salways something more to do."

The flat-topped robot waiter trundled to their table, the menu andwine list illuminated on its touchscreen. They made their choices andthe robot threaded its way through the tables and back inside therestaurant.

 "We're making a nice little bundle on the rescue footage," Gaetasaid. "It got a big play on the news nets. Outscored our flyby ofJupiter in the ratings."

"That's great."

The robot rolled back to their table, bearing their drinks. AsGaeta handed Holly her frosted mug of cola he asked, "So what did youwant to see me about?" He seemed guarded, Holly thought, almost wary.

"I need to talk to you about Tavalera, the guy you rescued," shesaid.

 "What? He wants a percentage?"

Holly was surprised at that. "No. Prob'ly he hasn't even thoughtabout that. He just wants to go home."

"Back Earthside?"

 "Right."

Gaeta made a small, careless shrug. "He can hitch a ride with uswhen we leave, I guess."

"That's what I was going to ask you."

"Sure. No prob. Fritz'll grumble, but the guy's an engineer, isn'the? So we can carry him as a backup techie. That'll keep Fritzhappy."

Suddenly there was nothing left to talk about, Holly realized.
Except everything. 


 Sammi Vyborg skipped lunch. He stayed in his office and followedDiego Romero on the surveillance cameras spotted throughout thehabitat. Kananga had given him the Security Department's code foraccessing the cameras.

The old man had spent the morning in his office, as usual, goingthrough the motions of being second-in-command of the CommunicationsDepartment. Then he'd left and gone to his own apartment. From thecameras atop the administration building's roof Vyborg watched Romeroamble along the path to the apartment building, walking slowly, as ifhe hadn't a care in the world. A few minutes afterward he emergedagain, dressed now in tattered, frayed work clothes, and strolled offinto the woods out beyond the village, also as usual.

Morgenthau had refused to give him access to the cameras insideRomero's apartment.

"That's very sensitive," she had said flatly. "Only myself and avery small cadre of sworn Believers are allowed to review thoserecords. Besides," she added, with a dimpled smile, "we wouldn't wantto invade someone's privacy, would we?"

Simmering with frustration, Vyborg watched the views from theoutdoor cameras.

 Impatiently, he switched from one camera to another, keeping Romeroin view on his holographic display until the old man disappeared downthe slope of the culvert for the irrigation canal. There were nocameras down there. He's alone out there, Vyborg saw, except now andthen that young woman from Morgenthau's department comes out to helphim. I can get Morgenthau to keep her busy on the day when I strike.
That should be easy. But how to eliminate the old man? It must looklike an accident.

 Vyborg cleared his display and closed his eyes to ponder theproblem. Kananga, he thought. Kananga will know how to do it. He'dprobably enjoy the task.

 Eberly gazed at the document hovering above his desktop the way ahart lover would admire a Rembrandt.

 It's perfect, he thought, leaning back in his desk chair. Aconstitution that no one could possibly vote against. Every high-
flown phrase from history that spoke of human freedom and dignity wasin the document. And so was that tiny clause, buried deeply in allthe other verbiage, that allowed the government to cancel allindividual rights for the length of an emergency.

It's time to bring this before the people. Let them debate its finepoints, let them argue it out, clause by clause, phrase by phrase. Helaughed, alone in his apartment. Let them spend the next few monthsdissecting the document and then putting it back together again. Letthem babble and quack at each other. In the end they will acceptsomething very close to this document. And I will see to it that theemergency clause is untouched.

He clasped his hands together prayerfully and held them to hislips. This will make Morgenthau happy. I'll have the complete backingof the New Morality and Holy Disciples and all the other Believersscattered in among the population. They'll vote for thisconstitution. They'll make an effective bloc of votes that I cancount on. If anything, they'll want to make it more restrictive thanit is now. I can just see Wilmot and Urbain and the rest of thescientists debating against the Believers! What a show that willmake! Entertainment for weeks to come.

 Once the constitution is enacted, the time will come to elect thehabitat's new leaders. No, not leaders, plural. There can be only oneleader here and that will be me.

 And once I am elected, it will be the time to clean house, the timeto settle old scores, the time to make Morgenthau and those New 


Morality prigs grovel at my feet.

 As she walked back to her office, Holly didn't know whether sheshould feel disappointed or relieved. Actually, she felt some ofboth. And puzzled.

Lunch with Manny had been pleasant, even fun. He didn't try to comeon to me. Why? she asked herself. He was warm and friendly, but itwas like a couple of nights ago never happened. Like he has amnesiaor something. Just erased from his memory bank.

Are guys all like that? Didn't it mean anything to him? Sherealized that it meant much more to her. And then there was Malcolm. 
Maybe it's better that Manny isn't really interested in me. He justhad a fling with me, that's all. I shouldn't take it seriously. Buthe was so...

 She realized she was close to tears.

 Maybe I should talk to Don Diego about it, she thought. Then sheshook her head. How could I tell him about it? I'd sound like a 
stupid dimdumb, or worse. But I've got to tell somebody. I need afriend and he's the only real friend I have.

 Kananga listened to Vyborg without saying a word, without noddingor gesturing or even blinking his eyes, it seemed. He walkedalongside Vyborg in the dimmed light of evening, the lamps alongtheir path making his shaved scalp gleam darkly, and listened sointently that Vyborg wondered if the man had gone mute.

At last Vyborg asked, "So what do you think can be done about it?"

"Why do you come to me with this problem of yours?" Kananga askedquietly.

Vyborg glowered at him. "Because you are a man of action. Becauseyou wouldn't be aboard this habitat if it weren't for me. I convincedthe Peacekeepers to allow you to emigrate. They wanted to put you ontrial for genocide."

Kananga's dark face remained impassive, but the old fury welled upinside him once again. Genocide! The Hutu slaughtered us by thethousands and no one lifted a finger. Yet when we seized power, whenwe repayed the Hutu in blood just as they had done to us, thePeacekeepers come in with their satellite cameras and their laserweapons. They arrest us and put us on trial in the World Court.

Misunderstanding the rage in Kananga's eyes, Vyborg said in a moreconciliatory tone, "I need your help. No one else can do this for me.
I need your strength and skill. Help me to get rid of this old man.
Please."

 The tall, lanky Rwandan took a deep, calming breath. Pointing alean finger at one of the light poles at the side of the path theywere walking along, he said softly, "That is a problem."

Vyborg understood immediately. "The cameras."

Kananga nodded solemnly. "Morgenthau has even installed cameras inthe apartments."

"Yes, I know."

"Of course, if we do something in his apartment, I'm sure that wecould get Morgenthau to suppress the video."

"So we could take care of him in his apartment and no one wouldknow," Vyborg said hopefully.

"But what would we do with the body?" Kananga put the slightest ofemphasis on the word "we," but Vyborg heard it and understood.

"Make it look like an accident. A natural death. He's an old man."

 "In excellent health. I checked his medical records."

 "People die," Vyborg snapped.

With a low chuckle, Kananga said, "Yes, especially when they havehelp."

Feeling exasperation growing within him, Vyborg demanded, "Well,
can you help me or not?" 


 Kananga was silent for so long that Vyborg thought the man wasgoing to refuse. But at last he said, "There are no surveillancecameras down in the culverts where he spends so much of his time, arethere?"

 Vyborg realized he was right.

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 328 DAYS

 All the department heads were seated around the oval conferencetable. Wilmot sat on one side, in the middle, flanked by Urbain andround-faced, dark-haired Andrea Maronella, head of the agro group.
Eberly, sitting exactly across the table from Wilmot, still thoughtof the woman as a glorified farmer.

One by one, the department heads gave summaries of their weeklyreports. Eberly felt utterly bored. Why doesn't Wilmot record one ofthese meetings and simply play it back each week? he wondered. Itwould save us all an hour or two and the results would be just aboutthe same.

 "Well, that seems to be it," Wilmot said, once the last speaker hadfinished. "Any new business?"

Eberly said, "Raoul Tavalera has accepted a position in theMaintenance Department. He's now working on repair and refurbishmentassignments, so I'm told."

Tamiko O'Malley, the stubby Japanese head of maintenance, noddedvigorously. "He's not a half bad technician, actually. Although hereally wants to get back to Earth as soon as possible."

Wilmot turned his gaze back to Eberly. "What about that, Dr.
Eberly?"

"We're making arrangements for him to leave with the video team,
once they've finished their excursion to Titan."

Urbain slapped his palm on the table top. "They will not be allowedto land on Titan! Never!"

 Eberly said mildly, "Their team leader is under the impression thathe will be allowed--"

 "Never!" Urbain repeated, louder.

Wilmot placed a soothing hand on the scientist's arm. "I thoughtDr. Cardenas was helping him solve the contamination problem."

"With nanomachines?" Urbain snapped. "I will believe that when Isee it demonstrated, not before."

Eberly said, "It's going to be difficult to refuse him permission.
I mean, this man Gaeta is a media hero. He rescued that injuredastronaut. Everyone in the habitat respects him for that."

Before Urbain could reply, Wilmot said, "We must set up ademonstration of Dr. Cardenas's nanomachines. A demonstration that is 
done in complete safety. I don't want to take the slightest chancethat nanobugs might run rampant in this habitat."

Urbain nodded and smiled thinly. "Zero risk," he murmured, and hissmile told Eberly that he knew zero risk was an impossibility.

"Very well," said Wilmot. "Are we finished, then?"

Several department heads started to push their chairs away from thetable. But Eberly cleared his throat loudly and announced, "There isone more item, if you please."

Wilmot, halfway out of his chair, thumped down in it again, lookinganything but pleased. "What is it?" he asked peevishly.

"My committee has drawn up a draft constitution. I've reviewed itand now I think it's time for the people at large to see it and voteon adopting it."

A flash of something like suspicion flickered in Wilmot's eyes.

One of the department heads complained, "You've already goteveryone arguing about naming things. Now you're going to startanother debate?" 


 But Wilmot brushed his moustache with one finger and said, "Let mesee your draft document first. Then we'll have all the departmentheads review it. After that, we can show it to the people at large."

"Fine," said Eberly, with a gracious smile. It was exactly what hehad expected Wilmot to do.

 Several days later, Holly got up from her desk and walked toMorgenthau's door. She no longer thought of the office as Eberly's;
she hadn't seen Eberly for many weeks, except for brief encountersand then always with other people present. He doesn't care about me,
she told herself, desperately hoping it wasn't true, wondering howshe could make him care for her as much as she cared for him.

 She tapped at the door, and Morgenthau called, "Enter."

Holly slid the door back halfway and said, "I'll be out of theoffice for the rest of the day. I'm going out to--"

Morgenthau looked apprehensive, almost startled. "Holly, I wasgoing to tell you earlier but it slipped my mind until this verymoment. I need you to bring Dr. Cardenas's dossier up to date."

"Up to date? I thought we had a complete file on her."

Morgenthau tapped at the handheld resting on her desk. Cardenas'sfile and photo appeared above it. Morgenthau scrolled down rapidly,
the words blurring before Holly's eyes. It made no difference; Hollyremembered the complete file, word for word, from her first readingof it.

 "There. There is a break in her record. She ran the nanolab at 
Selene for several years, and then abruptly quit. A few months latershe went to Ceres, but she did not engage in nanotechnology researchthere, as far as the record shows. I want you to clear this up withher."

 Holly said, "It doesn't seem that cosmic, does it?"

With a hardening expression, Morgenthau said, "My dear Holly,
everything about nanotechnology is important. Something happened toabruptly change Cardenas's career. She quit nanotech work for severalyears, and now she wants to resume her research here, among us. Why?
What is she up to?"

"Kay," Holly said. "I'll call her."

"Invite her out to lunch. If she refuses, go to her lab and don'tleave until she's explained herself to you."

"You make it sound like a police investigation."

"Perhaps it should be."

Wondering why Morgenthau was so worked up, Holly said, "Kay, I'llgive her a call before I go out."

Raising a chubby finger, Morgenthau said sternly, "Now, Holly. Iwant this done now. Have lunch with her now, today. I want yourreport about this in Cardenas's dossier first thing tomorrowmorning."

Holly's first inclination was to tell Morgenthau to jump out anairlock without a suit. But then she realized that the woman had 
never been so flaming insistent on anything before. She's reallynotched up about this, Holly realized. Maybe this nanotech stuff isscarier than I thought.

 Don Diego straightened up slowly, painfully. The back is a weakspot, he told himself, trying to rub the stiffness away. If we everget to the point where we can truly redesign the human body, muchattention will have to be paid to improving the back.

He walked slowly, carefully, along the sloping embankment of thecanal. The ache was in the small of his back, where his hands couldnot easily reach. He sighed. At least this stretch of the canal isnearly finished, he said to himself. He stopped and admired thehaphazard growth of flowering bushes. Perhaps some cactus along thenext stretch of the canal, he thought. I wonder if there is any 


cactus available in the habitat?

 He had expected Holly to join him; she had said she'd be out thisafternoon. He wanted her to see how well this little bit of 
wilderness was shaping up.

Someone stepped out from behind a tree, up at the edge of theculvert, and walked slowly down the dirt slope toward him. A tall,
gangling black man with a shaved scalp and a thin beard tracing hisjaw-line. His polished boots will be tarnished by the soil, Don Diegothought.

"Good afternoon to you," he called to the stranger in English.
"What brings you to this quiet place?"

The stranger smiled brightly. "You are Diego Romero, of theCommunications Department?"

"I am he," said Don Diego, thinking that this man must be from theoffice. Someone must be complaining about his long absences. Or...

"Might you be from the Maintenance Department?" he asked, almosttimidly.

The black man stepped closer, still smiling. "No. You have nothingto fear on that score."

 As ordered, Holly was having lunch with Kris Cardenas in theBistro. But it wasn't going well.

"I know it's sort of prying," she said apologetically. "But my bossis clanked up about nanotech and there's this kind of gap in yourdossier...."

 Cardenas put her fork down and took a sip of lemonade. Then shelooked out across the tables scattered over the grass, most of themempty, and finally returned her gaze to Holly. Her brilliant blueeyes looked sad, not angry; they seemed to be looking beyond Holly,
peering into a painful past.

"I don't want it on the record," she said. "I'll tell you about it,
but only if you promise to keep it out of my dossier."

Holly was about to agree when she realized, "I'll have to tell myboss about it."

 Cardenas shook her head. "Then forget it. I'll tell you about it,
Holly, but I don't want it to go any farther. If you tell your boss,
they won't let me do any nanotech work here."

"Why not?"

"Because I helped to kill a man," Cardenas said, flat and hard andcold.

 Holly felt her jaw drop open.

"I didn't do it on purpose," Cardenas explained. "But what I didwas bad enough."

As if an emotional dam had burst, Cardenas told Holly her entirestory. How she'd been exiled at Selene, unable to return to Earthbecause of the nanobugs swarming inside her body. How her husband hadrefused to come up to the Moon, how her children turned against her,
how she had never seen her grandchildren. Her anger. Her pain andtears and the bitter, searing rage against the fools and self-
satisfied know-nothings who used the people's fear of nanotechnologyto destroy her life.

She told Holly of Martin Humphries's offer. "He said he'd get meback to Earth if I helped him sabotage a rival's spacecraft. Godknows he was rich enough to buy anything. I thought he'd help me. Ididn't think damaging a spacecraft would cause a man's death. So Ilet Humphries buy me and his biggest rival died when the spacecraftmalfunctioned."

 "Did you ever get back to Earth? See your family?" Holly asked, hervoice low, hollow.

"Never," Cardenas said. "When I heard that Dan Randolph had diedbecause of what I'd done, I told Selene's leaders everything. I eventried to commit suicide, but I flubbed that. My punishment was to belocked out of Selene's nanotech lab. So I went out to Ceres, to the 


frontier, and worked with the rock rats for years. No nanotech work.

I swore I'd never do any nanotech research again."

"But you're doing it now. Here."

Cardenas nodded, still dry-eyed but looking as if the weight of theworld was crushing her. "I decided I'd done enough penance. I canhelp you people here. I want to start my life over again."

Holly murmured, "Sort of like me."

"We're two of a kind, in a way."

"I guess."

Cardenas fixed her with those bright blue eyes of hers. "So whatare you going to tell your boss?"

Holly didn't have to think for even a millisecond. "Nothing," shesaid. "I'll just say that you decided of your own free will to go toCeres and work with the rock rats. Which isn't really a lie, is it?"

For the first time, Cardenas smiled. "No, it's not a lie. It's notthe truth, not the whole truth, at least. But it's not a lie."

 Still smiling, Kananga stepped to within arm's reach of Don Diego.
"No, I'm not from the Maintenance Department," he repeated.

"I plan to inform the Maintenance Department of my work here," DonDiego said, "but I haven't--"

With the swiftness of a pouncing leopard, Kananga punched the oldman squarely in his solar plexus. Don Diego collapsed with barely asound.

 Kananga caught the old man in his arms and lifted him easily. Nodrag marks, he thought. No evidence of foul play.

He carried the gasping, dazed Don Diego down the dirt embankment tothe concrete edge of the canal. The old man coughed and moaned, hislegs moved feebly, his eyes fluttered open.

Kananga knelt and pushed him face down into the canal, holding theback of his head carefully, almost tenderly, to keep him in thewater. Don Diego sputtered a bit, flailed weakly, then went limp. Thewater bubbled a little, then became still. Kananga continued to holdhim, counting slowly to a hundred, before he let go.

Satisfied that Diego Romero was dead, Kananga got to his feet. Notbad, he thought, looking around. No gouges in the dirt, no scuffmarks on the concrete, no signs of a struggle.

No one will ever know.

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 323 DAYS

 Holly discovered the body. She left Cardenas at the Bistro andheaded out to the canal where Don Diego had been working. At firstshe saw no sign of him. Then she spotted his body sprawled down atthe bottom of the embankment, half underwater.

She did not scream. She did not even cry until hours later, in theprivacy of her own quarters, long after she had dragged the old man'sbody out of the canal and the emergency medical team had pronouncedhim dead.

 She dreamed that night of the father she could not remember.
Sometimes, in her dream, he was Don Diego; sometimes he was ashadowy, faceless figure of a man, huge and almost menacing. At onepoint the faceless male had his back to her and she was a littlechild, barely able to walk. Pancho was somewhere in the dream withher but what Holly wanted more than anything was to have her fatherturn around so that she could at last see his face. She tried to call 
to him but no sound would come from her throat. She reached out for 
the man and when he finally did turn to face her, she saw that it wasMalcolm Eberly staring coldly down at her.

Holly sprang up in her bed, suddenly awake, the disturbing dream 


slowly dissolving like a cloud on a summer day. She showered anddressed quickly, skipped breakfast, and went straight to thehabitat's small hospital to see the doctor who had examined DonDiego's body. She knew she should call Morgenthau and inform her thatshe'd be late for work, but she didn't bother.

The hospital was quiet, calm, unhurried. The habitat's personnelwere mainly in good physical condition, youthful physically despitetheir calendar ages. The main medical problems were accidents andpsychological ailments. And the sudden death of a ninety-eight-yearold 
man, Holly added mentally.

Dr. Yańez's normal happy smile disappeared once Holly explainedthat she wanted to know about Don Diego.

"Very unfortunate," he said. "Very sad. He was a wonderful man. Wehad many long talks together."

He grasped Holly gently by the elbow and led her to the doors thatopened onto the hospital's inner courtyard garden.

Holly said, "I don't want to take you away from your work."

"There is not that much to see today, anyway," he said. "Our peopleare disgustingly healthy."

He walked Holly outside the two-story hospital building and aroundthe courtyard's carefully planted flower garden. Holly thought of howDon Diego would have made the gardens look wilder, more natural.

Pushing his hands into the pockets of his white jacket, Yańez said,
"Don Diego's death puzzles me. He must have tripped and fallen intothe water and drowned."

 "Why didn't he just get up?" Holly asked.

He shrugged. "He might have hit his head. He might have fainted-low 
blood pressure, a minor stroke. He was a pretty old man."

"Were there any signs of a stroke?"

"No, but a minor stroke doesn't leave a lot of damage to be seen.
We'd have to look specifically for it, and even then we might notcatch it. This isn't New York or Tokyo, you know. We don't haveexpert pathologists on the staff."

"I guess."

"It's a great tragedy. A great loss."

"You're certain it was an accident?" Holly asked.

Yańez looked startled momentarily. "Yes. Of course. What else couldit be?"

 "I don't know."

 The physician looked up at Holly. "He was my friend. If there hadbeen foul play I would have found it, I assure you. It was anaccident. Unfortunate. Regrettable. But just an accident, nothingmore."

 The more the doctor talked, the more Holly wondered if it reallyhad been an accident. But that's crazy, she said to herself. Howcould it be anything except an accident? Who would want to kill DonDiego?

Yet she heard herself ask, "Can I see the record of yourexamination?"

 Yańez said, "It's a lot of medical jargon. Plus photos of thebody."

"I don't have any pictures of Don Diego," Holly realized aloud. "Nomementoes at all."

 "The images of a dead man are rather grisly."

"I don't care. I'd like to see them."

 The doctor sighed heavily. "Very well. I'll give you the accesscode and you can call up the complete record at your convenience."

"Thank you," said Holly.

"De nada," replied Yańez automatically.

 Eberly could barely control his fury. He stood behind the desk inhis apartment, red-faced, almost snarling at Vyborg and Kananga.

"Murder!" Eberly raged. "You couldn't wait for me to remove the old 


man, so you went ahead and murdered him."

"No one knows about it," Vyborg said, whispered actually. "He'sbeen buried and forgotten."

"I know about it!" Eberly snapped. "It's my duty to report thiscrime to Wilmot. What will you do if I try to do so? Murder me, too?"

Kananga said, "No, never."

"Murderers. My closest friends and supporters are a pair ofmurderers."

 "He wasn't a Believer," Vyborg said. "Just a lapsed Catholic."

"And that excuses murder?"

 Kananga said, "I thought it was your desire to get rid of the oldman. That's what Sammi told me."

 "You agreed that he was to be removed," Vyborg pleaded. "I thoughtthat--"

 "You thought! You decided to act on your own, without consultingme. Without asking how your actions might impact on my master plan. Idon't want you to think! I want you to follow my orders! To obey!"

"Yes, we understand," said Vyborg, "but--"

"No buts!" Eberly shouted. "Either you are part of my team or youare not. There is no third possibility. Either you follow my ordersexplicitly or you leave me once and for all."

Kananga glanced down at Vyborg as Eberly thought, I don't have totell them that if they leave me I will immediately report them toWilmot. They understand that well enough.

"Well?" he demanded. "Make your choice."

"I will stay with you, of course," Vyborg said. "I'm sorry that Iacted so... precipitously."

"And you, Colonel?"

It was obviously harder for Kananga to kowtow, but he visiblyswallowed once, then said quietly, "I am at your service, sir, nowand forever."

 Eberly allowed himself a small smile. "Very well then. The incidentis forgotten. Vyborg, I want you to be patient enough to allow me toremove Berkowitz in my own way."

"I will."

 "Once that is accomplished, you will take over total control of theCommunications Department." Turning to Kananga, he said, "And you, mydear Colonel, will be my chief of security once we form the newgovernment."

Kananga began to reply, but Eberly added, "Providing, of course,
that you follow my orders and don't go striking off on your own."

Kananga bit back a reply and nodded dumbly.

Eberly dismissed them and they walked glumly to the door and lefthis apartment. Then he sank back into his chair, his mind--and hisinsides--churning. It's not so bad, he thought. Everyone accepts theold man's death as an accident. And I have something to hold overVyborg and Kananga, something to tie them more tightly to me. Totalloyalty, based on fear. He rubbed at the ache in his stomach. AndMorgenthau has me the same way. I'm riding on a tiger, on a team oftigers, and the only way to keep from being eaten alive is to getthem what they want.

He leaned back in the desk chair and tried to will the pain in hisinnards to go away. How to get rid of Berkowitz? he asked himself.
Without another murder, preferably.

 Who can I talk to? Holly asked herself, over and over. And theanswer always came back: Malcolm. Talk to Malcolm about this.

But I can't see Malcolm without Morgenthau getting in the way. Sheguards my access to him like a bulldog. Holly had sent several phonemessages to Eberly, asking for a private chat, only to haveMorgenthau inform her that Eberly was too busy to talk to her at themoment.

 "Anything you want to discuss with Eberly you can tell to me," 


Morgenthau said.

"It's... uh, personal," Holly temporized.

A flash of displeasure glinted in Morgenthau's eyes, quicklyreplaced by a sly look, almost a leer. "My dear, he's much too busyfor personal entanglements. And much too important to allow himselfto be distracted."

 "But I'm not-"

 "Perhaps after the new government is set up, perhaps then he'llhave some time for a personal life. But not until then."

Holly said numbly, "Kay. I click."

"Now then," Morgenthau said briskly, "how are the contests comingalong? When do we move to phase two?"

Surprised that Morgenthau hadn't asked about Cardenas's dossier,
pleased that her brief and incomplete addition to Cardenas's fileapparently satisfied her boss, Holly began to explain the progressshe'd made on the contests for naming the habitat's features.

 Professor Wilmot studied the graphs hovering before his eyes.

"Astounding," he muttered. "Absolutely astounding."

Despite all the efforts he and his staff had put in to keep thehabitat under the protocol that had been designed before they leftEarth, the people were breaking away from it more and more. Thechanges were minor, he saw, most of them merely cosmetic. Some of thewomen had taken to adorning their clothes with homemade patches andpress-on insignias, many of them of a blatantly sexual nature; it wasa fad that seemed to be growing in popularity, despite Eberly'ssuggested dress code. A few of the men were following suit. Wilmotgrunted: Youth will be served, even if some of the "youths" are thecalendar age of grandparents.

Then there was this contest business, naming every building andbush in the habitat. Incredible how much time and energy everyoneseemed to be spending on it. There were reports of scuffles and evenactual fistfights in the cafeteria over the naming contests. PerhapsI should cut off their liquor supplies, Wilmot mused. Then he shookhis head. They'd simply cook up their own in the labs, one way oranother.

 At least the use of narcotics seems to be low, unless the hospitalstaff isn't reporting drug abuse. Perhaps they're the worstoffenders. He sighed. As long as it doesn't interfere with their workthere's no sense trying to sniff out every recreational drug thesepeople cook up.

There were personnel changes, Wilmot observed. People shifted fromone job to another, even moved from one department to another. ThisEberly chap in human resources is approving far too many changes,
Wilmot thought. But he decided against interfering. Let theexperiment play itself out. Don't meddle with it. The lab rats areperforming some interesting tricks. I wonder what they'll do once wereach Saturn.

 Then a new question formed in his mind. I wonder what they think inAtlanta about all this. Should I even report these details to them?
He nodded to himself. I'll have to. I'm certain they're gettingreports from other sources. For the kind of money they've invested,
the New Morality must have seeded this habitat with plenty of snoops.

 BOOK II

 About three years ago I wrote that to my great surprise I haddiscovered Saturn to be three-bodied: that is, it was an aggregate ofthree stars arranged in a straight line parallel to the ecliptic, the 


central star being much larger than the others. I believed them to bemutually motionless, for when I first saw them they seemed almost totouch, and they remained so for almost two years without the leastchange. It was reasonable to believe them to be fixed with respect toeach other, since a single second of arc (a movement incomparablysmaller than any other in even the largest orbs) would have becomesensible in that time, either by separating or by completely unitingthese stars. Hence I stopped observing Saturn for more than twoyears. But in the past few days I returned to it and found it to besolitary, without its customary supporting stars, and as perfectlyround and sharply bounded as Jupiter. Now what can be said of thisstrange metamorphosis?

That the two lesser stars have been consumed, in the manner of thesunspots? Has Saturn devoured its children? Or was it indeed anillusion and a fraud with which the lenses of my telescope deceivedme for so long--and not only me, but many others who have observed itwith me? Perhaps the day has arrived when languishing hope may berevived in those who, led by the most profound reflections, onceplumbed the fallacies of all my new observations and found them to beincapable of existing!

 Galileo Galilei.

 Letters on Sunspots.

1 December 1612

 VISION OF SATURN

 Manny Gaeta's rugged face appeared on Holly's desktop screen.

"Hi," he said, grinning. "When do you close up shop?" He called heronce a week, as punctually as if he had ticked it off on hiscalendar. Holly kept putting him off. She had no desire to complicateher life. Since Don Diego's death Holly had buried herself in work,
running the naming contests, keeping the office functioning despiteMorgenthau's utter indifference to departmental duties. Her nightsshe spent thinking about Don Diego, going over the medical recordtime and again, picturing in her mind every detail of the scene downat the culvert when she first came across the old man's dead body. Itwasn't an accident, Holly convinced herself. It couldn't be anaccident. There's no evidence of any physical trauma: His heart wassound, he didn't have a stroke, he didn't even have a bump on hishead or a bruise anywhere on his body. But he drowned. How? Why?

She hardly saw anyone except Kris Cardenas now and then. They hadlunch together every few days. Holly asked Kris to help her go overDon Diego's medical records. Cardenas looked them over and then toldHolly she could find nothing amiss.

"You've got to accept the fact that people die, Holly," Cardenastold her over lunch in the bustling cafeteria. "It doesn't happenoften, but it happens. People die."

"It doesn't make any sense," Holly insisted.

"Give it up, Holly," Cardenas said gently. "He was a sweet old man,
but he's dead and you can't bring him back."

"Someone killed him."

 Cardenas's eyes went wide. "Murder?"

Holly nodded, knowing she was being cosmically stupid about thisbut unable to back away from it.

"I think you need to get your mind off this, kid," said Cardenas.
"You're getting ... well, you're getting almost paranoid about it."

"But he couldn't have just walked down the embankment and stuck hishead in the water and drowned. That's impossible!"

"Get off it, Holly. This is consuming too much of your time andenergy. Go out tonight and have a good time. Take your mind off it. 


Have some fun for yourself."

Holly saw that Cardenas was in earnest. "Momma Kris," she murmured.
And smiled.

 "There must be plenty of young men who'd be happy to take you outfor the evening," said Cardenas.

Trying to push Don Diego out of her mind, Holly replied, "MannyGaeta's been calling me."

"There you go. He's a chunk of Grade-A beef."

Holly nodded.

"Do you like him?"

"I went to bed with him once," Holly blurted.

"Really?"

"That night he rescued the injured astronaut."

"Oh yeah," Cardenas said, remembering. "He must've been on anemotional high. Pumped up with adrenaline."

"I guess."

"And testosterone."

 Despite herself, Holly laughed. "Plenty of that."

"And he's been calling you?"

"Uh-huh. But I don't want to get involved with him. I don't think Ido, but if I go out with him I guess he'll expect me to do it again."

Cardenas glanced down at her salad, then said, "You don't have todo what he expects. You can have dinner and nothing more. Just don'tgive him the wrong signals."

"Signals?"

"Be pleasant, but no touchy-feely."

"I don't know if that would work," Holly said uncertainly.

"Meet him at the restaurant. Stay in public places. Walk yourselfhome."

 "I guess."

"Unless you want to go to bed with him again."

"I don't! Well, not really. It's like, I want him to like me, butnot too much."

 With a shake of her head, Cardenas dug her fork into the salad.
"Men aren't subtle, Holly. You have to set the rules clearly.
Otherwise there'll be a problem."

"See," Holly confessed, feeling confused, "I really want Malcolm tonotice me. I mean, he's the reason I signed up for this habitat inthe first place but I've hardly even seen him in the past few monthsand Manny's flaming nice and all but I don't want to get myselfinvolved and..." She didn't know what more to say.

"Malcolm?" Cardenas asked. "You mean Dr. Eberly?"

"The chief of human resources, yes."

Cardenas looked impressed. "You're interested in him."

"But he's not interested in me." Holly suddenly felt close totears.

 "Isn't that always the way?"

"I don't know what I should do."

 Cardenas glanced around the busy cafeteria, then said firmly, "Haveas much fun as you can with the stunt stud. Why not?"

"You think it'll make Malcolm jealous?"

With a huff that was almost a grunt, Cardenas replied, "No, I don'tthink he'll pay any attention to it. But why shouldn't you have somefun? He seems to be a nice guy."

"F'sure."

 "Then have some fun with him while you can. He'll be leaving forEarth after he's done his stunt, so you won't have to worry about along-term commitment."

"But I want a long-term commitment," Holly blurted, surprisingherself. She immediately added, "I mean, maybe not right now, and notwith Manny, I guess, but sometime."

"With Eberly?"

"Yes!"

 Cardenas shook her head. "Good luck, kid." 


 Nadia Wunderly had dieted stringently, exercised regularly, andlost four kilos. Her tireless work on her research proposal had paidoff, too: Dr. Urbain had approved her study of Saturn's rings. Hisapproval was reluctant, she knew; Wunderly was the only scientist onthe staff interested in the rings. All the others were focused onTitan, as was Urbain himself.

She was in Urbain's office, pleading for an assistant and some timeon the habitat's major telescope.

"I can't do it all by myself," she said, trying to walk the fineline between requesting help and admitting defeat. "My proposalcalled for two assistants, if you remember."

"I remember perfectly well," Urbain said stiffly. "We simply do nothave the manpower to spare."

The chief of the Planetary Sciences Department sat tensely behindhis desk as if it were a barricade to protect him against theonslaughts of revolutionaries. Yet all Wunderly wanted was a littlehelp.

"The main telescope is completely engaged in observing Titan,"
Urbain went on, as if pronouncing a death sentence. "This is anopportunity that we must not fail to use to our advantage."

"But the rings are--"

"Of secondary importance," said Urbain.

"I was going to say, unique," Wunderly finished.

"So are the life-forms on Titan."

 Wondering how to convince him, she said, "I wouldn't need much timeon the 'scope. An hour or so each day to compare--"

"An hour?" Urbain looked shocked. His trim little dark beard 
bristled. "Impossible."

"But we should use this time as we approach the planet to do long-
term studies of the ring dynamics. It'd be criminal not to."

Nervously running a hand over his slicked-back hair, Urbain said,
"Dr. Wunderly, this habitat will be in orbit around Saturn for many,
many years. Indefinitely, in fact. You will have ample opportunity tostudy the dynamics of your rings."

He almost sneered at those last words. Wunderly knew that behindher back the other scientists called her "the Lord of the Rings,"
despite the gender inaccuracy.

She pulled out her trump card. "I thought that if we could studythe rings during the months of our approach, do a synoptic study, athorough one, then we could publish our findings before weestablished orbit around Saturn, before the university teams fly outto take over our research work. With your name as the leadinvestigator, of course."

Instead of snatching at the bait she offered, Urbain stiffened evenmore at the mention of the university teams that would supercede him.

Visibly trembling, his face ashen, he said in a low, hard voice,
"Every resource I have at my disposal will be used to study Titan.
All my other staff personnel are working overtime, working nights aswell as days, to complete the rover vehicle that we will send toTitan's surface. That moon bears life! Unique forms of life. You arethe only member of my staff who is not working on Titan, you and yourprecious rings! I leave you undisturbed to study them. Be gratefulfor that and don't bother me again with demands that I cannot meet."

The threat was hardly veiled, Wunderly realized. Leave him alone orhe'll put me to work on Titan, along with everybody else.

She pushed herself to her feet, feeling defeated, empty, helpless.
And angry. The man's fixated on almighty Titan, she grumbled toherself as she left Urbain's office. He's so doggone narrow-minded hecould look through a keyhole with both eyes.

 Precisely at 17:00 hours, Gaeta rapped once on the frame of Holly's 


open door and stepped into her office.

"Quitting time," he announced. "Come on, I've got something to showyou."

Despite her inner turmoil, Holly laughed and told her computer shewas leaving for the day. The holographic image blinked once andwinked off.

 "What's this all about?" Holly asked as she let him lead her out ofthe building.

"I thought you'd enjoy a good long look at where we're going,"
Gaeta said.

 "Saturn?"

 "Yeah. You can see it pretty easy now with the naked eye."

"Really?"

He chuckled. "Just like I thought. You haven't taken a peek at it,
have you?"

"Not for a while," Holly admitted.

He had a pair of electrobikes waiting outside the office building.
Holly followed him, pedaling along the winding bike path across thepark, through the orchard and farmlands, out toward the endcap. Theyleft the bikes in racks that stood at the path's terminus and headedup a narrow footpath, through flowering shrubbery and a few youngtrees.

 "I'll never get used to this," Gaeta muttered.

"What?"

 "The way gravity works in here. We're walking uphill but it feelslike we're going downhill."

Holly put on a superior air. " 'The habitat's spin-inducedgravity,' " she quoted from the orientation manual, " 'decreases asone approaches the habitat's centerline.' Which is what we're doingnow."

 "Yeah," he said, sounding unconvinced.

At last they came to a small building with a single door marked TOENDCAP OBSERVATION UNIT. Inside, a flight of dimly lit metal stairsled downward. As their softboots padded quietly on the steel treads,
Holly realized that it felt as if they were climbing up, not down.

"We're not in Oz anymore," Gaeta muttered as they made their wayalong the shadowy stairwell. His voice echoed slightly off the metalwalls.

 "Oz?" Holly asked.

"It's an old story. I'll get the vid beamed up from Earthside foryou."

Holly really didn't understand what he was talking about. Thestairs ended and they walked along a narrow passageway, a tunnellined with pipes and conduits overhead and along both walls. Althoughthe tunnel looked straight and level, it felt as if they weretrudging up an incline. At last they reached a hatch marked endcapobservation unit: use caution in entering. Gaeta tapped on the entrypad and the hatch sighed open.

An automated voice said, "Caution, please. You are about to enter arotating enclosure. Please proceed with care."

An open cubicle stood on the other side of the hatch. Its walls,
floor, and ceiling were softly cushioned.

Gaeta laughed as they stepped in. "Great. They finally got me intoa padded cell."

"Rotation beginning," announced the computerized voice.

Holly suddenly felt light-headed, almost woozy.

"It's like an amusement park ride," Gaeta said, grasping Hollyaround the waist.

 The computer voice announced, "Ten seconds to hatch opening. Usecaution, please."

The padded wall they were facing slid open and Gaeta, still holdingHolly by the waist, pulled her through. Holly gasped and forgot theslightly wobbly feeling in her legs. A million stars were spreadacross her view, hard unblinking pinpoints of light, the eyes of 


heaven staring back at her.

"Cosmic," she breathed.

"That's a good word for it," Gaeta said in a hushed voice.

Then Holly realized that someone was already there in the dimly litblister, her back to them, staring out at the stars. She looked shortand stocky; in the muted light the color of her spiky hair wasdifficult to determine; Holly thought it might have been red.

The woman stirred as if coming out of a trance, turned slightly andwhispered, "Hi."

"Hello," Holly whispered back. It was like being in a cathedral;
nobody raised her voice.

Gaeta said softly, "This whole compartment counter-rotates againstthe habitat's spin, so you can see everything without having itrevolve all around you."

Holly knew that from the orientation vids, but it didn't matter.
The sight of the universe spread out before her blotted everythingelse from her awareness. So many stars! she thought. Millions andzillions of them. Red stars, blue stars, big bright ones, smallerdimmer ones.

 Gaeta leaned over her shoulder and pointed. "That blue one, there.
That's Earth."

 "And that bright yellow one?"

"Jupiter."

"So where's Saturn?" she asked.

 The other woman pointed down toward the lower edge of the bigcurving window. "There."

Holly stared at a bright pinkish star. No, not a star; she couldsee that it was a disk, flattened at the poles.

Then it hit her. "Where's the rings? There's no rings!"

 RING WORLD

 The woman smiled at Holly. "Galileo felt just the way you do. Thedoggone rings disappeared on him."

"What do you mean?" Holly asked, looking back and forth from thepink disk of the planet to the round, owl-eyed face of the woman,
half hidden in the shadows of the dimly lit observation blister.

The woman smiled, a little sadly, Holly thought. She said, "Galileowas the first to see that Saturn had something strange about it, backin 1609, 1610, somewhere in there. His dinky little telescopecouldn't resolve the rings; all he saw was what looked like a pair ofstars hovering on either side of Saturn's disk."

"And they disappeared?" Holly asked.

"Ah-yup. He laid off observing Saturn for a while, and when helooked again--around 1612 or so, this was--the rings were gone."

"What happened to them?"

"They didn't go anyplace. They were still there. But every fifteenyears or so Saturn's tilt comes around to a position where the ringsare edge-on to an observer on Earth. They're so doggone thin theyseem to disappear. You can't see them in low-power telescopes. Noteven in some pretty darn big 'scopes, really."

"So we're looking at them edge-on right now?" Gaeta asked. "That'sright. Poor Galileo. He didn't know what was going down. Must havedriven him half-crazy."

Holly stared at the disk of Saturn, as if she could make the ringsreappear if she just tried hard enough.

"You can see 'em in the 'scopes over at the astronomy blister," thewoman said. She seemed on the verge of saying more, but stoppedherself.

 "Are you an astronomer?" Holly asked.

"Sort of. Nadia Wunderly's my name." She put out her hand, fingers 


splayed and thumb sticking straight up. Holly took it and introducedherself and Gaeta. Wunderly shook hands with him, too, her expressionserious, as if meeting people was a chore that had to be donecorrectly.

"What do you mean, you're sort of an astronomer?" Gaeta asked.

Wunderly's face became even more somber. "I'm with the PlanetarySciences team," she explained, "but they're mostly astrobiologists.
They're all hotted up about Titan."

"You're not?"

 "Naw. I'm interested in Saturn's rings. I'm really a physicist bytraining; a fluid dynamicist."

Within an hour they were all in Holly's apartment, munchingleftovers from her refrigerator while Wunderly explained thatSaturn's rings could be thought of as a fluid, with each individualchunk of ice in the rings acting as a particle in that dynamic, ever-
changing fluid.

"So the ice flakes are speeding around Saturn like they're on arace track," Wunderly was saying, making a wobbly circle with thespear of celery she held in one hand, "and banging into one anotherlike people jostling in the New Tokyo subway trains."

"All the time?" Gaeta asked.

 "All the time," Wunderly replied, then crunched off a bite ofcelery.

Holly was on the other side of the counter that partitioned off thekitchen, waiting for the microwave to defrost a packaged dinner. "Andthey have these little moons going around, too?"

"Ay-yup. Sheepdogs. The moons keep the rings from spreading out andmixing into one another."

Gaeta, sprawled over the living room sofa with a bowl of chipsresting on his flat stomach, seemed deep in thought.

"Then there's the spokes, too," Wunderly went on. "Magnetic fieldlevitates the smaller ice flakes." She waved her free hand up anddown like a snake's sinuous undulations.

 "Everything's bumping into everything else," Holly said, just asthe microwave finally pinged.

"And not all of the particles are little flakes, either. Some of'em are big as houses. The moons, of course, are a few kilometersacross."

 "Sounds confusing," Holly said, carrying the steaming-hot dinnertray into the living room. She put it down on the coffee table infront of Wunderly.

"Sounds dangerous," said Gaeta, hauling himself up to a sittingposition.

"It's only dangerous if you stick your nose in," Wunderly said. "Ijust want to study the rings from a safe distance."

"Nobody's been there, huh?" he asked.

"To the rings? We've sent automated probes to Saturn, starting withthe old Cassini spacecraft darn near a century ago."

Gaeta was sitting up straight now, his eyes kindled with growingexcitement. "Any of them go through the rings? I mean, from one sideto the other, top to bottom?"

Wunderly was poking at the dinner tray with the stub of her celerystalk. "Through the ring plane, you mean?"

"Yeah, right."

Holly sat down beside Gaeta on the sofa.

"They've sent probes through the gaps between the rings, of course.
But not through a ring itself. That'd be too danged dangerous. Theprobe would be beaten up, abraded. It'd be like going through a meatgrinder."

Holly said, "Manny, you're not thinking of doing that, are you?"

He turned to her, grinning. "It'd make a helluva stunt, chiquita."

"Stunt?" Wunderly looked puzzled.

"That's what I do for a living," Gaeta explained. "I go where noone has gone before. The more dangerous, the better." 


 "Within reason," Holly said.

He laughed.

Recognition dawned on Wunderly's face. "You're the guy who scaledMt. Olympus! On Mars. I saw the vid."

"That was me. And I skiboarded halfway down the slope, too," Gaetasaid, with pride in his voice.

"Yes, but you can't go skydiving through Saturn's rings."

"Why not?"

"You'll get killed."

"There's always an element of risk in a stunt. That's what makespeople watch."

Holly said, "They pay money to see if you get killed."

He laughed. "Like the Roman gladiators. Only I don't hafta killanybody. I just risk my own neck."

Wunderly said, "Not in the rings. It's suicide."

"Is it?" Gaeta mused. "Maybe not."

Holly wanted to stop him before he got to like the idea too much.
"Manny--"

"I mean, Wilmot and the science guys don't want me going down toTitan. Maybe the rings would be a better stunt. Nothing else likethem in the whole solar system."

"All the big planets have rings, don't they?" Holly said. "Jupiterand Uranus and Neptune."

"Yeah, but they're just puny little ones. Pobrecitos."

"The real question is," said Wunderly, her eyes beginning tosparkle, "how come Saturn has such a terrific set of rings while theother giant planets just have those dinky little ones?"

Gaeta looked at Holly, then back to Wunderly. He shrugged.

Wunderly resumed, "I mean, you'd think that the bigger a planet is,
the bigger its ring system would be. Right? Then how come Saturn's isbigger than Jupiter's? And those rings are dynamic, they don't justsit there. Particles are falling into the planet all the time, newparticles abraded off the moons. Why is Saturn's system so big? Arewe just lucky enough to see Saturn at precisely the right time whenits ring system is big and active? I don't believe in luck.
Something's different about Saturn. Something important."

"So what is it?" Holly asked. "What makes Saturn so special?"

"GOK," said Wunderly.

"What?" Holly and Gaeta asked in unison.

"God Only Knows," Wunderly replied, with a grin. "But I intend tofind out."

 Wunderly talked about the rings for more than an hour, growing moreexcited with each word. When Gaeta asked about flying through therings, Wunderly stressed the danger. "It's impossible, I tell you,"
she said. "You'll get yourself killed." Which only made Gaeta moreexcited about the stunt.

 Finally she left, but not before Gaeta got her to promise that shewould let him see all the vids and other data she had amassed. He 
told her he would bring his chief technician to take a look, too.

Holly saw Wunderly to the door, and when she closed and turned backto Gaeta, she realized they were alone and he was grinning from earto ear. Don't get involved with him, she warned herself. He's goingto get himself killed, sooner or later. Prob'ly sooner.

Yet she went to the sofa and sat beside him and leaned her head on 
his strong, muscular shoulder and within minutes they were kissing,
their clothes vanishing, and he carried her into the bedroom like aconquering hero and she didn't think of Malcolm Eberly at all.
Hardly.

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 317 DAYS 


 Wilmot felt like a harried schoolmaster confronted by a gaggle ofunruly students.

"A punch-up?" he bellowed, furious. "The two of you actually struckone another?"

 The two young men standing before his desk looked sheepish. One ofthem had a blue-black little mouse swelling beneath his left eye. Hewas red-haired and pink-cheeked; Irish, Wilmot guessed. The other wastaller, his skin the color of milk chocolate; a crust of bloodstained his upper lip. Neither of them spoke a word.

"And what was the reason for this brawl?"

 They both remained mute.

"Well?" Wilmot demanded. "Out with it! What caused the fight?"

The one with the black eye muttered, "We disagreed over the namefor Village B."

"Disagreed?"

The other guy said, "He wanted to call the village Killarney."

His antagonist said, "It's a proper name. He said it was stupid."

"And this led to fisticuffs? A disagreement over naming thevillage? What on Earth were you drinking?"

Alcoholic beverages were not sold in the cafeteria, where thescuffle had occurred, although the habitat's two restaurants did haveliquor as well as wine and a home-brewed beer supplied by one of thefarms.

 "It's my fault," said the one whose nose had been bloodied. "I hada drink in Nemo's before going to the cafeteria."

Wilmot glared at them. "Must I suspend all alcohol? Is that whatyou want?"

They both shook their heads. Wilmot studied their hangdogexpressions. At least they look properly repentant, he thought. Alogistics analyst and a communications technician, brawling likeschoolboys.

With the sternest scowl he could produce, Wilmot said, "One moreincident like this and I will suspend your personal drinkingprivileges altogether. And put you to work in the recycling facility.
If you want to act like garbage, I'll set you to handling garbage sixhours a day."

The one with the black eye turned slightly toward the other andextended his hand. "I'm sorry, bud."

His erstwhile opponent clasped the hand in his own. "Yeah. Me too."

"Get out of here, the two of you," Wilmot growled. "And don't everbehave so idiotically again."

The communications tech hurried from Wilmot's office to his own 
quarters, where he dabbed a wet cloth to clean off the scabbed bloodon his lip and then put in a call to Colonel Kananga.

"I started a fight in the cafeteria," he said to Kananga's image inhis phone screen.

The Rwandan said, "I've already heard about it, through channels.
What did Wilmot have to say to you?"

"Nothing much. He seemed more puzzled than angry."

Kananga nodded.

"What do you want me to do next?"

"Nothing at present. Just go about your duties and behave yourself.
I'll call you when the time comes."

"Yessir."

 With a population that included people of many faiths, there was noSabbath aboard the habitat that everyone adhered to, so election dayfor Phase One of the naming contests was declared a holiday foreveryone.

Malcolm Eberly sat in his living room, looking gloomy, almostsullen, as he watched the newscast on the hologram projector. Theimage showed the polling center in Village A. People filed in andvoted, then left. It was about as rousing as watching grass grow. 


 Ruth Morgenthau tried to cheer him. "The turnout isn't as bad as mystaff predicted. It looks as if at least forty percent of thepopulation 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 thisphase. After all, they're only choosing categories for naming, notthe names themselves."

 Eberly gave him a sharp glance. "I want the people worked up. Iwant 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 differentapproaches."

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 andquell the fighting."

"And you could stand as the man who brought peace and order to thehabitat," Morgenthau said, smiling at Eberly.

"Maybe," he said, almost wistfully. "I just wish--"

Morgenthau interrupted, "You wish everyone would listen to you andfall down in adoration."

 "If I'm going to be their leader, it's important that they trustme, and like me."

"They'll love you," said Vyborg, his voice dripping sarcasm, "onceyou have the power to determine life or death for them."

 At the end of election day, Holly sat at her desk tabulating theresults of the voting. Villages would be named after cities on Earth,
the voters had decided. Individual buildings would be named forfamous people. The farms and orchards and other open areas would getnames from natural features on Earth or from mythology: thatparticular vote was too close to call a clear winner.

Her phone announced that Ruth Morgenthau was calling. Holly toldthe 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. Shefelt nettled that Morgenthau was with Malcolm and she hadn't beeninvited. 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 Iviolated procedure." Before Morgenthau could frown, Holly went on,
"But I could bring you a copy in person; there'd be no record ofthat."

 Morgenthau's fleshy face went crafty for a moment, then she dimpledinto a smile. "Very good, Holly. Good thinking. Bring the results tome. 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 tensionin the air; the room was charged with coiled-tight emotions.
Morgenthau, Vyborg, and Kananga were there: Holly thought of them asthe hippo, the snake, and the panther, but there was no humor in thecharacterizations. Kananga, in particular, made her edgy the way hewatched 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 shefelt dissolved like morning mist melting under warm sunlight.

"Holly," he said, extending both arms toward her. "It's been toolong since we've seen you."

"Mal--" she began, then corrected herself. "Dr. Eberly. It'swonderful 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 thetabulations on one of the living room's bare walls. Malcolm doesn'thave any decorations in his apartment, she saw. Just like his officeused to be: empty, naked.

For hours the five of them studied the voting results, dissectingthem like pathologists taking apart a corpse to see what killed theliving person. Kananga disappeared into the kitchen for a while and,
much to Holly's surprise, eventually placed a tray of sandwiches anddrinks on the bar that divided the kitchen from the living room.
Eberly kept digging deeper into the statistics, trying to break downthe voting by age, by employment, by educational background. Hewanted to know who voted for what, down to the individual voter, andwhy.

Vyborg, his tunic unbuttoned and hanging loosely from his spindlyshoulders, rubbed his eyes, then took a sandwich from the tray.

"The scientists voted pretty much as a bloc," he said, gesturingwith the sandwich in his hand. "That's surprising."

"Why are you surprised?" Morgenthau asked. She had nibbled at asandwich and left most of it uneaten on the coffee table. Hollywondered how she kept her size if she ate so delicately.

"Scientists are contentious," Vyborg said. "They're always arguingabout something or other."

"About scientific matters," said Eberly. "But their interests aresomething else. They voted as a bloc because they all have the sameinterests and the same point of view."

"That could be a problem," Kananga said.

Eberly smiled knowingly. "Not really. There's nothing to worryabout."

 Holly followed their ruminations, fascinated, looking from one toanother as they surgically dismembered the voting results. Sherealized that Morgenthau had designed the ballot to includeinformation on the department the voter worked in and the voter'sspecific occupation. Secret ballots, Holly thought, were secret onlyas 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 thisstuntman that you've been seeing?"

Holly blinked with surprise. "Manny Gaeta?"

"Yes," said Morgenthau. "He's had his arguments with thescientists, hasn't he?"

"He wants to go down to the surface of Titan and they won't allowthat until they--"

"The surface of Titan?" Eberly interrupted. "Why?"

Holly explained, "He does spectacular stunts and sells the VRrights to the nets."

"He's extremely popular on Earth," Morgenthau pointed out. "A vidstar 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," saidHolly. "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 Cardenasalso. We'll make it a foursome."

 Holly tried to mask the rush of emotions she felt. Jeeps, shethought, I finally get to go out to dinner with Malcolm but I've gotto 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 morespectacular. Where the Bistro was small and quiet, with most of itstables out on the lawn, Nemo's was plush and ambitious. Therestaurant was designed to resemble the interior of a submarine, withcurved bare metal walls and large round portholes that looked out onholograms of teeming undersea life. The proprietor, a formerSingapore restaurateur whose outspoken atheism had gotten him intotrouble, had sunk a fair share of his personal assets into therestaurant. "If I'm going to fly all the way out to Saturn," he toldhis assembled children, grandchildren, and more distant relatives, "Imight as well spend my time doing something I know about." They werenot happy to see the head of the family leave Earth--and take so muchof their inheritance with him.

 Holly felt distinctly nervous as she followed the robot headwaiterto the table for four that she had reserved. Gaeta had offered to 
pick her up at her apartment, but she thought it better that theymeet at the restaurant. She was the first to arrive, precisely ontime at 20:00 hours. The squat little robot stopped and announced,
"Your table, Miss." Holly wondered how it decided she was a Miss andnot 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 synthesizedvoice was warm and deep. "We have an excellent bar and an extensivewine list."

 Holly knew that that was an exaggeration, at best. "No thanks," shesaid. The robot trundled away.

Eberly appeared at the entryway, and Kris Cardenas came in rightbehind him. She wore an actual dress, a knee-length frock of floweredmaterial, light and summery. Holly suddenly felt shabby in her tunicand tights, despite the sea-green shawl she had knotted around herwaist.

 She stood up as the two of them approached. Neither of themrealized they were both heading to the same table, at first, butEberly caught on quickly and gallantly held Cardenas's chair for heras she sat down. As Holly introduced them to one another she foundherself hoping that Manny wouldn't come. Maybe he got tied up onsomething, some test or whatever. She barely paid attention to theconversation 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 hisearlobe. He didn't need finery. Heads turned as he strode to theirtable well ahead of the robot headwaiter.

 Except for the fluttering in her stomach, the meal seemed to goeasily enough. Gaeta knew Cardenas, of course, and Eberly acted astheir host, gracious and charming. Conversation was light, at first:
They talked about the recent voting and Gaeta's previous feats ofdaring. 


 "Soaring through the clouds of Venus," Eberly said admiringly, overtheir appetizers. "That must have taken a great deal of courage."

Gaeta grinned at him, almost shyly. "You know what they say aboutstunt people: more guts than brains."

Eberly laughed. "Still, it must take a good deal of both guts andbrains."

 Gaeta dipped his chin in acknowledgment and turned his attention tohis shrimp cocktail.

By the time the entrees were served, the topic had turned toGaeta'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 hisscientists. Gaeta grumbled about their worries over contaminatingTitan, while Cardenas shook her head as she talked about their fearsof 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 waythey'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 throughthe rings?"

With a shake of his head he replied, "I haven't heard anything fromthat 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 toProfessor Wilmot; I can make your case for visiting Titan's surface."

Then he added, turning to Cardenas, "And for easing some of therestrictions on your nanotechnology lab."

"It's not the restrictions, so much," Cardenas said earnestly. "Ican live with them. I understand why they're scared, and I even agreewith them, up to a point."

"Then what is your problem?" Eberly asked.

"Manpower, pure and simple," said Cardenas. "I'm all alone in thelab. I've tried to recruit assistants, but none of the youngerscientific staff will come anywhere near nanotech."

Glancing at Holly, Eberly asked, "Hasn't the Human ResourcesDepartment been able to help?"

Cardenas looked surprised at the thought. "I've asked Urbain," shesaid. "What I need is a couple of lab assistants. Youngsters who havebasic scientific training. But the scientists run in the oppositedirection when I ask them for help."

"I see," Eberly murmured.

Smiling, Cardenas said, "Back when I was on Earth, in the StoneAge, the professors ran their labs with grad students. Slave labor,
cheap and plentiful."

Eberly steepled his fingers. "We don't have many grad studentsamong us, or even undergraduates, I'm afraid. And everyone has a jobslot; 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'dbe able to talk a couple of the younger people on Urbain's staff tocome over and help me."

"He won't allow them to," Eberly guessed.

Cardenas's expression hardened. "He won't let me talk to themanymore. 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 twilightatmosphere. Holly's heart was thumping. What happens now?

Eberly said, "Holly, why don't we go up to your office and see whatwe can do to help Dr. Cardenas?"

She nodded. "If I knew what skills you need, Kris, I could pull upa list of possible candidates for you."

Cardenas said, "I'll shoot the requirements to you as soon as I gethome."

 Gaeta said, "I'll walk you home, Kris. It's on my way."

Holly stood frozen to the spot as Gaeta and Cardenas said goodbyeand started along the path that led to her quarters. Eberly had totouch 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 sidedown the dimly lit path. Cardenas turned and looked over her shoulderat Holly, as if to say, Don't worry, nothing's going to happen. Atleast, Holly hoped that's what she was signifying.

She's my friend, Holly told herself. She knows Manny and I havemade out together. She wouldn't do anything with him. It was his ideato walk her home. She won't let him do anything.

Still, Eberly had to tell her again, "Holly, come on. We have workto do."

 THE SECOND RALLY

 Eberly prided himself on never making the same mistake twice. Thefirst public speech he'd given, to announce the naming contests, hadbeen good enough, as far as it went, but a miserable failure in theeyes of Morgenthau and Vyborg. The crowd at the cafeteria had beensparse, and despite their rousing response to his oratory they madeit clear that they considered the whole affair as nothing better thana learning experience, at best.

He intended to profit from that.

With Phase One of the naming campaign finished, and categories foreach type of feature in the habitat settled by the first round ofvoting, Eberly carefully prepared for his second public appearance.

It's impossible to please everyone, he realized, but it is possibleto split people up into small, distinct groups and then find out whateach group desires and promise it to them. Divide and conquer: aconcept as old as civilization, probably older. Eberly learned how touse it. He was pleased, almost surprised, at how easy it was to usethe natural antipathy between the stuntman and Urbain's scientificstaff.

 For weeks he had Vyborg build up the stuntman's presence in thehabitat with vids and news releases that showed how heroic, howexciting Gaeta was: the conqueror of Mt. Olympus on Mars, the man whotrekked across Mare Imbrium on the Moon. Vyborg cleverly played upthe scientific information that Gaeta had harvested during each ofhis feats. Now he wanted to be the first human being to set foot onthe murky, forbidding surface of Titan. Will the scientists allow himto do it? Humans will land on Titan someday, sooner or later. Why notallow this intrepid hero to take the risks he is so willing toendure? At Eberly's insistence, no mention was made of Dr. Cardenasand her effort to create nanobugs to attack the contaminationproblem. "There will be no publicity about nanotechnology," hedecided.

 Kananga's people helped to divide the general populace. It waspathetically simple to set individuals against one another. Eberly 


himself hit on the idea of using vids from Earthside sporting eventsto 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 meetingin private apartments. A lively commerce in home brew began, and itwasn't unusual for fights to break out when one fan club clashed withanother.

 Morgenthau saw to it that Eberly was apprised of each group'sspecial interests. The machinists complained that their salary levelwas kept artificially lower than that of the lab technicians. Onegroup of farmers wanted to expand their acreage and plant tropicalfruits that Wilmot's administrators had disallowed because they wouldrequire more water and an extensive hothouse to create a warmer,
wetter environment than the rest of the habitat. A bitter rivalry wassimmering between the fans of two soccer teams that were heading forthe World Cup back on Earth. The brawls between them were getting soserious 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 toEberly the statistics he needed to determine all the inner groupdynamics. She was earnest, honest, and had no idea that the fractureswithin the habitat's social structure were being eagerly fomented byEberly's clique.

"We need to do something to bring people together again," she toldEberly, time and again. "We need some way of unifying everybody."

Meanwhile, Wilmot watched the growing disharmony with a mixture offascination and dread. The carefully knit society that had beencreated for this habitat was unraveling, coming apart at the seams.
People were splitting up into tribes, no less. Clans, even. As ananthropologist he was enthralled by their behavior. As the leader ofthe expedition, however, he feared that the growing chaos would leadto mayhem, perhaps even murder. Yet he resisted the urge to interfereor clamp down with new regulations and enforcements. Let theexperiment continue, he told himself. Let them play out their littlegames. The end result will be more important than any individual'slife; in the final analysis it could be more important than thesuccess 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 everybodytogether again."

He allowed Morgenthau to back Holly's increasingly insistentpleading with similar suggestions of her own. At last he told them toorganize 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 rallythat would bring out everyone in the habitat. She set it up in theopen park along the lake outside Village A. She saw to it that thecafeterias and restaurants closed down at 18:00 hours that afternoon;
no one was going to have dinner out until after Eberly's speech wasfinished.

 At Morgenthau's suggestion, Holly organized parades. The sportsfans' clubs easily agreed to march to the park, each of them carryingmakeshift banners of their club's colors. The musicians among thepopulace formed impromptu bands and even agreed to play one at atime, rather than competing in cacophony. The farmers put together amarch of sorts, not that they walked in any discernable order. So didthe other workers, each organized by their specialty.

Still, when the music played and the people marched, only a fewthousand showed up. Most of the population stayed home. Hollyconsoled herself with the thought that they all would watch the rallyon 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'sear, "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. Musicplayed. People marched, then stood shoulder to shoulder, facing thelittle band shell and stage that stood at one end of the park.

Manuel Gaeta was the first speaker. Morgenthau introduced him andthe crowd roared and whistled as he slowly, shyly, climbed the stepsof 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 thingsin 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 downto the surface of Titan, and when I do, I'd like to dedicate themission to you folks, the people of this habitat."

They roared their delight. Holly, sitting beside Eberly at one sideof the stage, looked around the crowd, searching for the faces ofscientists 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 mainspeaker. I think you all know him. Malcolm Eberly is director of theHuman Resources Department, and the one man among the habitat's topstaff 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. Thecrowd's applause was perfunctory.

"Thank you, Manny," Eberly said, gripping the sides of the podiumwith both hands. Looking out into the crowd, he went on, "And thankyou, each and every one of you, for coming to this rally thisevening."

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. "Wemust face new and unknown dangers as we sail farther into unexploredspace than any human beings have gone before."

Holly was struck by the pitch of his voice. He was a different manon 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 mustbegin. But before we can start, we have the responsibility ofcreating a new order, a new society, a new government that willrepresent us fairly and justly and accomplish all that we want toachieve.

 "The first step in creating this new order is the naming of names.
We have the opportunity, the responsibility, of choosing the names bywhich 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 isstrife. Instead of clear purpose, there is confusion and struggle. Weare divided and weak, where we must be united and strong."

Holly listened in growing fascination, feeling herself drawn intohis web of words. It's enthralling, she realized. Malcolm ismesmerizing all these thousands of people.

"We are the chosen ones," he was telling them. "We few, we chosenfew, we who will establish human purpose and human dignity at thefarthest outpost of civilization. We who will bring the banner ofhumanity to the cold and hostile forces of nature, we who will showall the universe that we can build a strong and safe haven forourselves, a paradise of our own creation.

"The naming of names is merely the first step in this quest. Wethen 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. Leteach man and woman here firmly resolve that this society shall bestrong and united. Ask not what gain you as an individual willobtain. Ask rather what strength you can contribute to help create afree and flourishing new order. We can build a paradise with our ownhands! Will you help to do it?"

They bellowed, "YES!" They clapped and cheered and whistled. Eberlystood at the podium, head bowed, soaking up their adulation the way aflower drinks in sunlight.

The crowd quieted, watched his silent form up on the podium. SlowlyEberly raised his head, looked out on them with an almost beatificsmile on his lips.

"Each of you--each man and woman here--must pledge yourselves tothe unity and cooperation we need to create the new order. I wanteach of you to reach out and clasp hands with the person next to you.
Friend or stranger, man or woman, take your neighbor's hand in yourown and swear that we will work together to build our new world."

The crowd murmured, heads turned, feet shuffled. Then, slowly atfirst, people turned to each other and clasped hands. Holly watchedas more and more people embraced, their differences forgotten for themoment, many of them openly sobbing. Holly realized that Malcolm wasthe only person in the entire habitat who could bring the peopletogether like this.

She was proud to have helped this great man achieve this moment ofunity, 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 athorough assessment of policy in regard to human exploration of theSaturnian moon, Titan. After review by the astrobiology and planetaryprotection committees of the International Astronautical Authority,
it has been unanimously decided that any human excursion upon thesurface of Titan is strictly forbidden. Protection of the indigenouslife-forms of Titan takes precedence over all other goals, includingscientific investigation. Robotic exploration of Titan's surface ispermitted, providing existing planetary protection decontaminationprocedures 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 reluctantlyalong the path that led through the park from Village A toward theorchards. He worries that someone might be bugging his apartment theway 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 hadhad, real shouting battles between herself, Vyborg, and Kananga. Eventhe normally moderate and reserved Jaansen had raised his voice whenit came to naming the habitat's various laboratory buildings.

The months-long campaign to produce actual names for the habitat'svillages, buildings, and natural features had been little more than afarce. Every vote had a scatter factor larger almost than the numberof votes. Everyone in the habitat had an opinion about what the namesshould be, and hardly two votes agreed with each other. It was agrand mess, but Eberly came through with a magnificent solution.

"Since there is no unanimity among the voters," he told his innercadre of confidants, "we will have to make the decisions ourselves."

That set the four of them wrangling, with Kananga insisting thatAfrican names be just as numerous as European or Asian, Vyborgholding out for names that had powerful psychological connotationsamong the populace, and Jaansen firmly--sometimes stubbornly-proffering 
his own list of famous scientists' names. Eberly hadstayed above the fray, listening to their squabbles with colddisdain. Morgenthau found the whole affair disgusting; she hadn'tcared what names were chosen, as long as they were not blatantlysecular. She had flatly refused to allow the biology facility to benamed after Charles Darwin, of course.

In the end, Eberly resolved most of their disputes. When they couldnot agree, he made the decision. When they wrangled too long, hestepped in and told them to stop acting like children. Morgenthauwatched over him carefully, though, and he knew it.

Village A got a European name: Athens. Village B went to theAsians: Bangkok. Village C became Cairo; D became Delhi and E wasnamed Entebbe. The Americans--North and South--complained bitterly,
but Eberly stared them down by solemnly proclaiming those were thenames that the habitat's residents had voted for. After all, hepointed out, Americans actually were a minority in the habitat'spopulation.

Since the votes were secret ballots, Eberly refused to allow anyoneto recount them. In a great show of seeming impartiality, he erasedall the votes--"So that no one can tamper with them, or use them tocause unrest in the future," he announced.

There were some grumbles, but the people by and large accepted thenames that the voters allegedly chose. Eberly saw to it that therewere plenty of American and Latino names sprinkled among thebuildings and natural features, to keep everyone reasonablysatisfied.

 It was a strong, masterful performance, Morgenthau felt. Yet atendril of worry troubled her. Perhaps Eberly was too strong, toodetermined to have his own way, too hungry for power. We are agentsof God, she reminded herself. We seek power not for ourselves, butfor the salvation of these ten thousand lost souls. She wondered if 
Eberly felt the same way. In fact, she was almost certain that he didnot. Yet authorities higher than her own had chosen Eberly to leadthis mission; her job was to support him--and keep him from strayingtoo far from the path the New Morality and Holy Disciples had chosenfor him.

 So Morgenthau walked beside him along the Washington CarverPathway, which led from Athens to the St. Francis Orchard and beyond,
over the little rolling knolls that bore the incongruous name of theAndes Hills toward the farmlands of the Ohio region. She desperatelyhoped 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 walkedalong the meandering brick path. Those were the first words hehimself had spoken in many minutes.

Morgenthau could feel sweat beading on her brow. "I'm just happythat the names have been settled on," she said. "You did a masterfuljob, a brilliant job." 


 He allowed a wintry smile to curve his lips. "Just as long as theactual 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 beerased. Once I told her that it was your decision, though, she put upno resistance."

 Eberly nodded. "I'll probably have to take her to bed, sooner orlater. 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 moredistasteful 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 ratherattractive."

 "A bit dark for my liking," Eberly said, almost as casually as ifhe were discussing his preferences in clothing or food. "I favorblondes, with fuller figures."

Morgenthau felt her cheeks reddening. And yet... Is he toying withme? she wondered. Testing me? She had no desire to pursue this lineof discussion. She had no fantasies about her own attractions, or herown preferences.

"You didn't ask me out on this walk to discuss your plans forromance, did you?"

"No," he answered, quite seriously. "Hardly that."

"Then what?"

 Without changing his leisurely pace, Eberly looked up at the lightpoles and the miniature cameras atop them, then out to the green andflowering parkland spread about them.

"Offices can be bugged too easily. There are always prying eyes andears to worry about."

She understood. "Out here, it simply looks as if we're taking insome exercise together."

"Precisely." He nodded.

Morgenthau considered that the fact the two of them were walkingtogether might start some tongues wagging, although hardly anyonewould suspect her of having a romantic interest in Eberly, or ofbeing 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," Eberlysaid, his eyes still scanning for eavesdroppers. "Vyborg isconstantly nagging me about removing Berkowitz and installing himselfas the chief of communications. I've decided that the way to get toBerkowitz is through Wilmot."

"Through Wilmot?"

"Berkowitz is an innocuous former network executive. He doesn't 
appear to have any obvious vices. He runs the CommunicationsDepartment so loosely that Vyborg is actually in charge of virtuallythe 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 isever 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'llhave 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 phoneconversations."

 Eberly nodded. "This must be kept totally secret. I don't want evenVyborg to know that we're going through Wilmot's files."

"Then who should do the work?"

 "You," said Eberly, so clearly and precisely that there was no roomto argue. Morgenthau's heart sank; she saw long dreary nights ofsnooping into the professor's phone conversations and entertainmentvids.

 She lapsed into silence, thinking hard as they walked slowly alongthe path.

"Well?" Eberly prodded.

"It might be very boring. He's nothing more than an elderlyacademic. I doubt that there's much there to use."

 Eberly did not hesitate a microsecond. "Then we'll have tomanufacture something. I prefer to find a weakness that he actuallyhas, though. Drumming up false accusations can be tricky."

"Let me talk to Vyborg about it."

"No," Eberly snapped. "Keep this between the two of us. No oneelse. Not yet, at least."

"Yes," she agreed reluctantly. "I understand."

All the time during the long walk back to their offices in Athens,
Morgenthau thought about Eberly's commitment to their cause. He'sseeking nothing more than his own personal aggrandizement, shethought. But he has the charisma to be the leader of these tenthousand people. I'll have to put up with him. Wilmot, she toldherself, is an out-and-out secularist: an atheist or an agnostic, atbest. Find something that will hang him. I've got to find somethingthat will hang him.

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 28? DAYS

 "I haven't slept with him, if that's what's worrying you," saidKris Cardenas.

 Holly looked into her cornflower-blue eyes and decided that Kriswas telling the truth. She was spending an awful lot of time withManny Gaeta, but it was strictly business, she insisted. On the otherhand, Manny hadn't asked Holly out or dropped into her office or evenphoned her since the night he had walked Kris home.

And Malcolm was as cool and distant as ever. All business, nothingbut business. Some love life, Holly thought. It's all in tatters.

"I'm telling you the truth, Holly," Cardenas insisted,
misinterpreting Holly's silence.

"I know, Kris," she said, feeling more confused than unhappy.
"Point of fact, I wouldn't blame you if you did. He's a dynamo."

The two women were having a late lunch in the nearly emptycafeteria, well after almost everyone had cleared out of the place.

Cardenas leaned closer to Holly and confided, "He hasn't come on tome at all. If you weren't interested in him, I'd be kind ofdisappointed. I mean, I'm a lot older than he is in calendar yearsbut I'm not repulsive, am I?"

Holly giggled. "Kris, if you're interested, go right ahead. I'vegot no claims on him."

"Yes you do." 


 "No, not really. In fact, I think I'm better off with him off myscanner screen."

 Cardenas raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Really," Holly said, wondering inwardly if she were doing theright thing, "his only interest in me was purely physical."

"A lot of relationships have started that way."

"Well this one's over. It isn't really a relationship, anyway. Itnever was." Holly was surprised that it didn't hurt to admit it. Notmuch, anyway.

Cardenas shrugged. "It's a moot point. He's nothing but businesswith me."

 "Prob'ly in awe of you."

Cardenas laughed. "I'll bet."

"Sure."

 "Never mind," she said, waving one hand as if brushing away anannoying insect. "You said you've got a possible lab assistant forme?"

 "Maybe," Holly said. "I haven't raised the idea with him, yet. Buthe's got some of the qualifications you're looking for. Anengineering degree-"

"What kind of engineering?"

"Electromechanical."

 "How recent?"

 Holly pulled her handheld out of her tunic pocket. Raoul Tavalera'sthree-dimensional image appeared in the air above their table,
together with the facts and figures of his dossier.

Cardenas scanned through the data. "Whose department is he workingin?"

 "Maintenance," Holly replied. "But he's just putting in time there;
he doesn't officially belong to any department. He's the astronautthat Manny fished out."

"Oh." She went through the dossier again, more slowly this time.
"Then he'll only be with us until Manny packs up and leaves."

"I guess. But he's available now and you said you needed help rightaway."

"Beggars can't be choosy," Cardenas agreed. "I'll have to talk tohim. Has he agreed to work with me?"

"He doesn't know anything about it yet. I can set up a meeting foryou, though."

"Good enough."

"In my office, kay?"

Cardenas thought a moment. "That's probably better than invitinghim to my lab. He might be scared of having nanobugs infect him."

 Tavalera looked suspicious as he sat down in front of Holly's desk.
He arrived promptly on time, though; that was a good sign, shethought.

 She had asked him to come to her office fifteen minutes before 
Cardenas.

 "What's this all about?" he asked, almost sullenly.

"Job op," said Holly brightly.

"I've got a job, with the maintenance crew."

"Like it?"

 He scowled. "Are you kiddin'?"

Holly made a smile for him. "I'd be worried if you said you did."

"So what've you got for me?"

"It's in a science lab. You'll be able to use your engineeringeducation, f'sure."

"I thought all the science slots were filled. That's what you toldme when I first came aboard here."

 "They are. This is with Dr. Cardenas, in her nanotech lab."

His eyes widened momentarily. Holly could sense the wheels churning 


inside his skull.

 "Nanotech," he muttered.

Holly nodded. "Some people are clanked up about nanotechnology, Iknow."

 "Yeah."

 "Are you?"

Tavalera hesitated a moment, then replied, "Yeah, kinda. Guess Iam."

 "You'd be foolish not to be," Holly agreed. "But working with Dr.
Cardenas, you'll be working with the best there is. It'll lookcosmically good on your resume, y'know."

"The hell it will. I wouldn't want anybody back on Earth to knowI'd been within a zillion light-years of any nanobugs."

"Well," Holly said, "you don't have to take the job if you don'twant to. We're not going to force you. You can always stay withMaintenance."

 "Thanks a bunch," he groused.

He was still wary about the idea when Cardenas arrived. She seemeduncertain about him, as well.

"Mr. Tavalera, I can't work with somebody who's frightened to bearound nanomachines."

 "I'm not scared of 'em. I'm just scared they won't let me go backhome if anybody finds out I've been workin' with you."

"You can demand a complete physical," Cardenas said. "Then they'llsee you're not harboring any nanobugs in your body."

"Yeah," he reluctantly admitted. "Maybe."

Holly suggested, "We can keep your employment with Dr. Cardenascompletely off the record. As far as the authorities Earthside willknow, you worked in Maintenance all the time you were aboard thishabitat."

 "You can do that?" Even Cardenas looked incredulous.

 "I can do it for special cases," Holly said, thinking about how shewould have to keep Morgenthau from poking her fat face intoTavalera's official dossier.

 "You'd do it for me?" Tavalera asked.

 "Sure I would," said Holly.

He looked unconvinced, but he abruptly turned to Cardenas and said,
"Well, I guess if you screw up and let killer bugs loose, everybodyin this tin can is gonna get wiped out anyway. I might as well workwith you. Beats overhauling farm tractors."

Cardenas glanced at Holly, then started laughing. "You certainlyare enthusiastic, Mr. Tavalera!"

His long, horsy face broke into an awkward grin. "That's me, allright: Mr. Enthusiasm."

"Seriously," Holly said to him, "do you want to work with Dr.
Cardenas or not?"

 "I'll do it. Why not? What have I got to lose?"

Turning to Cardenas, Holly asked, "Are you satisfied with him?"

Still smiling at her new assistant, Cardenas said, "Not yet, but Ithink we can work it out."

 She got to her feet and Tavalera stood up beside her, smilingshyly. Holly thought, He looks so much better when he smiles.

Cardenas put out her right hand. "Welcome to the nanolab, Mr.
Tavalera."

 His long-fingered hand engulfed hers. "Raoul," he said. "My name'sRaoul."

 "I'll see you at the nanolab at eight a.m. sharp," Cardenas said.

"Eight hundred. Right. I'll be there."

Cardenas left. Tavalera stood uncertainly before Holly's desk for amoment, then said, "Thanks."

"De nada," said Holly.

"You meant it, about keeping this out of my dossier?"

"Certainly."

He fidgeted for a few heartbeats more, then said, "Uh ... would you 


like to have dinner with me tonight? I mean, I 'predate what you didfor me--"

 Holly cut him off before he spoiled it. "I'd be happy to havedinner with you, Raoul."

 Two weeks later, Cardenas invited Edouard Urbain to her laboratory,
to show him what progress she had achieved in decontaminating Gaeta'ssuit. Tavalera sat at the master console, set against the wallopposite the door to the corridor.

"Remember, Raoul," Cardenas said, "we want to be completely honestwith Dr. Urbain. We have nothing to hide."

He nodded, and a small grin played across his face. "I got nothingto hide because I don't know anything."

Cardenas smiled back at him. "You're learning fast, Raoul. I'm veryimpressed with you." To herself, Cardenas thought, He's been a lotbrighter than I thought he'd be. Maybe having a couple of dates withHolly has helped him to cheer up about being stuck here.

When the chief scientist stepped through the door, more than tenminutes late, he looked as tense and guarded as a man walking into aminefield. Cardenas tried to put him at his ease by showing himthrough her small, immaculately neat laboratory.

"This is the assembly area," she said, pointing to a pair ofstainless steel boxlike structures resting atop a lab bench. Gaugesand control knobs ran across the face of each. "The nanomachine 
prototypes are assembled in this one," she patted one of thebreadbox-sized enclosures, "and then the prototype reproduces itselfin here."

 Urbain kept a conspicuous arm's length from the apparatus. WhenCardenas lifted the lid on one of the devices, he actually flinched.

Cardenas tried not to frown at the man. "Dr. Urbain, there isnothing here that can harm you or anyone else."

Urbain was clearly not reassured. "I understand, in my head.
Still... I am nervous. I'm sorry, but I can't help it."

She smiled patiently. "I understand. Here, come over to the mainconsole."

 For more than an hour Cardenas showed Urbain how the nanomachines 
were designed and built. How they reproduced strictly according topreset instructions.

"They're machines," she stressed, over and over. "They do notmutate. They do not grow wildly. And they are deactivated by a doseof soft ultraviolet light. They're really quite fragile."

With Tavalera running the scanning microscope from the mainconsole, Cardenas showed how the nanomachines she had designed brokeup the contaminating molecules on the exterior of Gaeta's suit intoharmless carbon dioxide, water vapor, and nitrogen oxides.

"The suit is perfectly clean within five minutes," she said,
pointing to the image from the console. "The residues outgas and waftaway."

Urbain appeared to be intrigued as he leaned over Tavalera'sshoulder and peered intently at the data and imagery. "All theorganics are removed?"

Nodding, Cardenas said, "Down to the molecular level there's not atrace of them remaining."

"And the nanobugs themselves?"

"We deactivate them with a shot of UV."

 "But they are still on the surface of the suit? Can they reactivatethemselves?"

 "No," said Cardenas. "Once they're deactivated they're finished.
They physically break down."

Urbain straightened up slowly.

"As you can see, we can decontaminate the suit," Cardenas said.

"Not merely the suit," Urbain said, his eyes looking past her.
"This process could be used to decontaminate every piece of equipment 


we send to Titan's surface."

 "Yes it could," Cardenas agreed.

For the first time since entering the nanotechnology laboratory,
Urbain smiled.

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 273 DAYS

 "This man Berkowitz has got to go!" Eberly insisted.

Wilmot sank back in his comfortable desk chair, surprised at thevehemence of his human resources director's demand.

 Softly, he asked, "And what gives you the right to interfere withthe working of the Communications Department?"

Eberly had stoked himself up to a fever pitch. For weeks Vyborg hadbeen pressuring him, threatening to act on his own if Eberly couldnot or would not get rid of Berkowitz. Vyborg wanted to be head ofcommunications, and his scant patience had reached its end. "Eitheryou get him removed or I will remove him myself," the grim little mansaid. "In a few months we'll be entering Saturn orbit. I wantBerkowitz out of the way before then. Long before then!"

Eberly knew this was a test of his power. Vyborg would neverchallenge him so unless he felt that Eberly was deliberatelyprocrastinating. Now, Eberly knew, if I don't deliver Berkowitz'shead, Vyborg will stop believing in me, stop obeying me. So, like itor not, he had to confront Wilmot.

Morgenthau hadn't come up with a thing that he could use againstWilmot. Although she swore that she spent every night faithfullyplowing through his phone conversations and his computer files, shehad found nothing useful, so far.

I can do it without her help, Eberly told himself as he arranged tomeet the chief administrator. A man can do anything, if he has theunbreakable will to succeed.

 Yet now, as he sat before Wilmot's desk and saw the professor'ssteel-gray eyes assessing him coolly, Eberly wondered which of themhad the stronger will.

"After all," Wilmot said, "your position as head of Human Resourcesdoesn't give you the right to meddle in other departments, does it."

"This is not meddling," Eberly snapped. "It's a matter of someurgency."

Wilmot thought, He had a big success with the naming contest andthe voting connected with it. That rally he held out in the park wasa rather rousing event. It's gone to his head. He thinks he's alreadyin charge of every department. He thinks he's going to replace me aschief of the entire habitat. Well, my lad, you have another thinkcoming.

"Urgency?" he asked, deliberately calm and methodical. "How so?"

"Berkowitz is incompetent. We both know that."

"Do we? I thought the Communications Department was running rathersmoothly."

"Because Dr. Vyborg is doing all the work," Eberly said.

"Vyborg. That little reptilian fellow."

Eberly stifled an angry reply. He's deliberately trying to goad me,
he realized. This old man is trying to make me angry enough to make amistake.

 He took in a breath, then said more calmly, "Vyborg is a verycapable man. He is actually running the Communications Departmentwhile Berkowitz sits on his laurels and does nothing."

"Much as Ms. Morgenthau is running your office, I should imagine,"
said Wilmot, with the trace of a smile.

Eberly smiled back at the older man. You're not going to make melose my temper, he said silently. I'm not going to fall into yourtrap. 


 "Vyborg is ambitious," he said aloud. "He's come to me to ask myhelp. He feels frustrated, unappreciated."

"Why doesn't he come to me? You can't help him."

"I agreed to speak to you about the situation," Eberly said.
"Vyborg feels he shouldn't go over Berkowitz's head and speakdirectly to you. He's afraid that Berkowitz will hold it againsthim."

 "Really?"

"Berkowitz is a drone, and we both know it. Vyborg does all thework for him."

 "As long as the Communications Department runs well, I have noreason for removing Berkowitz from his position. This discussion isactually over the man's management method. To his underlings he mayseem like a drone, but as long as the department hums along, he'sdoing his job effectively, as far as I'm concerned."

Eberly sat back, thinking furiously. This is a test, he realized.
Wilmot is testing me. Toying with me. How should I answer him? Howcan I get him to do what I want?

Wilmot, meanwhile, studied Eberly's face carefully. Why is he soworked up about the Communications Department? Does he have somepersonal grudge against Berkowitz? Or some personal relationship withVyborg? I wish old Diego Romero were still with us; he kept thedepartment's different factions working together smoothly enough,
before he died.

 Eberly finally hit upon a new ploy. "If you find it impossible toremove Berkowitz, perhaps you could promote him."

Wilmot felt his brows rise. "Promote him?"

 Hunching forward on his chair, Eberly said, "Apparently this manGaeta is going to be allowed to go to the surface of Titan afterall."

 "That stuntman?"

 "Yes. Dr. Cardenas has convinced Urbain that she can decontaminate 
Gaeta's suit so well that the man can go to Titan's surface withoutharming the life-forms there."

"Urbain hasn't told me of this," Wilmot said sharply.

Eberly held back a snicker of triumph. You sit in your office andexpect everyone to come to you, he sneered inwardly at Wilmot. Thereal life of this habitat swirls around you and you know almostnothing of it.

"You're certain that Urbain has approved of this... this stunt?"
Wilmot asked.

 "The approval isn't official yet, but Cardenas has worked out anunderstanding with him."

Wilmot nodded. "Urbain will notify me when he makes his approvalofficial."

 "Why not ask Berkowitz to join Gaeta's team, as their full-timepublicity manager?"

"Ahh. I see."

 Eberly went on, "Berkowitz would enjoy that, I think."

"And while he's enjoying his special assignment, your friend Vyborgcan run the Communications Department."

"He can be given the title of acting director," said Eberly.

"Very neat. And what happens when Gaeta has performed his stunt andit's all finished?"

 Eberly shrugged, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Tohimself, though, he said, By the time Gaeta's done his stunt we'llhave the new constitution in effect and I'll be the elected leader of 
this habitat. Berkowitz, Vyborg--even you, old man--will have to bowto my wishes.

But as he left Wilmot's office, his satisfaction melted away. Hewas playing with me, Eberly realized, like a cat plays with a mouse.
Like a puppeteer pulling my strings. He let me have my way withBerkowitz because he intended to do it all along; he was just waitingto see how I jumped. Berkowitz doesn't mean a thing to him. It's all 


a game he's playing.

I've got to get control over him, Eberly told himself. I've got tofind some way to bend the high and mighty Professor Wilmot to mywill. Make him jump through my hoops.

When is Morgenthau going to find something I can use? There must besomething in Wilmot's life that I can use for leverage. Someweakness. I've got to get Morgenthau to work harder, concentrate onhis files, his phone conversations, everything he says or does, everybreath he draws. I want him in my grasp. That's vital. If I'm to bethe master here, Wilmot's got to bow down to me, one way or theother.

 Holly saw Raoul Tavalera sitting alone in the cafeteria, bent overa sizable lunch. She carried her tray to his table.

"Want some company?" she asked.

He looked up at her and smiled.

"Sure," he said. "Sit right down."

Tavalera had invited her to dinner at least once a week since 
starting work at the nanotechnology lab. Holly enjoyed his company,
although he could get moody, morose. She tried to keep their dates asbright and easy as possible. So far, he'd worked up the nerve to kissher goodnight. She wondered when he would try to go farther. And whatshe would do when he did.

 "How's it going in the nanolab?" Holly asked as she removed hersalad and iced tea from her tray.

"Okay, I guess."

"Dr. Cardenas treating you well?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "She's easy to work with. I'm learnin'a lot."

 "That's good."

"None of it'll be any use when I go back to Earth, though."

For a moment, Holly didn't know why he would say that. Then sheremembered, "Ohh, nanotech's banned on Earth, isn't it?"

Tavalera nodded. "They'll probably quarantine me until they'recertain I don't have any nanobugs in my body."

"There's a nanotech lab in Selene."

 "I'm not gonna live underground on the Moon. I'm goin' back home."

They talked about home: Holly about Selene and Tavalera about theNew Jersey hills where he had grown up.

"A lotta the state got flooded out when the greenhouse cliff hit.
All the beachfront resorts ... people go scuba diving through thecondo towers."

 "That's something you don't have to worry about in Selene," Hollypointed out.

Tavalera grinned at her. "Yeah. The nearest pond is four hundredthousand kilometers away."

"We have a swimming pool in the Grand Plaza!"

"Big fr--uh, big deal."

Ignoring his near lapse, Holly went on, "It's Olympic-sized. Andthe diving platforms go up to thirty meters."

With a shake of his head, Tavalera said, "You wouldn't get me upthere, low gravity or no low gravity."

He just wants to go home, Holly saw. He wants to get back home. Itmade her sad to realize that she had no home to go back to. This ismy home, she told herself. This habitat. Forever.

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 266 DAYS

 If it must be done, Wilmot said to himself, 'twere best donequickly. 


 It was a dictum that had served him well all during his long careerin academia. He often coupled it with Churchill's old aphorism: Ifyou're going to kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite about it.

So he invited Gaeta and Zeke Berkowitz to dine with him, in theprivacy of his own apartment. Berkowitz was an old friend, of course,
and Wilmot was delighted when he showed up precisely on time, beforethe stuntman.

 As Wilmot poured a stiff whisky for the news director, Berkowitzgrinned amiably and said, "Must be pretty bad news, to make the firstdrink so tall."

 Wilmot smiled, a little sheepishly, and handed the glass toBerkowitz. "You still have your nose in the wind, don't you, Zeke?"

Berkowitz shrugged. "I'd be a lousy newsman if I didn't know whatwas going on."

Wilmot poured an even stiffer belt for himself.

"Rumor is," Berkowitz said, still standing by the apartment'scompact little bar, "that you're going to kick me upstairs."

With a slight nod, Wilmot admitted, "I'm afraid so."

Before Berkowitz could ask another question, they heard a rap atthe door. "That will be Gaeta," said Wilmot, heading for the door.

Gaeta wore a denim work shirt and jeans, about as formal an outfitas he possessed. He looked serious, almost somber as Wilmotintroduced him to Berkowitz and asked the stuntman what he wanted to 
drink.

 "Beer, if you have it," said Gaeta, still unsmiling.

"Would Bass ale do?" Wilmot asked.

 Gaeta broke into a grin. "It'll do very well, thanks."

Wilmot steered his two guests to the sitting room chairs. Once theywere comfortably settled, he said to Gaeta, "I've asked you herebecause I want to assign Zeke to be your full-time publicity man."

Berkowitz nodded knowingly. The stuntman looked surprised.

By the time Wilmot carried the dinner tray to the table, though,
the two men seemed to be getting along well enough.

"So if Urbain or the IAA or whoever prevents me from going down toTitan, I'll take a spin through the rings," Gaeta was saying.

Berkowitz twirled his fork in the air. "Through the rings? Wow.
That'd be spectacular."

"You think you could get me some coverage, huh?"

"A brain-dead librarian could get you coverage for that. I mean,
everybody's seen footage from the automated probes they've sent toTitan's surface. Fascinating stuff, yeah, but it's been done.
Nobody's been to the rings."

"No human has set foot on Titan," Wilmot pointed out.

"I know. But the rings! They'll salivate over that. I could run anauction right now and gin up enough cash to pay for your whole crewand then some."

 Gaeta leaned back in his chair, looking contented. Wilmot saw thatBerkowitz was as happy as a child with a new toy. The professor feltrelieved. I can give Eberly and that Vyborg creature what they wantwithout hurting anyone's feelings. A win--win situation. All to thegood.

 Pancho Lane could feel her face tightening into a frown as shewatched Manuel Gaeta's message to her.

"So even if I can't get to Titan, this stunt with the rings oughttapay you back for the trip with interest."

Yeah, but what about my sister? Pancho demanded silently.

Gaeta rambled on about his possible stunts while Pancho sat fumingbehind her desk. What about Susie? she wondered. Holly, I mean.

At last Gaeta said, 'Tour sister's fine, Ms. Lane. She's a verybright young woman. Very intelligent. And very attractive, too. Shehas lots of friends and she seems very happy here. Not to worry abouther." 


 But Pancho focused on his "And very attractive, too." Gaeta hadsomething of a reputation. Handsome chunk of beef, Pancho had toadmit. I wouldn't throw him out of my bed. Is he making it with mysister?

 Pancho sighed. If he is, there's not much I can do about it. I justhope Susie enjoys it. I hope he doesn't hurt her. If he does, this'llbe his last stunt. Ever.

 Professor Wilmot rocked slightly in his desk chair as he dictatedhis status report to Atlanta.

"It's interesting to observe the different motivations of thesepeople. Eberly isn't after power so much as adulation, it seems tome. The man wants to be adored by the people. I'm not certain whatVyborg wants; I haven't been able to work up the stamina to get closeto the man. Berkowitz is happy to be rid of the responsibilities ofheading the Communications Department. He's back to being an activenewsman. I understand there's some friction between him and Gaeta's 
technical crew, but that's perfectly understandable. Quite normal.

"Gaeta himself is fascinating, in his own way. He actually wants torisk his hide on these stunts he does. He enjoys them. Of course,
they bring him money and fame, but I believe he'd do them anyway,
merely for the sheer adrenaline rush they give him. In a strange way,
he's rather like a scientist, except that scientists enjoy theintellectual thrill of being the first to discover new phenomena,
while this stuntman enjoys the visceral excitement of being the firstman on the scene."

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 205 DAYS

 Night after night Holly spent in her apartment, alone, calling upprograms from Earth on forensic medicine. She recalled with perfectclarity the way Don Diego's crumpled body had looked when shediscovered it lying headfirst in the water of the irrigation culvert.
She remembered every detail of the medical examination report: noheart attack, no major stroke, nothing unusual except that the heelsof his hands seemed slightly abraded, and his lungs were full ofwater.

 What would roughen the heels of his hands? Holly wondered. Theconcrete surface of the culvert, she decided. Then she began tosearch for a reason why his hands were bruised. Eventually she cameto the conclusion that he was trying to push his head out of thewater, trying hard enough to scrape the skin off the heels of bothhands.

 And why, if he was trying so hard to get up, why couldn't he lifthis head out of the water? Because something--or someone--was holdinghis head down. Drowning him. Murdering him.

Not trusting her memory, good as it was, Holly called up themedical report and studied it for several nights in a row. No sign ofviolence. Only the abrasions on his hands.

It wasn't much to go on. But Holly doggedly pursued that one clue.
She thought of it as a clue. She was convinced Don Diego had beenmurdered.

 Why? By whom?

Closing her eyes, she envisioned once again the scene when shefound the old man's body. No signs of a struggle. Nothing disturbingthe slope that led down to the concrete except some footprints in thedirt. Boot prints, actually.

 Professor Wilmot also spent his evenings watching video displays, 


as usual. The business of the habitat faded into oblivion as he sat 
in his favorite chair, swirling his glass of whisky in his righthand, watching his collection of vids about naked women undergoingtorture. Sometimes, when a scene was particularly revolting, he felta twinge of guilt. But that passed quickly enough. It's all make-
believe, he told himself. They wouldn't produce such vids unlessthere was a market for them. I'm not the only one who enjoys thissort of thing.

He had run through the collection he'd brought aboard the habitat,
seen each of them twice and his favorites more than that. For weeks 
he fretted about ordering more from Earth. They made new ones all thetime, he knew. Fresh faces. New young bodies.

There was a certain danger in calling a supplier on Earth andordering more vids. Even if he routed his order through a middlemanat Selene, sooner or later it would be traced to the habitat. Butthere are ten thousand people here, he told himself. How would theyknow it's me, and not some clerk or farm worker? Besides, I'd wagerthere are others aboard who have similar tastes and make similar 
orders.

 After weeks of arguing with himself, and watching the same oldvids, he sent an order to Earth by the habitat's tight-beam lasercommunications link. It was all in code, of course. No one will know,
Wilmot reassured himself. After all, who would be tapping the commlinks? It's not as if I'm using my personal phone line. Someone wouldhave to tap every outgoing and incoming message to find my one brieflittle order. Who would be fanatic enough to do that?

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 87 DAYS

 "It's remarkable, really," Wilmot was saying to his computer. "Theyhave drafted a constitution and are preparing for elections. By thetime we establish ourselves in orbit about Saturn, they'll be readyto transfer power to their new government."

The computer was automatically encrypting his words fortransmission to Earth, to the headquarters of the New Morality inAtlanta, the covert financial backers of the Saturn mission. Wilmotwas the only person in the habitat who knew where the funding forthis experiment had come from, and he intended to keep the secretentirely to himself. His reports back to Atlanta were private, coded,
and sent toward Earth by the automated laser system, not by thehabitat's regular communications links.

"The man Eberly has formed something of a clique around himself,"
Wilmot continued, "which is more or less what I had expected. Thescientists have formed a countervailing political force, led by Dr.
Urbain. Frankly, Urbain seems more interested in personal flatterythan politics, but he seems to be the acknowledged leader among thetechnical types.

"Even the engineers have organized a political bloc, of sorts.
Their leader seems to be a Russian exile named Timoshenko, althoughhe insists that he has no interest in politics. Yet he's allowed theengineers to bruit his name about as a candidate for the chiefadministrator's position. Frankly I doubt that he has one chance in amillion.

 "There have been a few scuffles here and there, but by and largethe political campaigning has been remarkably free of the usualhooliganism, which is little short of extraordinary when oneconsiders that the bulk of our population is made up of dissidentsand free-thinkers who got themselves into trouble on Earth. I believethe reason is that most of the population doesn't care a fig aboutthis political campaigning. Most of the people here have absolutelyno interest in their own government. In fact, they try rather hard to 


avoid any commitments of any sort."

Wilmot leaned back in his comfortable swivel chair and re-read his 
words from the image displayed above his desk. Satisfied with hisreport so far, he continued:

"In three weeks we will have the general elections that will bringour new constitution into power and elect the individuals who willform the new government. Eberly is the odds-on favorite. I shall haveto install him as the new chief administrator and gracefully retireto the ceremonial role of president. I suspect that Eberly will nameUrbain to some important-sounding but innocuous position: probablydeputy administrator or some such. I have no idea of how he'll handlethe engineer, Timoshenko.

"Some of the people around Eberly frankly give me the willies. He'ssurrounded himself with nonentities who believe themselves to be 
quite important, such as this Vyborg person who's now running theCommunications office. I know that the Morgenthau woman is a highofficial in the Holy Disciples. Why she volunteered for this missionis beyond me. And this Kananga fellow! He's positively frightening."

Wilmot talked on, bluntly giving his opinions on each of the majorplayers in the habitat's coming elections. He would have been muchless free with his judgments if he had known that every word he spokewas being picked up by molecular-film microphones and recorded forEberly's perusal.

 Late in the afternoon the cafeteria was quiet, nearly empty; mostof the lunchtime crowd had left, and the dinner rush hadn't startedyet. Manuel Gaeta sat with three others at a table near theholowindow that showed a view of a pristine lake in the Rockies, apicture from distant Earth taken long before the greenhouse warminghad driven millions from their flooded cities to makeshift refugeecamps in such regions.

Of the four people talking intently together over the remains oftheir lunches, Gaeta was the only one who looked anywhere near happy.

"We can do it," Gaeta said firmly.

"It would be awfully dangerous, Manny," said Kris Cardenas.

Nadia Wunderly nodded her agreement. "It'd be like trying to walkpast a firing squad that uses machine guns."

Gaeta shrugged carelessly. "All I gotta do is go in-between thebullets." He turned to von Helmholtz. "What do you think, Fritz?"

Von Helmholtz cast a cold eye at him. "Isn't it enough to do whatwe came here to do?"

 Gaeta said, "We'll do the Titan gig if we can get the scientists toallow it. But while we're out here, why not do a spin through therings?"

"Because you could get killed," von Helmholtz snapped.

Spreading his hands as if he'd proven his point, Gaeta countered,
"That's why people watch, Fritz. They're waiting to see if I getkilled."

 "What is worse, you'll ruin the suit."

Gaeta laughed.

"There's a really strong chance that you would be killed," Wunderlysaid.

 "Not if you can pick out the right spot in the rings for me totraverse. A spot without so many big chunks."

With a sigh, Wunderly explained, "I'd have to study the ringsclose-up for months, Manny. Years, maybe."

"We've still got a few weeks before we go into orbit around Saturn.
Won't that be enough?"

"I'd need all the computer time we've got on board to make anyreasonable computations," she said. "Plus I'd need time on the big'scopes and Urbain won't let me near them."

Von Helmholtz looked surprised. "He won't allow you to use thetelescopes in the astronomy pod?" 


 Wunderly shook her head. "Urbain won't let me have any time on thebig 'scopes. They're all being used full-time on Titan."

"All of them?"

 "All of them," said Wunderly.

"Maybe we can talk him into letting you use one," Gaeta suggested.

"He won't. I've asked, more than once. Besides, I'd need a ton ofcomputer time."

"Maybe somebody else should ask him," said Gaeta.

"Who?" Cardenas asked.

 "Wilmot. Or if not him, maybe Eberly can swing it."

Again she shook her head. "Urbain won't listen to Eberly. He won'teven talk to him. They're running against each other in theelections, remember?"

 Eberly, meanwhile, was sitting tensely in the living room of hisapartment, which had become the command center for his electioncampaign. A bank of computers lined the wall where the sofa had oncebeen, each machine humming with continuous recording of theconversations in every public space in the habitat and quite a fewprivate apartments and offices, including Wilmot's and Urbain's.

"I don't like this constitution," Morgenthau was saying. "I neverdid, and the closer we get to putting it into action, the less I likeit."

 Eberly studied her fleshy face as she sat in the upholstered chairon the opposite side of the oval coffee table. Her usual smile wasgone; she was deadly serious.

"Why didn't you voice your objections when we were drafting it?" heasked sharply.

"I thought Vyborg and Jaansen were thrashing everything outsatisfactorily, and then you made it clear that you wanted an end totheir arguing."

With growing impatience, Eberly said, "I've explained it to all ofyou time and again. As long as the emergency-powers clause is in theconstitution all the rest of it doesn't matter."

 "I still don't like it," Morgenthau insisted.

Eberly thought he knew what the problem was. Morgenthau was nofighter; she was an agent planted on the habitat ostensibly to helphim, but actually to keep watch on him and report back to the HolyDisciples. Someone high up in the hierarchy must have finallyreviewed the new constitution and told her that it didn't suit the 
stern moral standards of the Disciples. She would never oppose melike this, Eberly said to himself. Not unless she's under pressurefrom her superiors back on Earth.

"It's too late to change it now," he said, trying to keep his voicecalm, even. "The people vote on it in three weeks."

Morgenthau said, "You could withdraw it. Say it needs furtherwork."

 "Withdraw it?" Despite his self-discipline, Eberly nearly shoutedthe words. "That would mean we'd have to postpone the election."

Morgenthau said nothing.

How can I get her back on my side? Eberly asked himself. How can Imake her see that she'd be better off following my orders than thestupid commands from Earth?

"Listen to me," he said, leaning forward in his chair, bending hishead closer to hers. "In three weeks the people will vote. They'llaccept this constitution for the very same reasons that you distrustit: Because it promises individual freedom and a liberal, relaxedgovernment."

"Without any rules for population control. Without any moralstandards."

 "Those will come later, after the constitution is adopted and weare in power."

Morgenthau looked totally unconvinced. 


 "As I've explained more than once," Eberly said, straining to holdon to his swooping temper, "once I'm in power I'll declare a state ofemergency and suspend all those liberal laws that bother you."

"How can you declare a state of emergency if everyone is satisfiedwith the constitution?"

 "We'll need a crisis of some sort. I'll think of something."

Morgenthau's face looked as hard as steel. "You were taken out ofprison and placed in this habitat to form a proper, god-fearinggovernment. You are not living up to your end of the agreement."

"That's not true!" he protested. Inwardly, a panicky voice whined,
They can't send me back to prison. They can't!

"All we need to do is generate a crisis," he said aloud. "ThenKananga and his security teams can clamp down."

"It won't be that simple," Morgenthau said. "The more power yougive Kananga the more he will seize control of everything. I don'ttrust him."

 "Neither do I," Eberly admitted, silently adding, I don't trustanyone.

"And then there's this Cardenas woman, working with nanomachines.
They're the devil's spawn and yet you allow her to go right ahead anddo her evil in our midst."

 "Only until I'm in power," Eberly said.

"She's got to go. Get rid of her."

As Eberly nodded somberly, the solution to his problems suddenlystruck him with the blinding force of a revelation. Yes! he said tohimself. That will solve everything!

He made a warm smile for the still-scowling Morgenthau and, leaningforward, patted her chubby knee. "Don't worry about it. I'll takecare of everything."

Her frown faded somewhat, replaced by curiosity.

"Trust me," Eberly said, smiling still more broadly.

 LABORATORY LAVOISIER

 Kris Cardenas wondered why Urbain had asked her to meet with him.
Not in his office, not even in the astronomy pod, where the bigtelescopes were housed. Here in the science building, in his mainlaboratory, which had been named for the eighteenth-century Frenchfounder of modern chemistry, Antoine Laurent Lavoisier.

Cardenas's own lab (named after the American physicist Richard P.
Feynman) was in a separate building, up at the top of the ridge onwhich Athens was built, as far away from the other labs as possible.
As she made her way down the bricked path that curved past the low,
white-walled apartment buildings and shops of the village, Cardenasfelt the old resentment against unreasoning fear of nanotechnologystill simmering deep within her.

Keep it under control, she warned herself. Keep everything inperspective. Remember that Lavoisier was beheaded during the FrenchRevolution. Idiots and bastards have always been in our midst.

So she put on a sunny smile as she entered the lab complex and sawEdouard Urbain standing in the doorway to his laboratory, waiting forher. He looked nervous. No, Cardenas decided, not nervous. Excited.
Expectant. Almost like a little boy standing in front of theChristmas tree, eager to tear into the brightly wrapped packages.

"Dr. Cardenas!" Urbain greeted her. "How good of you to come."

"It was good of you to invite me," she replied.

He ushered her into the lab. Cardenas was slightly taller thanUrbain, her sandy blond hair and bright blue eyes a sharp contrast tohis dark, slicked-back hair and eyes of mahogany brown.

The lab was two stories tall, its bare metal ceiling the undersideof the building's roof. A tall screen stood just inside the doorway, 


cutting off the main area of the lab from view. The place felt toCardenas like an airplane hangar or an empty warehouse. With a slightgesture, Urbain led Cardenas along the screen toward its end.

"I wanted you to see this," he said, his voice brimming withanticipation. She thought his moustache would start quivering anymoment. "I am very proud of what we have accomplished."

They reached the end of the screen. With a flourish, Urbain turnedthe corner and pointed to the massive object standing in the middleof the laboratory floor.

The first thing that Cardenas noticed was that the lab had beencleaned, the floor swept. Not a scrap of paper or equipment in sight.
No wires snaking across the floor or dangling from overhead mounts.
He's spiffed up his lab, Cardenas thought. He's got it looking likean old automobile showroom.

 "There it is," Urbain said, aglow with pride. "Titan Alpha."

A spacecraft, Cardenas realized. More than two meters tall; nearlythree, she estimated. Standing on a pair of caterpillar treads, likean old-fashioned tank. Massive. Silvery-gray. Titanium, she guessed.
Its oblong body was studded with projections.

"It has been built here, completely," Urbain said, almost in awhisper. "It did not exist when we left Earth. None of it. My staffand I constructed it."

 Cardenas became aware that half a dozen men and women were standingoff along the far wall of the lab, like students who had been linedup and told to remain quiet and respectful.

"You'll go to the surface of Titan in this," Cardenas said.

"Not in person, of course," said Urbain. "Alpha is designed to beteleoperated from here in the habitat. It is a mobile laboratory thatwill explore the surface of Titan for us."

"I see."

 Urbain snapped his fingers; one of the technicians across the labwhirled and began tapping out instructions on a desk-sized console.
The spacecraft seemed to stir. A loud electrical hum filled the laband a pair of long, skeletal arms unfolded from one side of its body.
Pincerlike claws opened and shut. Cardenas instinctively moved back acouple of steps.

Urbain laughed. "Don't be afraid. She won't harm you. Thosegrippers can handle the most delicate biological samples withoutdamaging them."

"It's... very impressive."

"Yes, isn't she? Alpha is equipped with a complete array ofsensors. She can take samples, store them in insulated capsules andsend them back to us, here in the habitat, for analysis."

"Won't it return after it's finished its mission?"

 "No. Never. She remains on Titan. We will send replenishments offuel and supplies for its sensors."

"Isn't it nuclear powered?" Cardenas asked.

"Of course! The fuel is necessary for the sample-return rockets."

"I see."

 Urbain sighed contentedly. "I haven't had as much time to spend onthis project as I would have liked. My hours are consumed with thispolitical campaign, you know."

Cardenas nodded. "Yet you've completed the job. It's a greataccomplishment."

"I am blessed with a fine staff."

 Afraid that Urbain would order the bulky spacecraft to starttrundling across the laboratory floor, Cardenas said, "I'm verygrateful that you asked me to see it."

She started toward the door, slowly. Urbain caught up with her intwo strides.

 "My motivation was not entirely from pride," he said, looking alittle less animated now. "I have a favor to request of you."

Still walking along the screen, feeling somehow oppressed by themassive spacecraft, almost threatened by it, Cardenas replied with, 


"A favor?"

 Urbain hesitated, as if he didn't know how to choose the rightwords. "It concerns Alpha's self-repair capabilities."

Cardenas glanced sharply at him.

"I was wondering," Urbain said as they turned around the end of thescreen, "if nanomachines might be able to repair Alpha while she ison the surface of Titan."

 Cardenas nodded, thinking, So that's it. They're all terrified ofnanobugs until they come up against something where nanomachines canhelp them.

"I mean," Urbain went on, "you yourself have nanomachines in yourbody, don't you? They're constantly repairing your tissues, aren'tthey?"

With a slight laugh of relief, Cardenas answered, "And you'd liketo have a nanotech immune system built into your spacecraft."

"Nanomachines that could continuously repair any equipment failuresor damage."

"Or wear and tear," Cardenas added.

"Yes! Precisely."

She stopped at the open doorway, thinking swiftly. "It would taketime, Dr. Urbain. When do you plan to send the spacecraft to Titan?"

"As soon as we establish orbit around Saturn. Within a few days ofthat, at the most."

"I certainly can't come up with a set of therapeutic nanos thatsoon."

 "But perhaps they could be sent to Alpha after she is on Titan,
once you produce them."

"Perhaps," Cardenas conceded.

"Will you look into the possibilities?" he asked eagerly.

Cardenas saw in his eyes that he regarded this machine of hisalmost like a human being, a woman he loved and cherished and wantedto protect, keep from harm. A kind-hearted Dr. Frankenstein, shethought, worried about the creature he's created. Then a sharp pangof memory hit her. How many times have you been called Frankenstein?
she asked herself.

 "Can you do it?" Urbain pressured.

"I can try."

"Good! Excellent!"

 "Under one condition," she added.

His brows rose toward his receding hairline. "Condition? If youmean you want me to allow that... that stuntman to go down to thesurface--"

 Cardenas said, "But we've tested the decontamination procedureseveral times now. I've sent you the reports."

"Tests in the airlock. Yes, I've scanned your reports."

"So you know that we can clean his suit to your satisfaction."
Suddenly Cardenas got a new inspiration. "We can decon yourspacecraft the same way."

"Alpha can be decontaminated the normal way."

"Yes, but if you use nanomachines you won't have to subject thespacecraft to such high levels of radiation. Won't that be better forits electronics systems?"

Urbain started to reply, stopped himself, then admitted, "Yes.
Definitely."

"I can set that up for you in a couple of days. By the time we'rein Saturn orbit I'll be able to decon your craft as clean as new-
fallen snow."

 "But that doesn't mean that I can allow the stuntman to go down tothe surface. The IAA forbids it. My hands are tied."

Don't push it any farther, Cardenas told herself. You've got a toein the door. Let it rest there, for now.

Yet she heard herself say, "There is one other thing."

Urbain's brows went up again.

"It's rather minor...." 


 "What is it?"

 "One of your staff people, Dr. Wunderly--"

"Wunderly?"

"She needs some telescope time to study the rings."

"Impossible. I've told her--"

"Surely you can spare some time at one of the telescopes for her,"
Cardenas said, more as a declaration than a request. "After all,
you're going to have your spacecraft operating on Titan's surface ina few weeks, won't you?"

Urbain hesitated. "Yes, that's true enough."

"And you want to be able to use nanomachines to keep it in goodshape."

His face showed clearly that he understood Cardenas's threat. "Isee. Yes. Very well, I will attempt to get some time for Wunderly onone of the telescopes so she can study her wretched rings."

"Fine," said Cardenas. "And I'll attempt to develop a set ofnanomachines that can auto-repair your spacecraft while it's onTitan."

 "And to decontaminate Alpha," Urbain reminded her.

Cardenas nodded her agreement and started for the door. Then sheturned back. "By the way, how is the political campaign going?"

Urbain took in a sharp breath, as if surprised by her sudden changeof subject. Then he shrugged. "It takes too much of my time. I mustgive speeches, prepare position papers on everything from medicalcare to garbage recycling. Every person in the habitat feels free toask me pointless questions and to give me their own vapid opinions."

"That's politics, I guess," Cardenas said, chuckling.

"I fear it will be even worse after I am elected."

 "You expect to win?"

"Of course. This is a scientific mission, isn't it? The wholepurpose of our flight to Saturn is scientific."

"But the scientists are only a small part of the population,"
Cardenas pointed out.

"Yes, of course. But the others will vote for me. It is the onlylogical choice they can make. Eberly is the only other majorcandidate, and he has no scientific background at all."

"What about the engineer, Timoshenko?"

Urbain made an unpleasant face. "He is nothing. A posturer. Theengineers and technicians will vote for me, overwhelmingly."

Cardenas held back the comment she wanted to make. Better not to 
disillusion the man, she thought. He'll find out soon enough onelection day. It'll bruise his ego, but in the long run he'llprobably be relieved to get out of politics and give all hisattention to his clunky Alpha.

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 45 DAYS

 The three women met for breakfast in the cafeteria, so early thatthe place was hardly half filled. Holly thought the cafeteria seemeddifferent this early in the morning: quieter, subdued, as if thepeople shuffling through the lines weren't fully awake yet. She foundKris and Nadia Wunderly already at a table, heads leaning together,
pleased grins on their faces.

Holly unloaded her tray of melon slices, bran cereal, soy milk, andfaux coffee and sat down.

 Wunderly looked happy, her big gray eyes sparkling. "I still can'tthank you enough for getting me some telescope time. You should seethe dynamics of those rings! It's ... it's..."

Cardenas laughed lightly. "Words fail you?"

A little embarrassed, Wunderly said, "I'd like you to see theimagery I've been getting." Turning to Holly, Wunderly said, "You 


too, Holly." Holly smiled at her. "Sure. I'd love to."

Wunderly asked Cardenas, "I still can't understand how you gotUrbain to let me use the 'scope."

Still grinning, Cardenas said, "Trickery and deceit. And a littleblackmail."

 "Whatever works, I guess," Holly said.

Wunderly dipped into her bowl of soy yogurt. "Thanks to you, Kris,
I can feed Manny the data he needs."

Holly's innards twitched. "Manny?"

"He wants to dive through the rings," Wunderly explained. "But hecan't do it without my help."

Looking across the table to Cardenas, Holly said, "I haven't seenManny in weeks. How is he?"

Wunderly answered, "Terrific."

Cardenas looked surprised. "Come to think of it, the last time Isaw him was our final test of the decon nanos."

 Wunderly glanced from Holly to Cardenas and then back again. "I seehim almost every day," she said. A little smugly, Holly thought.

"Do you see him nights?" asked Cardenas, raising her teacup to herlips.

Wunderly said, "Sure. Sometimes." Very smugly, as far as Holly wasconcerned.

 "He's pretty good, isn't he?" said Cardenas.

Wunderly nodded with pleasure.

Suddenly aware, Holly blurted, "Kris, have you maxed out withManny?"

Cardenas actually blushed. Nodding behind her teacup, she said in asmall voice, "A couple of times. You said you didn't mind, remember?"

"I don't mind," Holly insisted, knowing from the turmoil inside herthat it wasn't really true.

Wunderly's owl eyes went even wider than usual. "You mean he'sslept with both of you?"

Cardenas put down her teacup. "Actually, we didn't do all that muchsleeping."

Holly burst into laughter. The pain inside her dissolved. "He's aflamer, all right."

Wunderly looked hurt, though. "Both of you," she whispered. It wasno longer a question.

Cardenas reached across the table to touch Wunderly's hand. "He'sjust a man, Nadia. It doesn't mean anything to him. Just fun andgames. Recreational."

"But I thought--"

"Don't think. Just enjoy. He'll be heading back to Earth soon. Havefun while you can."

" 'Gather ye rosebuds'," Holly quoted, wondering where sheremembered the line from.

 Forcing a halfhearted smile, Wunderly said, "I suppose you'reright. But still..."

"Just don't get pregnant."

"Oh, I'd never!"

Holly was thinking, though. "He slept with me when he needed helpfrom the administration. And he slept with you, Kris, when he foundout you could help him with nanobugs."

"And now he's sleeping with me," Wunderly chimed in, "because I canhelp him with the rings."

"That sonofabitch," Cardenas said. But she was grinning widely.

"You know what they'd call a woman who did that," Wunderly said.

Holly didn't know if she should be angry, amused, or disgusted.

"It's a good thing he'll be leaving soon," Cardenas said.
"Otherwise he might get murdered."

"He's getting away with murder right now," said Wunderly, with atinge of anger.

"Well," Cardenas said, "he's good at it."

Holly asked, "Nadia, are you going to keep on with him?" 


 "I couldn't! Not now."

 "Why not?" Cardenas asked. "If you enjoy being with him, why not?"

"But he's ... it's... it's not right."

With a shake of her head, Cardenas said, "Don't let the NewMorality spoil your fun. There's nothing wrong with recreational sex,
as long as you understand that it's recreational and nothing more.
And you protect yourself."

Holly wondered, How do you protect your heart? How do you let a manmake love to you and then just walk away and let him go do it withsomeone else? With your friends, for god's sake.

Wunderly nodded slightly, but she looked just as unconvinced asHolly felt.

"It's not like the old days," Cardenas went on, "when you had toworry about AIDS and VD."

"I read about AIDS in history class," Wunderly said. "It must havebeen terrible."

 "Just don't get yourself pregnant."

"I won't. I can't. The habitat's regulations won't allow it."

Cardenas was no longer grinning. "I can remember a time, backbefore either one of you were born, when religious fundamentalistswere against abortion. Against any kind of family planning."

"Really?" Holly was surprised.

"Yes. It wasn't until they dropped their 'right to life' positionthat the New Morality began to gain real political power. Once theCatholics got an American Pope, even the Vatican caved in."

For several moments all three of the women were silent. The 
cafeteria seemed to be waking up. There were more people coming in,
more chatter and clatter as they lined up for their breakfasts beforeheading off to their jobs.

Wunderly pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. "I'vegot to make a progress report to Dr. Urbain."

"And Manny?" Cardenas asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. He can be ... well, attractive, youknow."

 "Seductive," said Cardenas.

"Charming," Holly added. "Like a snake."

Wunderly just shook her head and walked off, leaving her half-
finished breakfast on the table.

 "What do you think she'll do?" Holly asked.

Cardenas chuckled. "She'll go to bed with him but feel bad aboutit."

 "That's brutal."

 "Yep."

"Would you go to bed with him again?"

Cardenas gave her a guarded look. "Would you?"

Holly felt her lips curling upward into a rueful smile. "Only if heasks me."

 They both laughed.

"The sonofabitch is getting away with murder, all right," Cardenassaid.

 Suddenly serious, Holly said softly, "I wonder if somebody else hasgotten away with murder."

"Huh? Who?"

 "I don't know. I just wonder about Don Diego."

"You're still gnawing on that?"

"They didn't find anything wrong with him."

"Except that he drowned."

"But how could he drown?" Holly wondered. "How could a man fallinto a few centimeters of water and drown himself?"

 "He was pretty old," Cardenas said.

"But his health was fine. They didn't find any heart failure or anysign of a stroke."

"You think someone pushed him into the water and deliberatelydrowned him?" 


 The scene appeared in Holly's mind, every detail, just as she hadseen it that day. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Who? Why?"

Holly shrugged. "I don't know. I wish I did."

 CAMPAIGN SPEECHES

 The political debate was held in the habitat's outdoor theater, abig concrete shell that curved gracefully to focus the sound wavesproduced on its stage out into the rows of seats set up on the grass.

It's a fairly good crowd, Eberly thought as he looked out over theaudience. Must be more than a thousand out there, and a lot morewatching by vid. Seated on the stage three meters to his left wasEdouard Urbain, looking stiffly elegant in an old-fashioned dove-graysuit over a sky-blue turtleneck. Next to him sat Timoshenko, sour andgruff; he wore gray coveralls as a symbol of pride in his profession.
Eberly thought he looked like a janitor. Eberly himself wore a darkcharcoal tunic and comfortable slacks of lighter gray, true to thedress code he had promulgated.

Wilmot stood at the podium in his usual tweed jacket and shapelesstrousers, explaining the rules of the debate.

"...each candidate will begin with a five-minute summary of hisposition, to be followed by another five minutes apiece for rebuttal.
Then the meeting will be opened to questions from the audience."

Eberly kept himself from smiling. Vyborg and Kananga had "seeded"
the audience with dozens of supporters, each of them armed withquestions that would allow Eberly to dominate the Q&A period. He hadno intention of allowing Urbain or Timoshenko to say a single wordmore than absolutely necessary.

"So without further ado, allow me to introduce Dr. Edouard Urbain,
head of our scientific section," said Wilmot. He began readingUrbain's curriculum vitae from the display on the podium.

What a bore, thought Eberly. Who cares what scientific honors hewon in Quebec?

At last Urbain got up and went to the podium to the accompanimentof scattered applause. There are only a few scientists in theaudience, Eberly realized. So much the better. He saw that Urbainlimped, ever so slightly. Strange I'd never noticed that before, hesaid to himself. Is that something new, or has he always walked witha little limp? Looking out over the audience, Eberly recognizedseveral of his own people, including Holly and the stuntman, Gaeta,
sitting in the front row. Good. Just as I ordered.

Urbain cleared his throat and said, "As you know, I am not apolitician. But I am a capable administrator. Managing more than onehundred highly individualistic scientists and their assistants hasbeen compared to attempting to make a group of cats march in step."

He stopped, waiting for laughter. A few titters rose from theaudience.

 Looking slightly nettled, Urbain went on: "Allow me to show you howI have managed the scientific programs of this habitat. In this firstimage we see ..."

AVs! Eberly could hardly keep himself from whooping with glee. He'sshowing audiovisuals, as if this was a scientific meeting. Theaudience will go to sleep on him!

Holly felt distinctly uncomfortable sitting next to Gaeta, butEberly had told her to bring the stuntman to the meeting and she hadfollowed his orders.

 Gaeta had smiled his best when Holly called him. "Go to the rallywith you? I'm not much for listening to speeches."

"Dr. Eberly has asked specially that you come," Holly had said tohis image, from the safety of her office. "It would be a favor to 


him."

 "Eberly, huh?" Gaeta mulled it over for a moment. "Okay, why not?
Then we can have dinner together afterward. Okay?"

Despite everything she knew about Gaeta, Holly wanted to say yes.
Instead, "I'm sure Dr. Eberly would like to have dinner with you."

"No, I meant you, Holly."

"I don't think I'll be able to."

 "Why not?"

She wanted to say, Because you've bedded every woman who's beenable to help you. Because you just think of me as a convenience,
because you're an insensitive macho bastard. Because I want you tocare for me and all you care about is getting laid.

But she heard herself say, "Well, maybe. We'll see."

 From his seat on the stage, Eberly saw Urbain's audiovisuals in aweird foreshortening as they hovered in the air behind the speaker'spodium. Urbain was explaining them in a flat, unemotional monotone.

An organization chart. Then some quick telescope images of Titanthat showed a blurry orange sphere. Urbain used a laser pointer toemphasize details that had no interest for Eberly. Or the rest of theaudience, Eberly thought.

"And the final holo," said Urbain. Eberly wanted to break intoapplause.

What appeared in three dimensions above the stage looked like asilver-gray tank.

"This is Alpha," said Urbain, his voice taking on a glow of pride.
"She will descend to the surface of Titan and begin the detailedexploration of that world, directed in real time by my staff ofscientists and technicians."

 The tank lurched into motion, trundling back and forth oncaterpillar treads, extending mechanical arms that ended in pincersor shovel-like scoops. Urbain stood to one side of the podiumwatching the machine, looking like a proud father gazing fondly athis child as it takes its first steps.

Wilmot, who had been sitting in the first row, climbed the stepsonto the stage and advanced to the podium.

"A very impressive demonstration, Dr. Urbain, but I'm afraid yourfive minutes are up," he said, his voice amplified for everyone tohear by the pin mike clipped to the lapel of his jacket.

A grimace of disappointment flashed across Urbain's face, but heimmediately turned off his palm-sized projector and made a smile forthe audience.

 "Thank you for your patience," he said, then turned and took hisseat on Eberly's left. Not one person clapped his hands.

Wilmot, at the podium, said, "And now we have Mr. Ilya Timoshenko,
from the Engineering Department. Mr. Timoshenko was born in Orel,
Russia, and took his degree in electrical engineering..."

Eberly tuned out Wilmot's drone and watched the crowd. There werelots of men and women out there who had also dressed in graycoveralls. My God, he realized: It's like a team uniform. And almosthalf the crowd is wearing gray coveralls!

Timoshenko ambled up to the podium, nodding his thanks to Wilmotand then looking out at the audience. He tried to smile, but on hisdour face it looked more like a grimace.

"I won't need five minutes," he said, his voice rough, gravelly.
"What I have to say is very simple. Dr. Urbain says you should votefor him because he's a scientist. Dr. Eberly is going to tell you tovote for him because he's not a scientist."

 A few people laughed.

"I ask you to vote for me because I'm a working stiff, just as mostof you are. I'm not a department head. I'm not a boss. But I know howto get people to work together and I'm one of you. I'll look out foryour interests because I'm one of you. Remember that when you vote. 


Thank you."

And he turned and went back to his seat. No applause. The audiencewas too surprised at the abruptness of his presentation.

Wilmot looked startled for a moment, but then he rose and wentpurposefully to the podium.

"Thank you, Mr. Timoshenko," Wilmot said, looking over his shoulderat the engineer. Turning back to the audience he said, "I think weshould give Mr. Timoshenko a hearty round of applause, for being sobrief, if for no other reason."

Wilmot started clapping his meaty hands together and the crowdquickly joined in. The applause was perfunctory, Eberly thought, andit quickly faded away.

"Our final candidate," said Wilmot, "is Dr. Malcolm Eberly, head ofthe Human Resources section and chief architect of the proposedconstitution that we will vote on, come election day."

Without a further word of introduction, he turned halfway towardEberly and said simply, "Dr. Eberly."

Several dozen people scattered through the audience got to theirfeet, applauding loudly, as Eberly rose and stepped to the podium.
Others looked around and slowly, almost reluctantly, got up fromtheir seats, too, and began to clap. By the time Eberly gripped theedges of the podium half the audience was on their feet applauding.
Sheep, thought Eberly. Most people are nothing better than stupidsheep. Even Wilmot was standing and clapping halfheartedly, toopolite to do otherwise.

Eberly gestured for silence and everyone sat down.

"I suppose I should say that I'm not a politician, either," hebegan. "Or at least, I wasn't one until I came into this habitat.

"But if there is one thing that I've learned during our long monthsof travel together, it is this: Our society here must not be dividedinto classes. We must be united. Otherwise we will fragment intochaos."

 He turned slightly to glance at Urbain. Then, looking squarely athis audience again, Eberly said, "Do you want to be divided intoscientists and non-scientists? Do you want a small, self-importantelite to run your government? What makes these scientists believethat they should be in charge? Why should you have to take ordersfrom an elite group that puts its own goals and its own needs aheadof yours?"

The audience stirred.

 Raising his voice slightly, Eberly said, "Did the scientists helpto draft the constitution that you will vote on? No. There was not asingle scientist on the drafting committee. They were all too busywith their experiments and observations to bother about the way we'regoing to live."

Urbain began to protest, "But we were not asked--"

Wilmot turned off Urbain's lapel mike. "Rebuttals will come afterthe first position statements," he said firmly.

Urbain's face went red.

 Suppressing a satisfied grin, Eberly said, "Our new government mustbe managed by people from every section of our population. Not onlyscientists. Not only engineers or technicians. We need the factorylaborers and farmers, the office workers and maintenance technicians,
butchers and bakers and candlestick makers. Everyone should have achance to serve in the new government. Everyone should share in theauthority and responsibility of power. Not just one tiny group ofspecialists. Everyone."

They got to their feet with a roar of approval and applauded likethunder. Eberly smiled at them glowingly.

Wilmot stood up and motioned for them to stop. "Your applause iseating into Dr. Eberly's allotted time," he shouted over theirclapping.

The applause petered out and everyone sat down.

Eberly lowered his head for a moment, waiting for them to focus 


their complete attention on him. Then he resumed:

"I'll tell you one other thing we need in our new government. Aperson at its head who understands that we must be united, that wemust never allow one elite group to gain power over the rest of us.
We need a leader who understands the people, a leader who will worktirelessly for everyone, and not merely the scientists."

"Damn right!" came a voice from the audience.

Eberly asked, "Do you want an elite group of specialists to imposetheir will on you?"

"No!" several voices answered.

 "Do you want a government that will work for everyone?"

"Yes!"

 "Do you want a leader who can control the scientists and work foryour benefit?"

"Yes! Yes!" they shouted. And Eberly saw that his own people wereonly a small part of those who rose and responded to him.

He let them cheer and whistle until Wilmot came to the podium toannounce that his initial five minutes were up.

Eberly went placidly back to his seat, noting with pleasure thatUrbain looked upset, almost angry, and Timoshenko's scowl was evendarker than usual.

 Q&A SESSION

 Urbain sputtered through the rebuttal period, defending theimportance of the habitat's science mission, denying that he wouldput the scientists' needs above those of all the others. The more hedenied, Eberly thought, the more firmly he fixed in the audience'smind the fact that he considered the scientists to be separate andapart from--above, really--everyone else.

Timoshenko hammered on his theme of being a simple, ordinaryworking man who understands the needs of the common people. Eberlynoted with pleasure that neither candidate attacked him.

When it came to his time for a rebuttal statement, Eberly walkedslowly to the podium and said:

"We have a choice that reminds me of the three bears in the tale of 
Goldilocks. One of our candidates has too little experience atmanagement. He tells you that he is an ordinary guy. This is quitetrue, but for the leader of this great society we are struggling tocreate we need someone who is not ordinary; we need someone withexperience, and courage, and skill."

He hesitated a heartbeat, then said, "The other candidate has toomuch experience at management. He's been managing scientists for solong that he's completely out of touch with what the rest of us need.
Charts and equations and fancy mechanical toys that will explore thesurface of Titan have nothing to do with our needs and our futurehere in this habitat."

 That brought a round of applause. Eberly stood at the podium, hishead bowed slightly, soaking up the adulation.

At last Wilmot got up and said, "Now we will open the meeting toquestions from the floor, and from those who are watching theseproceedings in their homes."

Eberly snapped his attention to the professor. Wilmot hadn't toldhim that people would be able to call in questions from their homes,
and Vyborg hadn't even warned him of the possibility. We don't haveanyone ready with prepared questions from home, he thought. The crowdis seeded, but not the home audience.

 "He makes some sense," Gaeta said to Holly as they sat down again.
"I mean, Urbain is dead-set against letting me go to Titan, even 


though Kris has shown him she can clean my suit with nanobugs."

Holly nodded and said, "Why don't you ask about that?"

Gaeta nodded back at her. "Good idea!"

 The questions were all for Eberly. The people Vyborg had planted inthe crowd dominated the Q&A period, and even those who weren't plantsaddressed their questions to Eberly, not to Urbain or Timoshenko.
Eberly stood at the podium, ignoring his opponents sitting a fewmeters away. Wilmot stood beside him, choosing the questioners fromthe hands raised in the audience and the incoming calls lighting uphis handheld.

 The questions were all so predictable, Eberly realized with somerelief. Even those calling in from their homes asked the kind ofroutine, boring questions that he could have answered in his sleep.

Yes, I will review all applications for babies. I believe we canallow a modest growth in our population.

No, I will not permit any religious group to attain control of thegovernment. He saw Morgenthau's cheek twitch at that answer, but itwas the answer they had agreed to give. "We have to get voted intopower first," he had told her, time and again, "before we can evenhint at our true affiliations."

 Of course I will pay personal attention to the needs of thefarmers, he said to a caller who refused to identify himself. Withoutthe farms we will quickly starve.

He recognized Manuel Gaeta when the stuntman rose to his feet toask, "Will you permit me to go to the surface of Titan?"

Everyone knew Gaeta and his beat-up handsome face. All attention inthe outdoor theater turned to him.

 Eberly couldn't help smiling. "If you can satisfy the scientiststhat you won't contaminate the life-forms on Titan, I don't see anyreason to prevent you from going."

Wilmot turned and motioned Urbain to come up to the podium. "Dr.
Urbain, what is your position on this?"

Slicking his hair back with one hand, Urbain said withouthesitation, "The threat of contamination to the microbial organismsof Titan is much too serious to allow any human exploration of thatworld for the foreseeable future. Besides, we have no choice in thematter. The IAA forbids any human intervention on Titan's surface."

Gaeta called from the first row, "But Dr. Cardenas has shown youthat she can clean my suit."

Wilmot said to the audience, "Mr. Gaeta is referring to the work ofDr. Kristin Cardenas, who has developed nanomachines that may becapable of decontaminating Mr. Gaeta's spacesuit."

"The decontamination appears to be acceptable," Urbain conceded,
looking a little flustered, "but appearances can be deceiving.
Besides, we should not take the risk of having nanomachines infectTitan's ecology."

Eberly nudged Urbain away from the podium and looked out at the seaof faces watching them. "This is a good example of why we can't allowthe scientists to have control of the government. Why shouldn't thisman be allowed to carry out his adventure, if it's been proven thathe won't hurt the bugs down there?"

"It has not been proven!"

"Dr. Cardenas says that it has been," Eberly countered.

"Not to my satisfaction," snapped Urbain.

"Your satisfaction!" Eberly shouted. "In other words, you make thedecision and everyone else has to obey you--even a Nobel Prize winnerlike Dr. Cardenas."

 "It is my decision to make," Urbain insisted.

"I thought you said the International Astronautical Associationmade the decision."

 "Yes, of course, that's true," Urbain stammered, "but if necessaryI could override their decision. After all, I am the director of all 


scientific efforts here."

 "You want to be a dictator!" Eberly exclaimed, pretending shock.

Wilmot jumped between them. "Wait a moment. There is another issuehere. What about the dangers of nanotechnology?"

"Nanotechnology is a tool," Urbain said. "A tool that must be usedcarefully--but nothing more than a tool, nonetheless."

Eberly was surprised at that. All he could add was, "Yes, I agree."

Timoshenko rose from his chair. "Wait. There are dangers withnanotechnology. The bugs can get out of control--"

"Bullshit!" came a screaming voice from the audience. Kris Cardenasshot to her feet, her face white with anger. "Show me one instancewhere nanomachines have gotten out of control. They've been usingnanobugs at Selene and the other lunar communities for decades now,
and there's been no trouble at all. Not one incident."

 Timoshenko scowled at her. "Nanobugs killed several people, backwhen it was still called Moonbase."

 "That was deliberate murder. You might as well outlaw hammersbecause they've been used to smash people's skulls."

Wilmot spread his hands to calm things down. "No one is thinking ofoutlawing nanotechnology," he said flatly. "We recognize Dr. Cardenasas the solar system's acknowledged expert on the subject, and we haveagreed to use nanomachines--but under the strictest safetyprocedures."

Before either of the other candidates could say anything, Eberlystepped in. "Nanotechnology can be very helpful to us, and I haveevery confidence in Dr. Cardenas's ability to develop nanomachinessafely."

"I too," said Urbain.

They all turned to Timoshenko. He grimaced, then said, "With allrespect to the admired Dr. Cardenas, I believe nanomachines can bevery dangerous in a closed environment such as ours. They should bebanned."

 Eberly seized the moment. "Most of us are here in this habitat," hesaid, "because of laws and regulations that stifled our lives. Mostof us are educated, knowledgeable, unafraid of new ideas and newcapabilities. We have all suffered under governments that restrictedour freedoms."

 He saw several heads nodding agreement.

"All right then," he asked the audience, "how many of you are infavor of banning nanotechnology altogether?"

The people hesitated, glanced at each other. A few hands went up.
Very few. Down on the floor, Kris Cardenas looked around, smiled, andsat down.

 Eberly nodded, satisfied. Turning to Timoshenko, he said, "Thereyou are. Vox populi, vox dei."

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 20 DAYS

 Holly saw that it would be senseless to try to talk with Malcolmafter the debate ended. He was immediately surrounded by admirers,
including Morgenthau and that dark little man, Vyborg. Kris Cardenaspushed her way through the departing throng, a bright grin on herface. "I think we might get you down to Titan after all," she said toGaeta.

 He grinned back at her. "Maybe. If Eberly wins the election."

Holly suddenly felt like a third wheel on a bicycle, standingbetween Kris and Manny. The crowd was thinning out, little knots ofthree or four people heading for home or one of the restaurants.
Eberly came down from the stage, enveloped in well-wishers andsycophants. As he walked past Holly he nodded to her and smiled, buthe did not invite her to join his group. 


 Before she could feel any reaction, Gaeta said, "Come on, Holly,
we'll walk you home."

Surprised, Holly glanced at Cardenas. She arched one brow, as if toremind Holly of what they had learned about the stuntman'sactivities.

 Holly nodded back and the three of them started across the grassand up the lakeside path toward the village of Athens.

"I didn't see Nadia here," Cardenas said as they climbed toward theapartment buildings.

"She's probably working," Gaeta said. "Urbain's given her some timeon a telescope; she's always up in the observatory now."

"I thought she'd come with you," said Holly.

He actually looked surprised. "With me?"

Holly let it pass. They reached Cardenas's building and saidgoodnight, then Gaeta walked with Holly to the next building, whereher apartment was.

"You've been seeing Nadia a lot, haven't you?" she asked.

Gaeta nodded. "If this Titan gig falls through, I've got to dosomething to keep my investors happy. She's helping me plan a jauntthrough the rings."

"Sure."

 The dawn of understanding finally shed its light on Gaeta's face.
"Ohh," he said. "She told you, didn't she?"

"It came up in conversation, yes," said Holly.

They were at the door to her apartment building. As Gaeta stoppedthere, the habitat's lighting flicked from its evening mode to thenighttime system. His face fell into shadow, but Holly could see himwell enough.

"Okay," he admitted, "it happened."

"More than once."

 He grinned sheepishly. "Christ, you sound like a priest atconfession: 'How many times?'"

"It's not funny, Manny."

"You didn't take our times together seriously, did you?"

She thought a moment, then half-lied, "No, not all that seriously,
I guess."

"I mean, I know I was supposed to look out for you, but, well... itjust sort of happened."

"It happens a lot with you."

"You seemed to enjoy it at the time," he said softly.

Holly suddenly realized what he had just said. "What do you mean,
you were supposed to look out for me?"

He took a deep breath. "That's why I'm here, Holly. Your sisterwanted me to keep an eye on you."

She felt her jaw drop open. "Pancho? Panch hired you?"

Shuffling from one foot to another like a little boy caught in aplace where he shouldn't have been, Gaeta said, "It's not thatsimple, Holly. She didn't exactly hire me."

"She thought I needed a bodyguard," Holly groused. "My big sisterdidn't trust me out here on my own."

"I was trying to raise the funding for the Titan gig," he tried toexplain, "and this guy from Astro Corporation came up with an offer."

Suddenly the absurdity of it hit Holly like a bucketful of ice-coldwater. She broke into laughter.

Perplexed, Gaeta asked, "What's so funny?"

"You are. And my big sister. She hired you to protect me, and youpop me into bed. My faithful watchdog. When she finds out she'll wantto castrate you."

"She wanted me to keep you away from Eberly and that's what I did."

Holly's laughter choked off like a light switch being thrown.
"Panch hired you to keep me away from Malcolm?"

He nodded sheepishly.

"And that's why you took me to bed?"

"No! I didn't plan that. You ... I... it just--" 


 "Just sort of happened. I know."

"I didn't hurt you."

"The hell you didn't," Holly snapped. "And then you go off andscrew Kris, and then Nadia. You'll be lucky if you live long enoughto get to Titan."

"Oh Christ. Does Kris know about all this?"

 "Kris? Sure she knows. So does Nadia."

 "So my name's mud with her, eh?"

"With Nadia?"

 "With Kris."

 "Why don't you ask her?"

In the shadowy lighting it was hard to make out the expression onGaeta's face, but the tone of his voice came through clearly enough.
"Because I'd ... mierda! I really like Kris."

"More than Nadia?"

 "More than anybody. I guess I hurt her feelings, didn't I? I guessshe's pissed off at me."

Holly couldn't resist the opportunity. "I don't think she's reallymad at you. Of course, she's working up some nanobugs that eattesticles, but other than that I don't think she's sore at you atall."

 Gaeta mumbled, "Guess I can't blame her." Then he turned away andstarted walking down toward his own quarters, head hung low. Hollyalmost felt sorry for him. Almost.

They're all trying to keep me away from Malcolm, Holly thought asshe undressed for bed. Pancho, Manny, Morgenthau, they're all tryingto keep Malcolm and me apart.

As she slipped into bed and commanded the lights to turn off, shewondered if she still wanted Malcolm the way she did when she firstcame aboard the habitat. He's been so bugging distant; he doesn'tcare about me. He hardly even knows I'm alive. But he's been so busy.
This political stuff takes all his time. It was different when wefirst met, different when we started out in this habitat. I could seehim all the time then, and he liked me, I know he did.

How can he like me, how can he even think about me, when he neversees me? He's always surrounded by Morgenthau and that Vyborg snake.
And Kananga, he scares me.

How can I get past them? How can I get to be alone with Malcolm,
even for a few minutes?

 Her thoughts drifted to her sister. She hired Manny. She's payinghim big bucks to keep me away from Malcolm. He made love to me formoney, the dirty ... Holly tried to think of the masculine equivalentof the word "whore."

 Lying in bed, staring into the darkness, she thought, So Panchowants to keep me away from Malcolm, does she. I'll show her. I'll getto Malcolm. I'll get past the Hippo and the Snake and even Kananga,
the Panther.

 And suddenly, like a bright light clicking on, she knew how toaccomplish that.

 MIDNIGHT I

 Holly got out of bed and dressed swiftly. She didn't have to checka directory to know where Eberly's quarters were; she had thecomplete map of the habitat in her head, every square centimeter,
every assigned apartment, laboratory, workshop, airlock, even themaze of underground tunnels and conduits.

Yet she hesitated before leaving her own apartment. The clock saidthree minutes before midnight, but she thought that Eberly wouldprobably still have a throng of admirers and well-wishers crowdinghis quarters. Better to wait. Wait until they all leave. 


 So she went instead to her office and pulled up a display from theoutdoor surveillance camera that looked at Eberly's building. Sureenough, people were still milling around out on the grounds. Hisapartment must be jammed with them, Holly thought.

Drowsily she watched as the crowd slowly thinned away. She fellasleep, then woke with a start. The digital clock said 02:34. Theapartment building looked dark and silent. He's prob'ly asleep bynow, Holly thought. For several moments she debated inwardly aboutawakening him. He works so hard, she thought; he needs his rest.

But you'll never get to see him alone otherwise, Holly toldherself. She commanded the phone to call Eberly.

"You have reached the residence of Dr. Malcolm Eberly," his phoneanswered. "Please leave your name and Dr. Eberly will return yourcall."

 Screw that! Holly said to herself. She got up from her desk chairand headed for his apartment.

There was a perfunctory security lock on the building's main door.
Holly had memorized all the combinations long ago, and tapped on thekeypad. The door popped open. As she went up the stairs, a suddenthought shook her. Maybe he's not alone! Maybe he's got somebody withhim.

 With a shake of her head, Holly told herself, Better to find outnow. She marched down the shadowy hallway, lit only by the glow offluorescent nameplates on each door. Eberly's apartment was at theend of the hall.

 She took a breath and rapped on the door. No response. Holly bangedon it with the flat of her hand, worrying that the noise would wakethe neighbors but determined to get Eberly to answer her.

She heard someone cough on the other side of the door. ThenEberly's muffled voice demanded, "Who is it?"

"Holly," she said, standing squarely in front of the peephole.

Eberly slid the door back. He had a dark-colored robe pulled aroundhim, his hair looked slightly tousled.

"There is a doorbell," he said crankily.

"I've got to talk to you," she said. "It's urgent."

As if he were slowly remembering his manners, Eberly gestured herinto his sitting room. A snap of his fingers and the glarelessoverhead lights came on. Now Holly could see that his robe was deepmaroon. And his feet were bare.

 "What is it, Holly? What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry to bother you at this hour, Malcolm, but I can't getpast Morgenthau and all your other assistants and I've got to haveyour help and the only way I could see you alone was like this."

He smiled a little and slicked back his hair with one hand. "All 
right. You're seeing me. What's the problem?"

"Diego Romero. He was murdered."

"Murdered?" The strength seemed to leak out of Eberly's legs. Hesank down onto the sofa.

 Taking the closest chair to him, Holly said, "I'm positive. Itwasn't an accident. He was trying to push himself out of the waterand somebody held him down."

Eberly swallowed visibly, then asked, "You have proof of this?"

"I have evidence. The abrasions on his hands. They couldn't havehappened any other way." Picturing the scene in her mind once again,
she added, "And there were boot prints in the dirt, too many printsfor one person to make."

"But who would want to kill that gentle old man? Why would someonewant to murder him?"

 "I don't know," Holly said. "That's why I need your help. Thereought to be an investigation."

He sat in silence for a moment, obviously thinking furiously.
"Holly, this is a matter for the Security Department. You should tellthem about your evidence."

"Security? That means Kananga, doesn't it?" 


 "He's in charge of security, yes."

Holly wrung her hands. "I don't think he'd take me seriously.
He's... he wouldn't think my evidence is enough to start a realinvestigation."

Eberly leaned back in the sofa. "Colonel Kananga is an experiencedpolice officer. He'll know what to do."

"Malcolm, he scares me," she confessed.

He said nothing for several heartbeats, looking at Holly with thosestartling blue eyes of his. Then he smiled gently. "Holly, would youlike me to go with you to Kananga?"

Her heart clutched within her. "Would you?"

"For you, Holly, of course."

"Oh, great. Cosmic!"

Eberly's smile grew warmer. "I'll call Kananga first thing in themorning." His eyes shifted to the digital clock across the room.
"Which is only a few hours from now."

She shot to her feet. "Oh, jeeps, I'm so sorry to bother you atthis time of night, Malcolm. It's just that I can't get to see youanytime else, you've always got so many people around and--"

Eberly rose and grasped her shoulder lightly. "I know. I've been soterribly busy. Too busy. But I'll always make time for you, Holly.
Simply call me here at my quarters. Leave a message and I'll get backto you so we can meet together, in private."

She didn't know what to say, except utter an awed, "Cosmic."

Eberly guided her to the door. "I don't want you to worry about athing, Holly. We'll meet with Kananga tomorrow. And from now on,
whenever you want to see me, simply leave a message on my privateline, here."

"I will, Malcolm. I surely will."

As she walked homeward, feeling almost light-headed, Holly realizedhow wrong, how stupid, Pancho had been. Malcolm could've taken me tohis bed and I'd have hopped in like a rabbit on aphrodisiacs, shethought. But Malcolm was too much of a gentleman to even think aboutthat. And the guy Panch hired to protect me screws me whenever hefeels like it. Some bodyguard.

 MIDNIGHT II

 Manuel Gaeta did not go to sleep, either. By the time he reachedhis own quarters he had decided he should call Kris Cardenas and tellher everything.

"Can I see you, Kris?" he asked to her image floating in the middleof his one-room apartment. She was still wearing the slacks andblouse from earlier in the evening. Then Gaeta realized she wasn't inher apartment; the phone had tracked her to her laboratory.

Cardenas looked slightly bemused. "Sure, Manny. When?"

"Tonight. Now."

"Now?" She seemed to think it over for a few moments. "Okay. Comeon over to my lab. I'll wait for you."

"Great!"

 Halfway there, Gaeta remembered Holly's crack about Kris developingnanobugs that ate testicles. He laughed to himself. Hey man, he saidto himself, you live with danger. That's the life you've chosen.

Cardenas wasn't laughing, though, when she opened the locked doorto her lab. She looked bright and perky, despite the late hour, bututterly serious.

"What's on your mind, Manny?" she asked as she led him past a rowof lab benches and spotless, gleaming plastic and metal equipment.
"You are," he said.

Cardenas perched herself on a high swiveling stool and pointed to ahard straight-backed chair for Gaeta. He remained standing. 


 "So you're thinking about me at--" she glanced at the clock on thefar wall, "--twenty-eight minutes before one o'clock in the morning."

Gaeta folded his arms across his chest. "Come on, Kris, cut thecrap. Holly told me that you know about her and about Nadia."

"I imagine you're bragging to all your buddies about your hitparade."

"I haven't said a word to anybody. You grow up where I did, youlearn to keep your mouth shut."

She eyed him, disbelief clear in her expression. And somethingelse, he thought. Curiosity? Maybe even regret?

"I just want you to know," he said, "that you're the only one whomeans anything to me. You're the one I don't want to lose."

That shocked her. "You're joking!"

"No joke, Kris," he said. "I've never said this to anybody else inmy life. I think I love you."

Cardenas started to reply, then closed her mouth, pressed her lipstogether tightly.

"I mean it," Gaeta said. "I never said that to anybody before."

At last she replied, so softly he could barely hear her, "I neverthought I'd hear anyone say that to me again."

 Ruth Morgenthau wanted to sleep, but she had hours and hours ofvids to watch and phone taps to listen to. Eberly was pressing herfor results, and she was determined to go through all of the materialthat Vyborg had amassed on Professor Wilmot's communications. So shesat in her padded recliner, resisting the urge to crank it all theway back and drift off to sleep. I've let this material pile up somuch, she realized. I've got to wade through it; otherwise it willjust get worse.

Why not let Vyborg do this? she asked herself wearily as the hoursground on. He's put the taps in place, his people have set up thecameras in Wilmot's quarters and office. Why not let him drudgethrough all this drivel? She knew the answer: it was because ifVyborg found something, Vyborg would get the credit in Eberly's eyes.
Morgenthau shook her head ponderously. No, that will never do. Ifanyone is going to bring Wilmot low, it must be me. Eberly must seethat I did it. No one else but me.

 She worried about Eberly's devotion to their cause. He seems moreinterested in being admired than in furthering the reach of the HolyDisciples. He's an American, of course, and they're all infatuatedwith their own individuality, but still he's subject to the judgmentsof their New Morality.

Another reason to see this job through, she thought. If I can bringhim something to use against Wilmot, it will make Eberly see that heneeds me. Vyborg and that murderous Kananga can help him in someways, but I must make him realize that he is dependent on me. Oneword from me can put him back in prison, yet he treats me as justanother of his underlings. He's smart enough to call my bluff onthat. If I send him packing, our whole mission here will bedestroyed. Urbain or that growling Russian will be elected leader ofthis habitat and I'll have failed miserably.

Eberly has no respect for my abilities. He thinks I'm lazy,
incompetent. Well, let me bring him the goods on Wilmot and hisopinion of me will have to change.

Silently Morgenthau prayed for help, for success. Let me findsomething that we can use against Wilmot, she prayed. For the greaterglory of God, let me find a way to bring the professor to his knees.

The only answer she received was hour after hour of watching Wilmotat his desk, listening to his phone conversations, reading thereports he wrote before he encoded them to send back to Earth. Eachevening the professor sat watching vids for hours. Morgenthau fast-
forwarded and skipped past them. She could not see them clearly fromthe vantage point of the camera set in Wilmot's sitting room ceiling, 


and she couldn't hear the sound tracks because he listened to the 
vids through a miniature plug he wormed into his ear. Hour afterhour, he watched the indecipherable vids.

And hour after hour, Morgenthau skimmed past them, looking forsomething tangible, something sinful or illegal or merelyembarrassing, something that could hurt Professor Wilmot.

Utterly bored and weary, Morgenthau yawned and rubbed her heavy-
lidded eyes. I can barely stay awake, she said to herself. Enough isenough.

She turned off the display, still showing Wilmot staring at hisentertainment vid in rapt concentration, and started to push herselfup from her recliner when she remembered to check if Wilmot had sentany messages out of the habitat, to Earth. Each week he sent a codedreport to somewhere in Atlanta, she knew. Very cryptic, even once thecomputer decoded them. A strange coincidence that whoever Wilmot wasreporting to resided in the same city as the headquarters of the NewMorality. Morgenthau shrugged it off as merely a coincidence.

Already half asleep, she pulled up the file of his outgoingmessages.

Aside from the usual brief report to Atlanta, there was an evenshorter message to some address in Copenhagen. And he had sent it notthrough the usual radio channel, but by a tight-beam laser link.

Suddenly Morgenthau was wide awake, calling the same number inCopenhagen, tracing Wilmot's message.

 "She knows?" Vyborg asked, startled.

Eberly, walking along the curving path between Vyborg and Kananga,
replied, "She suspects."

To a casual observer the three men seemed to be ambling slowlyalong the flower-bordered pathway out beyond the edges of Athens.
Late morning sunlight streamed through the habitat's solar windows.
Bees hummed among the hyacinths and hollyhocks. Butterfliesfluttered. Vyborg, short and spare, hunching over slightly as hewalked, was scowling like a man who had just swallowed somethingvile. Even tall, regal Kananga, on Eberly's other side, lookeddispleased, perhaps even worried.

"And she came to you for help," Kananga said.

Eberly nodded slowly. "I have volunteered to bring her to youroffice."

 "Not my office," said Kananga. "Too many eyes watching there. We'llhave to meet somewhere more secluded."

 "Where?" Eberly asked.

Vyborg suggested, "How about the scene of the crime?"

Kananga smiled gleamingly. "Perfect."

Eberly glanced from one man to the other. They're drawing me intotheir crime, he realized. They're going to make me a party to anothermurder. What alternative do I have? How can I keep clear of this?

Aloud, he said, "I'll tell her to meet me at the scene of the oldman's death, but I won't be there when she arrives."

"I will," said Kananga.

"She's got to disappear entirely," Eberly said. "We can't haveanother dead body to explain."

Vyborg said, "In a habitat as large as this, there must bethousands of places where she could run off to."

"I don't want her body found," Eberly repeated.

"It won't be," said Kananga. "That's what airlocks are for."
Looking past Eberly to Vyborg, he said, "You'll be able to erase theairlock security camera record, won't you?"

Vyborg nodded. "And replace it with perfectly normal footage thatwill show absolutely nothing."

"Good," Kananga said.

Eberly drew in a deep breath. "Very well. When shall we do it?"

"The sooner the better." 


 "This afternoon, then."

"Fourteen hundred hours," Kananga suggested.

"Make it earlier," said Vyborg, "while most of the people are atlunch."

 "Yes," Kananga agreed. "Say, twelve-thirty hours."

"Good." Vyborg smiled, relieved.

"I don't like any of this," Eberly said.

"But it's got to be done."

"I know. That's why I'm helping you."

"Helping us?" Vyborg challenged. "What will you be doing to helpus? The colonel here is doing what needs to be done. You'll be inyour office, establishing an alibi."

Eberly looked down at the smaller man coldly. "I'll be in my officeamending Holly Lane's dossier to show that she is emotionallyunstable, and has attempted suicide in the past."

Kananga laughed aloud. "Good thinking. Then her disappearance won'tlook so suspicious."

"Just be certain that her body isn't found," Eberly snapped.

"It won't be," said Kananga, "unless someone wants to get into aspacesuit and search a few million kilometers of vacuum."

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 19 DAYS

 Holly and Eberly walked past the orchard's neat rows of trees,
heading for the spot along the irrigation canal where Don Diego haddrowned. Holly didn't need a map or a marker; she remembered theexact location perfectly.

"But what did Kananga find?" she asked.

Eberly shrugged his rounded shoulders. "I don't know. He said hedidn't want to talk about it on the phone."

"Must be something important," she said, quickening her pace. "Mustbe." Eberly touched his comm, in the breast pocket of his tunic.
Vyborg was supposed to call him, give him an excuse to leave Hollyand head back to his office. Why hasn't he called? Is he trying tomake certain I'm involved personally in this? Trying to make me awitness to Holly's murder? An accomplice?

Holly was oblivious to his nervous behavior. "Wonder what it couldbe?"

 "What what could be?" Eberly asked, with growing impatience.
"Whatever it is that Kananga found."

Your death, he replied silently. He's going to kill you, and makeme a party to it.

"Wait," said Eberly, reaching out to grasp Holly's arm. "What isit, Malcolm?"

He stood there, feeling cold sweat beading his upper lip, hisforehead, trickling down his ribs. I can't do it, he realized. Ican't let them draw me in this deep.

"Holly, I..." What to say? How can I get out of this withouttelling her everything?

His comm buzzed. Almost giddy with relief, Eberly fished it out ofhis tunic pocket and fumbled it open.

Instead of Vyborg's dark, sour face, Morgenthau appeared on theminiature screen. She was smiling broadly. "I've found it," she said,
without preamble. "His entertainment vids. They're--"

"I'm out here in the orchard with Holly," he interrupted, his voiceas strong and imperative as he could make it without shouting. "Whatis it that you've found?"

Morgenthau looked flustered for a moment, then she seemed tounderstand what he was trying to tell her. "It's an important breakthrough," she temporized. "Too complicated to discuss over the phone.
I must show you all the details, so that you can then discuss them 


with Professor Wilmot."

 "Is it urgent?" he prompted.

"Oh, yes, quite urgent." Morgenthau took her cue. "I suggest youcome to my office immediately. This can't wait."

"Very well," he said sharply. "I'll meet you at your office."

He clicked the handheld shut and looked up at Holly. "I'm afraidI'll have to go back. You go on to your meeting with Kananga. I'lljoin you as soon as I can."

Holly was clearly disappointed, but she nodded her understanding.
Without another word, Eberly turned around and started walkingquickly back toward the village, practically loping through thetrees. Puzzled, Holly turned back and headed for the irrigationculvert. Then she realized she would have to see Kananga by herself.
The prospect didn't please her, but she was determined to find outwhat the security chief had learned about Don Diego's death.

No, not death, Holly reminded herself. Murder.

 For one of the rare times in his life, Manuel Gaeta felt awkward.
As he walked down the corridor toward Nadia Wunderly's cubbyholeoffice, he actually felt nervous, like a teenager going out on hisfirst date. Like a guilty little kid going to confession.

The door marked planetary sciences staff was wide open. The areainside looked like a maze constructed of shoulder-high partitions,
filled with quietly intense scientists and their assistants. Gaetahad been there often enough to know the way, but this particularmorning he got confused, lost, and had to ask directions. Everybodyseemed to know who he was and they smilingly pointed him in the rightdirection. The women seemed to smile especially warmly, he noticed.

None of that now, he told himself sternly.

Feeling a little like a mouse in a psychologist's maze, Gaetafinally made it to Wunderly's cubbyhole, which was about as far fromthe front door as it could be.

 "Good morning, Manny," she said, barely looking up as he hesitatedby the entryway.

"Hi," he said as brightly as he could manage. "You got the resultsfor me?"

 She nodded without smiling. Unasked, Gaeta took the squeaky littleplastic chair at the side of her desk. Suma friadad, he thought. Aman could freeze to death in here.

 Wunderly projected a set of tables on the blank partition thatformed the back wall of her cubicle. "These are the frequencies ofparticles bigger than ten centimeters in the brightest belt, the Bring," she said, her voice flat, as unemotional as a machine. "Andhere are the deviations that they--"

"I don't blame you for being sore at me," he interrupted.

She blinked her big gray eyes slowly, solemnly.

"I know you and Kris talked."

"Holly, too."

He conceded with a shrug and a weak attempt at a boyish smile.
"Yeah, and Holly too."

"And God knows who else."

 "Now wait," he said, raising a hand defensively. "It's bad enough,
don't go making it worse than it is."

"I don't want to talk about it," Wunderly said.

"I owe you an apology."

She glared at him for a moment. Then, "I don't want to talk aboutit. Ever again."

"But I--"

 "Never again, Manny!" Her eyes flashed. She meant it, he realized.

Wunderly took a breath, then said, "Our relationship from now on isstrictly business. You want to go skydiving through the rings and Iwant to draw public attention to the rings. We'll work together onthis strictly as professionals. No personal involvement. Understood?" 


 "Understood," he said weakly.

"With any luck, I'll get a big fat grant to study the rings andyou'll break your ass."

Despite himself, Gaeta grinned at her. "With any luck," he agreed.

 Holly walked along the culvert to the spot where Don Diego's murderhad taken place. As she made her way down the dirt embankment shelooked for Kananga. He was nowhere in sight.

He's not here? she wondered. What's going on?

Then she saw his tall, lanky form, maybe a hundred meters up theembankment, standing there, waiting for her. As usual, he was dressedcompletely in black: tunic, slacks, boots, all dead black.

"Hello," she called.

Kananga started toward her.

"This is the spot, right here," Holly shouted. "By the peach treesup there."

Kananga called back, "Are you certain?"

"I remember every detail."

He stopped once he was within arm's reach. "You have an excellentmemory."

"Photographic," Holly said. She tried to hide her nervousness, withKananga towering over her. She noticed that his boots left prints inthe dirt just like the ones at the murder scene.

"And I suppose that spot, there," he stretched out a long arm,
pointing, "is where you found the old man's body."

Holly pointed slightly more leftward. "Over there. That's where itwas."

 "I see." And he grabbed Holly, one big hand clamped over her face,
covering her nose and mouth, the other arm wrapped around her waist,
pinning her arms to her sides and lifting her completely off herfeet.

 FIGHT OR FLEE

 Can't breathe! Kananga's big hand was clamped over Holly's face,
smothering her. She flailed her feet, trying to kick him, but hersoftbooted feet merely bounced off his long, muscular legs.

Holly's arms were pinned to her sides as Kananga carried her downalong the culvert. She was desperately gasping for air but his handwas gripping her painfully, tighter and tighter.

Holly's right hand brushed against Kananga's slacks. Withoutconscious thought she felt for his crotch, grabbed and squeezed ashard as she could. He yowled and dropped her. Holly landed on theballs of her feet and whirled to face him. Kananga was doubled over,
his face contorted with pain. She kicked him in the side of his headwith every gram of strength she could muster.

Kananga went sprawling. Holy jeeps! Holly said to herself. I musthave had martial arts training back on Earth. Kananga was staggeringto his knees, groaning. Holly kicked him again and then took off,
racing as fast as she could along the sloping concrete wall of theculvert, splashing along the edge of the stream, getting as far awayfrom Kananga as fast as she could.

 By the time Eberly got back to the administration building, most ofhis nervousness had abated. Kananga's killed her. It's on his head,
not mine. Nobody knows that I led Holly to him. Not even Morgenthauknows. If Kananga gets caught, I can distance myself from him.

He entered the Human Resources section of the building and walkedpast the four clerical types working at their desks. The door to 


Morgenthau's office was closed; he slid it open without knocking.

She looked up sharply from her desk, recognized who had invaded herprivacy, and put on a smile for Eberly.

He glanced around before sliding the door shut again and taking thechair in front of the desk. This used to be my office, he thought,
noting how Morgenthau had tricked up the walls with holoviews ofMonet's paintings of cathedrals.

"You found something of Wilmot's?" he asked, without preamble. Itwas important to make Morgenthau understand who was the chief hereand who the underling. Otherwise she'd flaunt her connections to theHoly Disciples and try to control him.

"Something that can destroy him," Morgenthau said, smilingdevilishly.

Eberly hiked his brows dubiously. "Really?"

"Really." Morgenthau projected a list of titles against a bare spoton the wall. Each title had a still picture image alongside it.

Eberly gaped at the pictures.

"Pure filth," Morgenthau said. "He watches these disgusting vidsevery night before he goes to bed."

"You're sure?"

 She nodded, grim-faced. "Every night. I have it all on camera."

Eberly broke into laughter. "We have him!" he crowed. "We haveWilmot in our grasp." And he clenched both his hands into tight,
painful fists.

 "I may have a concussion." Kananga lay stretched out on the sofa inVyborg's apartment, long legs dangling over the sofa's edge, his headthundering with pain. The side of his face was swollen.

Vyborg carried a cold towel to the colonel, biting his lips to keepfrom screaming curses at the blundering idiot. Allowing a little slipof a girl to beat him up! To get away! Now she knows for certain thatRomero was murdered. He kept silent, though. In the foul mood he'sin, Kananga might decide to throttle me if I tell him what I actuallythink of him.

 "Where did she go? Where is she now?" Vyborg said, his voice low,
sibilant. "That's the important question."

"You've got to tell Eberly."

"I've got to? Why not you? You're the one who allowed her to getaway."

"You tell him," Kananga said, his face hard, determined.

Vyborg didn't try to suppress the angry disdain he felt. Puffing adisgusted breath from his nostrils he called, "Phone! Connect me withDr. Eberly, wherever he is. Emergency priority."

Within ten seconds Eberly's face appeared hovering in the air abovethe coffee table. He was smiling happily. Vyborg immediately saw thathe was in Morgenthau's office.

"I'm glad you called," Eberly said. "I have important news for youboth."

 "I'm afraid I have news, also," said Vyborg. "Bad news."

Eberly's smile faded. Behind him, Morgenthau looked suddenlyconcerned.

 No sense prolonging the agony, Vyborg decided. Come right out withit. "Holly Lane escaped."

"Escaped? What do you mean?"

"Apparently she is a martial arts champion. She got away from ourgood colonel here," Vyborg gestured toward Kananga, still supine onthe sofa, "and we have no idea where she is."

Eberly stared at the three-dimensional image that filled half ofMorgenthau's office: Vyborg standing tense and obviously angry whileKananga lay on the sofa pressing a cold towel to his head.

He glanced at Morgenthau, whose expression was gradually changingfrom puzzlement to understanding. She's piecing it together, Eberlyrealized. Now she knows that I'm involved in the attempt on Holly's 


life.

 Shaking inside with a mixture of fury and fear, Eberly managed tosay, "I want you both at my apartment in five minutes."

 Holly ran blindly along the culvert until her lungs burned withexertion. She stopped, bent over, puffing hard. A glance backwardshowed nothing. He's not following me, she decided with some relief.
Prob'ly unconscious, the way I kicked him. Jeeps, maybe he's dead.
She straightened up and headed up the embankment, into the dappledshadows of the orchard. Serve him right, she thought. He tried tokill me. He must've killed Don Diego.

Kay, she told herself. Kananga killed Don Diego. Why? She had noidea. Who do I tell about it? Malcolm?

 Then she realized that Malcolm had led her to this meeting withKananga. Had suggested it in the first place. Malcolm knew what wasgoing down. He's part of it, whatever "it" is, she realized.

She wanted to cry. Malcolm's involved in Don Diego's murder. Hewanted Kananga to murder me!

Who could she trust? Who could she turn to? I can't go back to myapartment, they might be waiting for me there. Kris! I'll call Kris.
Or maybe Manny. She thought about it as she hurried through the appletrees at the far end of the orchard. Ahead lay rows of berry bushesand, beyond that, the endcap.

Not Manny, she decided. I won't go running to him like somehelpless little girl asking the big, strong hero to protect her. Heprob'ly wouldn't believe me, anyway. Kris would. Kris'll believe me.
But should I get her involved in this?

She kept on walking toward the endcap, trying to sort out heroptions and finding there weren't all that many options open to her.
If Eberly is part of this, whatever it is, that means Morgenthau andthat slimy Vyborg snake are part of it too.

Under the stand of elms at the endcap, Holly sat tiredly on thegrass and tried to think. Looking down the length of the greenlandscape, the habitat seemed exactly the same as it had been the dayshe and Kris Cardenas had stopped here. But nothing was the same,
Holly thought, her insides suddenly hollow. Her whole world hadcrashed and burned. I wish Pancho was here, she admitted to herself.
Panch would know what to do.

 Holly pulled out her comm unit and stared at it in her hand. Nosense calling Pancho; it'd take the better part of an hour for amessage to get to her. And what could I say to her? Help, somebody'sjust tried to murder me? What good would that do?

Kris. I'll call Kris. She said to the comm unit, "Kris Cardenas."

Nothing happened. Holly saw that the screen was flat and dark. Theunit wasn't working.

They've deactivated my phone! Why? she asked herself. And answered,
Because they want me to use a wall phone, so then they'll know whereI am. They're after me! They want to locate me and grab me.

For the first time, Holly felt truly afraid.

 NANOTECH LABORATORY

 "We'll go on the day after we establish orbit around Saturn," Gaetasaid.

 Sitting at her desk in her office cubicle, Kris Cardenas looked farfrom pleased. "Why so soon? Why not wait and get more data first?"

Gaeta smiled at her. "This isn't science, Kris, it's show biz. Wego right away, we get a lot more attention, much bigger audience. Wewait until the chingado scientists have all the data they want, we'llbe old and gray and nobody'll give a damn anymore." 


 Her cornflower-blue eyes snapped. "I'm one of those chingadoscientists, Manny."

Pursing his lips, Gaeta answered, "You'd be a chingada, feminine.
But you're not. It's not a nice word and you're a nice person."

Cardenas was not amused. "Isn't it dangerous enough withoutplunging in there as soon as we arrive at Saturn?"

"Kris, I love you, but I don't think you're ever gonna understandmy business. The more danger the better."

"Until you kill yourself."

"I'm not gonna kill myself. Fritz won't let me. It'd ruin thedamned suit. He'd kill me if I did that."

 Despite herself, Cardenas laughed.

Raoul Tavalera popped his head over the edge of the cubicle'spartition. "I'm goin' home now. Okay?"

"That's fine, Raoul," said Cardenas.

An uncertain expression clouded Tavalera's long face. "You heardfrom Holly this afternoon?"

"No."

 "She said she'd call me. We were goin' to go out for dinner. But Ihaven't heard from her all day. And she's not answering her phone."

Before Cardenas could reply, Gaeta said, "I thought we'd go out toNemo's tonight, Kris."

"All right by me." Turning back to Tavalera, "I haven't heard athing from Holly, Raoul."

"Funny," he said. "That's not like her, not calling when she saidshe would."

 "It is a little strange," Cardenas agreed.

"Whatever," Tavalera said. "I'm goin'. The main processor is stillworking on the assemblers for Dr. Urbain."

She nodded. "I know. Switch on the UVs before you leave, okay?"

"Yeah."

 "Well, where is she?" Eberly demanded.

Kananga was sitting up on Vyborg's sofa now. He had put the coldtowel away, but his left cheek was slightly puffy. "I have my wholestaff searching for her. We'll find her within an hour or two."

Eberly paced past Vyborg, who was sitting in the armchair on theother side of the coffee table. "She's got to be found. Andsilenced."

 "She will be," Kananga said.

"She can't go far," Vyborg offered. "This habitat is big, but it'snot that big."

Eberly frowned at him. His mind was racing. They've dragged me intothis. Now I'm a party to their crime, whether I want to be or not.
Two blundering oafs; they couldn't even take care of one woman, agirl, a child really. He glared at Kananga as he paced across theroom. Or maybe they're smarter than I think. Maybe they planned itall this way precisely to pull me into their orbit. How can I holdthe old man's murder over their heads now?

 Abruptly he stopped and jabbed a finger at Kananga. "As soon asshe's found I want her brought to me. Do you understand that? No moreviolence. I'll take care of her."

 Kananga's brows knit. "What do you have in mind?"

"That's my business. I'll handle it."

"She can accuse me of murder," Kananga said.

"And assault, perhaps attempted murder," said Vyborg. "Certainlyattempted rape."

"You," Eberly pointed at Vyborg, "get every phone in the habitatchecked out. I want to know where she is when she calls, who she'scalling, and what she's telling them."

Vyborg nodded and got up from his chair.

Eberly headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" asked Kananga. 


 "To see Wilmot. If we're going to hunt down this woman we mustprevent him from getting in our way."

 Holly ducked through the hatch and clambered down a steel ladder tothe utilities tunnel that ran the length of the habitat. Maybe theywon't think of looking for me down here, she thought. And even ifthey do, I can hide out in this maze for days and days. Long as Ihave to. Like Jean Valjean in the sewers. As she headed down thesilent, dimly lit tunnel, she tried to remember when she'd read LesMisérables. Pancho had made her read a lot of old stuff after she had 
been reborn from the cryonics tank. Panch called it literature. Mostof it was pretty boring. But Holly remembered vividly the scene inthe sewers that ran beneath the Paris streets. Did I see a vid of it? 
she wondered. Maybe before I died?

With a puzzled shake of her head she felt thankful that thehabitat's tunnels were dry and there were no rats. No sewer smell,
either. Holly sniffed and smelled nothing. Maybe some dust, and thefaint trace of machine oil or something. Water gurgling through someof the pipes. The ever-present hum of electrical machinery.

The tunnel's automatic lights turned on as she walked and off asshe left a section. She saw a wall phone.

I could call Kris, she thought. Or Manny. He'd help me. He'd beatthe crap out of Kananga.

But she hesitated in front of the phone. Kananga's in charge ofsecurity. He's got the whole warping security force under hiscommand. And Malcolm's in with him. They could say whatever they wantabout me, say I'm under arrest or something. Jeeps! They could evensay that I murdered Don Diego!

And if I call Kris or anybody else I'd be getting them intotrouble. Holly felt panic surging in her gut. What should I do? Whatcan I do?

 She sagged against the tunnel's metal wall and slumped to thefloor. Don't do anything, she told herself. You're pretty safe here,
at least for the time being. Nobody knows where you are. You can staydown here until you figure things out.

Or starve to death. She looked up and down the tunnel, darkness inboth directions. Good. If anybody was coming after her, the lightswould be flicking on and off.

Food. I was supposed to go to dinner with Raoul tonight. He'llthink I stood him up.

She pushed herself up to her feet. Sorry Raoul, she apologizedsilently. Then she grinned. Food. Holly closed her eyes briefly,
picturing the layout of the tunnels. The food processing plants werefurther down this tunnel. But if I take the cutoff and head back 
under Athens I can get under the storage lockers for the cafeteria.
Plenty of food there.

She started off in that direction.

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 18 DAYS, SIX HOURS

 "What's so important that you have to interrupt my dinner?" Wilmotasked testily.

Eberly smiled at the older man. He had spent the past two hourswatching Morgenthau's recordings of Wilmot's evening activities.
Morgenthau had been disgusted by the professor's choice ofentertainment, but Eberly had watched snatches of the vids,
fascinated by their mixture of eroticism and savagery. Now he stoodin Wilmot's living room, facing the professor's sternly disapprovingfrown.

 "We have a serious situation on our hands, Professor," said Eberly. 


"Well, what is it?"

"One of the Human Resources staff members has disappeared. I havereason to believe she's suffered a mental breakdown."

 "What?" Wilmot looked startled. "Who is this person?"

"Holly Lane. You've met her."

"Have I?"

 Eberly was keenly aware that Wilmot had still not offered him achair. The two men were still standing, facing each other, barely ameter inside Wilmot's front door. Inwardly, Eberly was amused. Heknew he was keeping the professor from his evening's entertainment.

"I suppose I'm partially to blame," Eberly said, trying to soundcontrite. "I've been protecting her all these months. But she'sfinally snapped."

Wilmot looked puzzled, and more than a little annoyed.

Eberly fished his handheld from his tunic and projected Holly'sdossier on the wall above Wilmot's sofa.

 The professor recognized Holly's face. "She's the one you broughtwith you a while back."

"Yes." Eberly shook his head sadly. "As you can see, she has ahistory of emotional dysfunction." He had spent hours carefullyrewriting Holly's dossier. "As long as she takes her medication she'sperfectly normal. But once she stops..."

Wilmot studied the dossier briefly, then asked, "Why'd she go offher meds?"

 "It's this Diego Romero business. Holly became obsessed by the oldman's death. She convinced herself that he was murdered."

 "Murdered?"

 "It's nonsense, of course. But this afternoon she attacked ColonelKananga. She tried to kill him, at exactly the same site as the oldman's death."

 "Good lord! And where is she now?"

 "Disappeared, as I told you. Kananga has organized a search forher."

 Wilmot nodded, as if satisfied. "Very well. It seems that Kanangais doing what he should. But why have you bothered me about this?"

"Because I want you to appoint me deputy administrator."

"Deputy? I don't need a deputy."

"I think you do. You will appoint me deputy administrator so thatyou can retire from running the habitat."

"Retire? And put you in charge? Hah!"

"It's not such a ridiculous idea," Eberly said softly. "You willretire and I will take over your duties."

"Nonsense!"

 "Once retired," Eberly went on, "you can spend all your timewatching your filthy vids, instead of merely the evenings."

Wilmot staggered back a step. The color drained from his beefyface.

 "This habitat needs strong leadership," said Eberly. "Especiallywith the elections coming up and our impending arrival at Saturn.
You've done your job quite well, Professor. Now it's time for you tostep aside."

"And turn everything over to you? Never!"

Eberly shrugged. "In that case, we'll have to make your choice ofentertainment known to the entire population of the habitat."

"We? Who do you mean?"

"We don't want to embarrass you, Professor. Simply step aside andallow me to take control and no one will ever know about yourperverse little entertainments."

Wilmot sank down into the nearest chair, speechless.

 Kris Cardenas lay in her bed, trying to decide if she was makinganother mess of her life. What will I be this time? she asked 
herself: a hardhearted bitch or a romantic idiot? 


 Her relationship with Gaeta had started out as a passionate fling,
all glands and heat. Once Holly had stepped out of the way sheallowed Manny to bed her; she hadn't had so much fun in decades. Butthen Kris found out about Nadia. It wasn't that Gaeta had been 
unfaithful to her; neither one of them had promised anything exceptfun and games. But the thought that Manny used women that way, sleptwith a woman who could help him and then moved on to the next, thatangered her. Then came his sudden declaration of love. True love!
Cardenas almost laughed aloud at the thought. But whatever it was,
she was overjoyed by it. At my age, she thought, stifling a giggle.
Score a real triumph for nanotechnology!

As she turned to face her love, though, her thoughts sobered. He'sgoing to get himself killed, she feared. That's the business he's in,
taking constantly bigger risks. Cardenas hated the public, theaudience of vicarious thrill-seekers who pushed Manny to riskier andriskier stunts until he tried the one stunt that would kill him.

 He lay on his back, blissfully asleep, his rugged, expressive facerelaxed, almost boyish. Cardenas studied the slight scars on his browand along his jawline, the slightly pushed-in aspect of his nose.

Stop it! she commanded herself. You're getting soft as a grape.
Even if he lives through this rings stunt he'll be leaving afterward.
Then what will you do? Go traipsing after him like some overagedgroupie?

Gaeta opened his eyes, turned toward her, and smiled. Cardenas felther heart melt for him.

 "What time is it?" he mumbled, raising his head enough to see thedigital clock.

"Early," Cardenas whispered. "Go back to sleep."

"Big test today," he said. "The snowball fight."

"Not yet. Go back to sleep."

"Nah. I'm up."

Cardenas reached for him. "Why, so you are," she said, with animpish grin.

The phone buzzed.

"Aw, mierda," he groaned.

"Audio only," Cardenas told the phone.

Holly's face took shape at the foot of the bed. "Can't talk long.
Just gotta tell you Kananga tried to kill me and I'm on the run. I'llbuzz later when I can."

 And her image winked out, leaving the two of them staring atemptiness.

 SNOWBALL FIGHT

 "Pay attention!" Fritz snapped.

Inside the massive suit, Manny blinked. Fritz was right, histhoughts had wandered. That's the dangerous part of this love thing,
it makes it hard to concentrate on the business at hand. We'll be at 
Saturn in a few days and I'll do the rings. If it clears enoughprofit, then fuck Titan and Urbain and all those uptight cositas.
I'll just take the money and run home.

With Kris? Will she come with me? Do I have the guts to ask her to?
He almost laughed: the most fearless stuntman in the whole solarsystem and I'm scared to death she'd turn me down. Where's yourcojones, tough guy?

The banging on his suit startled him. Fritz was whacking at thesuit's armored chest with the flat of his hand, as high up as hecould reach.

 "Wake up in there!" Fritz hollered.

"I'm awake," said Gaeta.

"These days you spend too much time in bed and not enough time 


sleeping."

"I'm awake," Gaeta repeated peevishly.

From inside the suit, Fritz looked like a cranky little guystanding out there scowling at him, not even as tall as Gaeta'sshoulder. Together with the four other technicians, they werestanding in a sealed-off section of corridor that led to one of thehabitat's major airlocks, big enough to handle bulky equipment. Gaetahad marched in and, at Fritz's order, turned his back to the airlockhatch. Now he could see, down where they had sealed the corridor fromthe rest of the habitat, half a dozen fans that the techs had set up.
Three of the techs were lugging heavy plastic jugs of water andplacing them in precisely marked spots on the corridor's floor ofmetallic squares. Beside each of the fans stood a dark metal tubeencased in a copper-colored magnetic coil, looking to Gaeta like across between a laboratory contraption and a shotgun. The fourth techwas loading the tubes with ball bearings.

"This simulation will last only a few seconds," Fritz said, "but itis designed to give you a feeling for what you will encounter in thering."

"I know all that, Fritz," Gaeta said impatiently. "Let's get onwith it."

 As unperturbed as if he had heard not a syllable, Fritz went on,
"The water will vaporize into ice crystals and the fans will blowthem at you. The electromagnetic guns will fire the pellets thatsimulate larger pieces of ice at approximately Mach one point three."

"And I stand here and take it all in the face," said Gaeta.

"I trust the suit will not be penetrated," said Fritz.

"The self-sealing gunk will stop any leaks."

"Temporarily."

"Long enough for this test."

"But not long enough to save you once you are out in the ring."

"Which is why we're running this sim, to see if the suit holds up.
So let's get on with it."

Fritz gazed up at him, his expression somewhere between discontentand anxiety.

"Come on, Fritz," Gaeta urged. "Let's get it over with."

With a shake of his head, Fritz led the other techs past theairtight door that sealed off the end of the corridor section. Gaetasaw it close.

 "Pumping down the chamber," Fritz's voice said in his helmetearphones.

"Pump away," said Gaeta.

The only aspect of his flight through Saturn's B ring that thistest couldn't simulate was the lack of gravity. Gaeta didn't thinkthat was important; he had experienced micro-g many times, it wasn'ta problem for him. But standing in the middle of a superblizzard andallowing himself to be pelted by supersonic stainless steel ballbearings, that was something else. Like facing a firing squad. Yeah,
he said to himself, but I'm inside an armored suit. Like Superman.
Those bullets'll just bounce off my chest.

He hoped.

 James Colerane Wilmot sat alone in his living room, staring intoinfinity. Ruined. Tripped up by my own stupidity.

He sighed heavily. I could fight him. Most of the population hereis in this habitat because they couldn't stand the rules andregulations that were strangling them. So I have rather bizarre tastein entertainment. I could offer to take counseling, evenpsychotherapy. I don't have to knuckle under to this snotty Eberlyand his clique. Not unless I want to.

He thought about that. Not unless I want to. Why should I gothrough the embarrassment and stress of public revelation, publicridicule? Accusations and defenses, excuses, pleading for 


understanding? No, I won't subject myself to all that. I can't.

In a way, actually, this is better than ever. Now I'm totallyremoved from any semblance of control, any hint of responsibility.
The experiment is completely free now from any possible interference.
I'll have to inform Atlanta about that.

 He hesitated, frowning. Eberly's been watching every move I make.
Every communication. Even what I do here in the supposed privacy ofmy own quarters. He's watching me now.

What to do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Atlanta will find outabout this power play of Eberly's soon enough. They must have plentyof spies scattered through the population.

 Holly had debated for hours about calling Kris. At last she decidedshe would do it from a phone up topside. She didn't want Kananga oranyone else to know that she was using the underground tunnels as herhiding place. So just before the habitat's solar windows opened for"sunrise," she climbed up the ladder that opened into the cafeteria'sstoreroom. She could hear people stirring in the kitchen, justbeyond: pots clanging and voices calling back and forth. A robottrundled in from the kitchen, rolled right past her and went to ashelf where it grasped a carton of preserved fruit in its gripper-
tipped arms, then turned a precise one hundred and eighty degrees,
rolled past her again, and pushed through the double doors to thekitchen.

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

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

You flaming dimdumb, she said to herself. You were in the warpingstoreroom 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 demandedfor 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'tmonitor every phone in the habitat in real time. It's--"

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

"Yessir."

 "This woman is a dangerous psychopath. She's got to be apprehendedbefore 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. Ofcourse. She's got to eat. We'll simply stake out teams at thecafeteria and the restaurants. She'll be drawn to the food, sooner orlater. And once she is, we'll have her.

 Gaeta had never been in a blizzard, never tried to trudge throughdrifts 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 maelstromthat Fritz's ingenuity could devise. Ice crystals flew all aroundhim, enveloping him in a blinding whirl of gleaming, glinting white. 


Steel pellets peppered him, rattling against his armored suit soloudly that Gaeta knew it was going to crack. He worried especiallyabout the faceplate. It was bulletproof, he knew, but how bulletproofcould it be?

 He was being machine-gunned, strafed by supersonic pellets ofstainless 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 troublehearing Fritz's voice counting down the time in his helmet earphones.

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

The noise was damned near deafening. Like a thousand crazywoodpeckers attacking the suit. Why the hell do I put up with thiscrap? Gaeta wondered. Why am I spending my life getting the shitkicked out of me? Why don't I take whatever money I make out of thisand 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 alldisappeared, 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 youread my media releases? I think you wrote that line yourself."

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

 Fritz inspected it minutely, going over every square centimeter ofthe 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 NadiaWunderly's face on the minuscule screen.

"If you're worried about the test--"

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

"Whattaya mean?"

"There's going to be a capture event!" Wunderly was almostshouting. "Three days after we arrive in orbit Saturn's going tocapture 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 Saturnfrom deep in the Kuiper Belt, out beyond Pluto. It's already falleninto Saturn's gravity well. I've done the calculations. It's going tofall 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 atWunderly's ecstatic face.

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

 BOOK III

 I agree ... in regarding as false and damnable the view of thosewho would put inhabitants on Jupiter, Saturn, and the moon, meaningby "inhabitants" animals like ours, and men in particular.... If we 


could believe with any probability that there were living beings andvegetation on the moon or any planet, different not only fromterrestrial ones but remote from our wildest imaginings, I should formy part neither affirm it nor deny it, but should leave the decisionto 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: controlledfrenzy.

Since being named deputy director of the habitat, Eberly had movedhis election campaign headquarters out of his apartment and into avacant warehouse space in the Cairo village. It was large enough tohouse his growing staff of campaign volunteers and their even-fastergrowing 
sets of computers and communications equipment.

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

This evening before election day was one of those rare visits. Sureenough, the dozens of volunteers swarmed around Eberly as soon as hestepped through the warehouse's big double doors. They were beamingat 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. Heassured them that tomorrow's election would be a smashing triumph forthem. They smiled back and agreed that "We can't lose" and "By thistime tomorrow you'll be the top man."

Eberly disengaged from them at last, and let Morgenthau lead him tothe small private office that had been partitioned off in the farcorner of the warehouse space. He had specified that the officeshould be enclosed by true walls that reached the high ceiling, notmerely shoulder-high dividers. And the walls should be soundproofed.

Vyborg was sitting behind the desk in the office when Morgenthaushut the door behind Eberly, Kananga in the chair next to a bank ofcomputer 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 foundher?"

 "Not yet," Kananga replied.

"It's been two weeks!"

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

"I want her caught."

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

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

Eberly frowned at that, thinking, They all professes to beBelievers but they don't even blink at the thought of murder. Andthey want to make me a party to their crimes. Then they'll have aneven stronger hold over me.

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

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

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

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

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

 "I want her found tonight."

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

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

"Has she any allies?" Eberly asked. "Any friends that she mightturn 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 catchher."

 "Cardenas?" Eberly suddenly saw the way to catch Holly. "She phonedthe 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 dangerousnanomachines. Make it sound as if she's a threat to the entire 
habitat. A nanoplague! Then every person in the habitat will be onthe lookout for her. Kananga, you'll have ten thousand peoplesearching for her!"

The Rwandan laughed delightedly. Vyborg nodded and scampered to thedesktop comm unit. As he began dictating a news bulletin, Eberlyturned to Morgenthau.

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

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

 "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 chartappeared against the bare office wall.

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

"We're well ahead," said Eberly.

"Yes, but there's a disturbing trend." The chart shifted, colorsmelting or growing. "If Timoshenko's people throw their support toUrbain, 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 weresolidly 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 mightbe possible for Urbain to pick up enough of Timoshenko's votes to wintomorrow."

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

He barely heard Morgenthau's voice. "Cancel the election. You'redeputy administrator now. Wilmot's been neutralized. Cancel theelection 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 toestablish martial law." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morgenthau looked genuinely alarmed. "But if the election goesagainst 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'ssupporters away from Urbain's."

"How?"

 "You'll see."

 Despite the fear that constantly gnawed at her, Holly was almostenjoying her exile. It's like camping out, she thought. Not that shecould remember camping out from her first life, back on Earth. Yetshe felt strangely free, unattached to anyone or any duties exceptwhat she felt like doing. There were plenty of unoccupied areas uptopside in the habitat, she knew; two whole villages had been setaside for population growth. And when she got tired of prowlingthrough the tunnels she could always climb up into the orchards orfarms and sleep undisturbed on the soft, warm ground.

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

But always the realization that Kananga had murdered Don Diegostuck 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 trustMalcolm or anyone else. Well, you can trust Kris, she thought. Butthat would bring trouble down on Kris's head. They murdered Don Diegoand Kananga tried to kill me. Would they try to murder Kris if theythought she was helping me? Flaming yes, she decided swiftly.

As the days spun along, though, Holly realized she wasaccomplishing nothing. Kay, it's fun hiding out in the tunnels andliving off the farms and all that. But how long do you want to go onthis way? You can't let them get away with it, she told herself. Andthe election's coming up. Once Malcolm's elected chief of the habitatthings'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, andMalcolm, 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 chargeof 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 theprofessor tonight.

 PLANNING SESSION

 Gaeta sat flanked by Kris Cardenas on one side and Fritz vonHelmholtz on the other. Berkowitz sat on Fritz's left. Nadia Wunderlystood before them, waving a laser pointer in one hand. We should'veworn safety glasses, Gaeta thought. She's gonna zap somebody's eyewith that thing if she's not careful.

Wunderly was practically bouncing with excitement.

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

Gaeta saw Saturn floating lazily in the dark infinity of space, itsrings bright and splendid. A greenish oval marked the habitat'scurrent position, heading toward an orbit outside the rings. The tinyred dot of the laser pointer was on a speck of light that was fartherfrom 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. Theiceball swung past the planet and almost completely out of thepicture, but then Saturn's gravity pulled it back. The iceballskimmed past the rings once, went behind the planet, then swungaround again and pulled in tighter.

"Here we go," Wunderly said breathlessly.

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

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

Berkowitz breathed an awed, "Wow. Every network will carry thecapture event." Leaning past Fritz slightly, he said to Gaeta, "Whata 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'sonly 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. Nochanges in the Cassini division or anything like that. I've done thesims, 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.

"I agree," Wunderly said. "You should wait a day or two, giveeverything a chance to settle down."

"Won't hurt to wait a little," Berkowitz agreed. "But not more thana day or two. We want to go while people are still focused on Saturnand the rings."

Gaeta looked at Fritz, who was intently studying the three-
dimensional image hanging before them.

"What do you think, Fritz?"

"It would be dangerous, but I think within our capabilities. Thesuit should hold up sufficiently. And it would give us spectacularfoot-age."

Wunderly said, "I don't think--" 


 "Wouldn't it be a help to you," Gaeta interrupted her, "to getrealtime footage of the capture from inside the ring itself?"

"I can do that with a few remotes," she said. "You don't have torisk your neck for the sake of science."

"Still..."

 "No, Manny," said Cardenas, quite firmly. "You do what Nadia tellsyou. Nobody wants to see you get killed over this. Waiting a day ortwo won't make the stunt any less spectacular."

Fritz agreed with a glum, "I suppose they are right."

"You really want to wait?" Gaeta asked his chief technician.

"No sense destroying the suit."

Gaeta grinned at him, then shrugged. Looking squarely at Cardenas,
he said, "Okay, we'll wait until the next day."

"Will that be time enough for the ring to settle down?" Cardenasasked.

 Wunderly said, "Two days would be safer."

"One day would be better," said Berkowitz, "publicity-wise."

"The next day," Gaeta said, thinking, I can't let Kris run thisstunt. I can't let her worries control my work.

"The next day, then," Cardenas agreed reluctantly. She got up fromher chair. "I'm going to the big rally. Anybody else want to see thefireworks?"

 "I've got too much work to do," said Wunderly.

Gaeta stayed in his seat as he said gently, "Nadia, if you'refinished with the pointer, would you mind turning it off?"

Only after she did so did Gaeta get up and head for the door withCardenas.

 Gaeta walked with Cardenas up the village street.

"Are you sure you're not taking too big a chance by going the dayafter the new moon's captured?" she asked.

He saw the concern on her face. "Kris, I don't take risks I can'thandle."

 "That's how you broke your nose."

"The ice sled hit a rock and I banged my beak on the helmetfaceplate," he said, with a grin. "Could've happened in my bathroom,
for God's sake."

 "Your bathroom is on Mars?"

 His grin faded. "You know what I mean."

"And you know what I mean," she replied, utterly serious.

"I'll be okay, Kris. I'll be fine. Fritz won't let me take chanceswith the suit."

 She fell silent, while Gaeta thought, Jezoo, I can't be thinkingabout her and her fears while I'm out there. I've gotta concentrateon getting the job done, not worry about what she's thinking. Surestway to get yourself killed is to let your attention drift away fromthe job at hand.

They walked up the gently rising street in silence toward theapartment building where both their quarters were. Through the spacesbetween the buildings on their left, Gaeta could see a crowd alreadystarting to gather by the lakeside, where the big election-eve rallywas scheduled to take place. Eberly expects me there, he remembered.

"Maybe we oughtta get a quick bite in the cafeteria," he said toCardenas, "before we go to the rally."

"I've got some snacks in the freezer. You can nuke them while Ichange."

Gaeta nodded and smiled. Women have to change their clothes forevery occasion. Then he thought about his own pullover shirt andform-fitting denims. I'm gonna be on the platform with Eberly, herealized. What the hell, this is good enough. I'm a stunt guy, not avid star.

 Raoul Tavalera was sitting on the doorstep of their apartmentbuilding, head hanging low, looking more morose than usual. He rose 


slowly to his feet as he saw Cardenas and Gaeta coming up the walk

toward him. Gaeta thought he saw the younger man wince with pain.

"Raoul," Cardenas said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"They closed down the lab," he said.

"What?"

 "About an hour ago. Four big goons from Security came in with theirdamned batons and told me to shut down everything. Then they lockedeverything up. Two of 'em are still there, guarding the door."

Cardenas felt a flush of rage race through her. "Closed the lab!
Why? Under whose authority?"

Rubbing his side, Tavalera answered, "I asked but they didn'tanswer. Just whacked me in the ribs and muscled me out into the hall. 
Big guys. Four of 'em."

Pushing through the building's front door, Cardenas whipped out herhandheld as she started up the stairs. "Professor Wilmot," shesnapped at the phone.

Gaeta and Tavalera followed her up the stairs and into the sittingroom of her apartment. Tavalera looked gloomy. Gaeta thought idlythat he could change his clothes in Kris's bedroom; he had almost asmuch of his wardrobe in her closet as he had in his own.

 Cardenas projected Wilmot's gray-haired face against the far wallof the sitting room.

"Professor," she said, without a greeting, "someone from Securityhas shut down my laboratory."

Wilmot looked startled. "They have?"

"I want to know why, and why this was done without consulting mefirst."

 Brushing his moustache with one finger, Wilmot looked pained,
embarrassed. "Um, I suggest you ask the deputy director about that."

"The deputy director?"

"Dr. Eberly."

"Since when does he have the authority to shut down my laboratory?"

"You'll have to ask him, I'm afraid. Actually, I know nothing aboutit. Nothing at all."

"But you can tell him to let me reopen my lab!" Cardenas fairlyshouted. "You can tell him to call off his dogs."

His face slowly turning red, Wilmot said, "I really think youshould talk to him directly."

"But-"

 "It's his show. There's nothing I can do about it."

Wilmot's image abruptly winked out. Cardenas stared at the emptyair, openmouthed. "He hung up on me!"

Gaeta said, "I guess you'll have to call Eberly."

Fuming, Cardenas told the phone to contact Eberly. RuthMorgenthau's image appeared, instead.

"Dr. Eberly is busy preparing his statement for this evening'srally," she said smoothly. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"You can call off the security officers posted at my laboratory andlet me get back to my work," Cardenas barked. "Right now. Thisminute."

 "I'm afraid that can't be done," Morgenthau said, completelyunflustered. "We have a dangerous situation on our hands. There's afugitive loose, and we have reason to believe she might try to breakinto your laboratory and release nanobugs that could be verydangerous to everyone in the habitat."

"A fugitive? You mean Holly?"

"She's psychotic. We have reason to believe she murdered a man. Weknow she attacked Colonel Kananga."

"Holly? She attacked somebody?"

Gaeta said, "Holly's never been violent before. What the hell'sgoing on?"

Morgenthau's face took on a sad expression. "Apparently Miss Lanehas stopped taking her medication, for some reason. She is decidedlyunbalanced. I can send you her dossier, if you want proof of her 


condition."

 "Do that," Cardenas snapped.

"I will."

 "But I don't see what this has to do with my lab," Cardenas said.

Morgenthau sighed like a teacher trying to enlighten a backwardchild. "We know that she's been friendly with you, Dr. Cardenas. Wecan't take the chance that she might get into your lab and releasedangerous nanobugs. That would be--"

"There aren't any dangerous nanobugs in my lab!" Cardenas exploded.
"And even if there were, all you have to do is expose them toultraviolet light and they'd be deactivated."

"I know that's how it seems to you," said Morgenthau patiently.
"But to the rest of us nanomaehines are a dangerous threat that couldwipe out everyone in this habitat. Naturally, we must be extremelycareful in dealing with them."

Seething, Cardenas started to say, "But don't you understandthat--"

 "I'm sorry," Morgenthau said sternly. "The issue is decided. Yourlaboratory will remain closed until Holly Lane is taken intocustody."

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 3 DAYS, 6 HOURS, 17 MINUTES

 Gaeta could see that Cardenas was livid, furious. Even Tavalera,
who usually seemed passively glum, was glaring at the empty spacewhere Morgenthau's image had been.

"Holly's not a nutcase," Tavalera muttered.

"I don't think so either," said Cardenas.

"But Morgenthau does," Gaeta pointed out. "And so does Eberly andthe rest of the top brass, I guess."

Cardenas shook her head angrily. "And Wilmot won't do a damnedthing about it."

Gaeta said, "This is serious, Kris. They're saying Holly might'vekilled somebody."

"Who?" asked Tavalera.

 Striding toward the kitchen, Cardenas said, "The only person who'sdied recently was Diego Romero. Drowned."

"And they're sayin' Holly did it?" Tavalera said.

Cardenas didn't answer. She went behind the kitchen counter and 
started yanking packages from the freezer.

Gaeta noticed the message light blinking on her desktop unit. "Yougot incoming, Kris."

"Take it for me, will you?"

It was Holly's dossier. The three of them studied it, displayedagainst the sitting room wall.

"She's bipolar; manic-depressive," Gaeta said.

"But that doesn't mean she'd become violent," said Cardenas.

Tavalera made a sour face. "I don't believe it. She's not like 
that."

 Cardenas looked at him for a long moment, then said, "Neither doI."

 "Could somebody have faked her dossier?" Gaeta asked. "Framed her?"

"There's one way to find out," said Cardenas. She commanded thephone to locate Holly's dossier in the files of the New Moralityheadquarters in Atlanta.

"This is gonna take an hour or more," said Gaeta.

"Let's grab a bite to eat while we wait," Cardenas suggested.

"Are we going to the rally?" Gaeta asked.

"After we have Holly's Earthside dossier in our hands," Cardenasreplied.

Holly was waiting for the evening news report while eating a dinner 


composed of fresh fruits taken from the orchard and a package ofcookies from the underground warehouse that cached the specialtyfoods brought from Earth.

She sat cross-legged on the floor of the utility tunnel that ranbeneath the orchard. She planned to go later out to the endcap andsleep in the open, beneath the trees, safely hidden by the floweringbushes that grew in profusion there. Don Diego would've loved thearea, she thought, its unorganized roughness, a little bit ofwilderness in all this planned-out ecology.

The phone screen on the wall opposite her showed an educational vidbeamed from Earth: something about dinosaurs and the comet-bornemicrobes that wiped them out. Holly thought that it was safe enoughto watch the program; no one could trace a passive use of the phone.
It was only if she made an outgoing call that they could track herlocation.

 The ed program ended as she munched on the cookies. A three-notechime announced the evening news.

Holly's eyes went wide when the newscaster announced that she wasnot only a hunted fugitive, but a dangerously unbalanced mental case,
wanted in connection with the drowning of Don Diego, who might try tounleash a nanoplague on the habitat.

"You bastards!" Holly shouted, jumping to her feet.

Then the newscast showed a prerecorded interview with MalcolmEberly, who was identified as the deputy director of the habitat.
With convincing sorrow, Eberly said:

"Yes, Miss Lane worked in the Human Resources Department when Iserved as its chief. She seemed perfectly normal then, but apparentlyonce she goes off her medication she becomes... well, violent."

"You're flaming right I'm violent!" Holly screeched. "Wait till Iget my hands on your lying face!"

Dressed in a sky-blue blouse and slacks, Cardenas came back intothe sitting room where Gaeta and Tavalera were talking together.

"Has her dossier come in from Atlanta yet?" Cardenas asked.

Gaeta shook his head. "Your message is probably just reaching themEarthside by now. We're a long way from home, Kris."

Tavalera got to his feet. "The rally's due to start in half anhour."

 "Sit down, Raoul," said Cardenas. "I want to see Holly's dossierbefore we go."

"We'll miss-"

 "The candidates won't be making their final statements for anotherhour, at least," Gaeta said. "All we'll miss is a lot of noise: themarching bands and all that crap."

Sitting back on the sofa, Tavalera said, "I'm worried about Holly.
Those goons from Security can be rough."

"Where could she be?" Cardenas wondered aloud, going to the sofaand sitting beside Tavalera.

Gaeta, in the armchair across the coffee table from the sofa,
suddenly lit up. "I bet I know."

"Where?"

 "The tunnels. She liked to explore the tunnels that run under theground."

"Tunnels?"

 "There must be a hundred kilometers of 'em. More. They'd never beable to find her down there. And she knows every centimeter of them;
has it all memorized."

 "Then how could we find her?" Cardenas asked.

 "I'll look for her," said Tavalera, getting up again.

Gaeta reached out and grasped his wrist. "Raoul, there's just toomuch of the tunnels to search. You'll never find her. Especially ifshe doesn't want to get found."

Tavalera pulled free of his grip. "It beats sitting around heredoin' nothing," he said.

"If you do find her," Cardenas said, "bring her here. We'll keep 


her safe until this all gets sorted out."

"Yeah. Okay."

With nothing else to do after Tavalera left, Cardenas and Gaetawatched the news broadcast that showed the crowd building up at therally site beside the lake. The speaker's platform was empty, butseveral small bands paraded through the gathering throng, blastingout marching tunes and working up the crowd. They noted that therewere plenty of empty chairs spread out on the grass.

"We won't have any trouble getting seats," Cardenas murmured.

Gaeta got up from the armchair to sit beside Cardenas, on the sofa.
They watched the video, close enough to touch. Despite everythingelse, Cardenas thought that within a week, two at most, Gaeta wouldbe packing up and preparing to leave the habitat. His torch shipmight be already on the way here, she said to herself. Should I gowith him? Would he want me to?

 The phone chimed. Cardenas displayed the message. It was thedossier of Susan Lane, from the files of the New Moralityheadquarters in Atlanta.

"They got the wrong Lane," Gaeta said.

But then the file photo of Holly came up, unmistakable.

"She must've changed her name," murmured Cardenas.

"Is that a sign of instability?"

They read the dossier, every word and statistic.

"No mention of mental or emotional problems," Gaeta said.

"Or of medications."

 "The sonsofbitches have faked her dossier. They're framing her."

Cardenas recorded the entire file into her handheld. Then she 
popped to her feet.

"Let's go to the rally and confront Eberly with this," she said.

"Right," said Gaeta.

But when he slid the front door open, four burly men and women inthe dead black tunics of the security force were standing in thehallway, slim black batons hooked into their belts.

"Colonel Kananga wants to talk to you," said one of the women, whoseemed to be their leader. "After the rally. He asks that you stayhere until he can get to you."

Wordlessly, Cardenas slid the door shut and went back to the sofa.

"They must know what we've done," Gaeta said.

"They've bugged this apartment," said Cardenas, dropping back ontothe sofa. "They can hear every word we say. And they know aboutHolly's dossier from Atlanta."

Feeling dazed, helpless, Gaeta said, "Then they know thatTavalera's gone to the tunnels to find her."

 THE FINAL RALLY

 It was hard to talk with so many people pressing around them.
Eberly and Morgenthau were walking side by side along the path thatled down to the lakeside rally site. Vyborg was slightly behind them,
Kananga and a pair of his biggest men up ahead, clearing a paththrough the thick crowd of people who lined the path, shouting andsmiling and reaching for Eberly to shake his hand, touch him, get asmile from him.

 He wanted to shake their hands, smile at them, bask in the glow oftheir adulation. But instead he virtually ignored them as he talkedwith Morgenthau.

"She's in the tunnels?" he shouted over the crowd's meaninglesshubbub.

 Morgenthau nodded, puffing hard despite the fact that the press ofthe crowd slowed their pace to little more than a snail's pace.

"Cardenas's assistant has entered the tunnels to search for her," 


she yelled into Eberly's ear.

"I hope he has better success than Kananga's oafs."

"What?"

 "Nothing," he said louder. "Never mind."

"We've detained Cardenas and the stunt man. They have Holly'soriginal dossier."

A shock of alarm hit Eberly. "How did they get it?"

"From Atlanta. The New Morality has dossiers on everyone aboard thehabitat, apparently."

Wringing his hands in frustration, Eberly said, "I should havedoctored those files, too."

"Too late for that."

 "This is getting out of hand. We can't keep Gaeta and Cardenaslocked up. I've been pushing Gaeta's stunt as a campaign issue."

"Vyborg thought it best to keep them quiet until after the electiontomorrow."

 Eberly glanced over his shoulder. Vyborg. That sour little trollhas been the cause of all this trouble, he told himself. Once I'mfirmly in power, I'll get rid of him. But then he thought, The littlesnake knows too much about me. The only way to be rid of him is tosilence him permanently.

A brass band came blaring up to him, surrounded his little groupand escorted them to the speaker's platform. They were amateurmusicians, making up in enthusiasm what they lacked in talent. Theyblew so loudly that Eberly couldn't think.

Urbain and Timoshenko were already seated on the platform, he sawas they approached. The crowd was cheering wildly, already worked upto a near frenzy. Wilmot was nowhere in sight. Good. Let him remainin his quarters, as I instructed. I want these people to see me astheir leader, no one else.

He climbed the stairs and took his chair between Timoshenko and 
Urbain. The several little bands clumped together into one largeconglomeration in front of the platform and played a falteringrendition of "Now Let Us Praise Famous Men." Eberly wondered how thewomen of the habitat felt about the sexist sentiment. The band was so 
poor that it didn't matter, he decided.

The blaring music finally ended and an expectant hush fell over thecrowd. Eberly saw that fully three thousand of the habitat'spopulation was standing on the grass, facing him. It was the biggestcrowd of the campaign, yet Eberly felt disappointed, dejected.
Seventy percent of the population doesn't care enough about thiselection to attend the rally. Seventy percent! They sit home and donothing, then complain when the government does things they don'tlike. The fools deserve whatever they get.

The crowd sat on the chairs that had been arranged for them. Eberlysaw that there were plenty of empties. Before they could begin to getrestless, he rose slowly and stepped to the podium.

"I'm a little embarrassed," he said as he clipped the pinheadmicrophone to his tunic. "Professor Wilmot isn't able to be with usthis evening, and he asked me to serve as moderator in his place."

"Don't be embarrassed!" came a woman's voice from somewhere in the 
throng.

Eberly beamed a smile in her general direction and went on, "As youprobably know already, we are not going to bore you with long-windedspeeches this evening. Each candidate will make a brief, five-minutestatement that summarizes his position on the major issues. Afterthese statements you will be able to ask questions of thecandidates."

 He hesitated a heartbeat, then went on, "The order of speakers thisevening was chosen by lot, and I won the first position. However, Ithink it's a little too much for me to be both the moderator and the 
first speaker, so I'm going to change the order of the candidates'statements and go last."

Dead silence from the audience. Eberly turned slightly toward 


Urbain, then back to the crowd. "Our first speaker, therefore, willbe Dr. Edouard Urbain, our chief scientist. Dr. Urbain has had adistinguished career..."

 Holly watched the newscast of the rally from the tunnel. ProfessorWilmot's not there, she thought. I wonder why.

Then she realized that this was the perfect opportunity to get toWilmot without Kananga or anyone else interfering. Holly got to herfeet. Just about everybody's at the rally, she saw, eyes still on thescreen. I'll bet Wilmot's in his quarters. I could sneak in there andtell him what's going down.

She turned off the wallscreen and started striding purposivelyalong the tunnel, heading for Athens and Wilmot's quarters.

After a few minutes, though, she turned off into a side tunnel thatprovided access for maintenance robots to trundle from one mainutility tunnel to another. No sense marching straight to the village,
she told herself. Go the roundabout way and look out for any guardsthat might be snooping around.

So she missed Raoul Tavalera, who came down the utility tunnel fromthe direction of Athens, looking for her.

 Urbain and then Timoshenko spent their five minutes reviewing thepositions they had stressed all through the campaign. Urbain insistedthat scientific research was the habitat's purpose, it's very raisond'etre, and with him as director the habitat's exploration of Saturnand Titan would be a great success. Timoshenko had taken up part ofEberly's original position, that the scientists should not become anexalted elite with everyone else in the habitat destined to servethem. Eberly thought that Timoshenko received a larger and longerround of applause than Urbain did.

As Timoshenko sat down, Eberly rose and walked slowly to thepodium. Is Morgenthau right? he asked himself. Are Timoshenko'svoters switching to Urbain? Are the engineers lining up with thescientists?

 It makes no difference, Eberly told himself as he gripped the edgesof the podium. Now is the time to split them. Now is the time toswing the overwhelming majority of votes to me.

"Now is the time," he said to the audience, "for me to introducethe final speaker. I find myself in the somewhat uncomfortableposition of introducing myself."

A few titters of laughter rippled through the crowd.

"So let me say, without fear of being contradicted, that here is aman who needs no introduction: me!"

 They laughed. Vyborg and several of his people began to applaud,
and most of the crowd joined in. Eberly stood at the podium soakingup their adulation, real or enforced, it didn't matter to him as longas the people down there performed as he wanted them to.

Once they quieted down, Eberly said, "This habitat is more than aplayground for scientists. It is more than a scientific expedition.
This is our home, yours and mine. Yet they want to tell us how weshould live, how we should serve them.

"They take it for granted that we will maintain strict populationcontrols, even though this habitat could easily house and feed tentimes our current population.

"But how will we be able to afford an expanding population? Ourecology and our economy are fixed, locked in place. There is no roomfor population growth, for babies, in their plans for our future.

"I have a different plan. I know how we can live and grow and behappy. I know how each and every one of you can get rich!"

Eberly could feel the crowd's surge of interest. Raising an arm topoint outward, he said:

"Circling around Saturn is the greatest treasure in the solar 


system: thousands of billions of tons of water. Water! What wouldSelene and the other lunar cities pay for an unending supply ofwater? What would the miners and prospectors in the Asteroid Beltpay? More than gold, more than diamonds and pearls, water is the mostprecious resource in the solar system! And we have control of enoughwater to make us all richer than Croesus."

 "No!" Nadia Wunderly screamed, leaping to her feet from the middleof the audience. "You can't! You mustn't!"

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 3 DAYS, 3 HOURS, 11 MINUTES

 Eberly saw a stumpy, slightly plump woman with spiky red hairpushing her way to the front of the crowd.

"You can't siphon off the ring particles!" she shouted as thepeople moved away to clear a path for her. "You'll ruin the rings!
You'll destroy them!"

Holding up a hand for silence, Eberly said dryly, "It seems we'vereached the question-and-answer part of this evening's rally."

Once she got to the front of the crowd, at the edge of theplatform, Wunderly hesitated. Suddenly she looked embarrassed, unsureof herself. She glanced around, her cheeks reddening.

Eberly smiled down at her. "If the other candidates don't mind, I'dlike to invite this young woman up here to the podium to state herviews."

 The audience applauded: lukewarm, but applause nonetheless. Eberlyglanced at Urbain and Timoshenko, sitting behind him. Urbain lookeduncertain, almost confused. Timoshenko sat with his arms crossed overhis chest, an expression somewhere between boredom and disgust on hisdark face.

 "Come on up," Eberly beckoned. "Come up here and state your viewsso that everyone can hear you."

Wunderly hung back for a couple of heartbeats, then--her lips setin a determined grim line--she climbed the platform stairs and strodeto the podium.

As Eberly clipped a spare microphone to the lapel of her tunic, shesaid earnestly, "You can't mine the rings--"

Eberly stopped her with a single upraised finger. "Just a moment.
Tell us your name first, if you please. And your affiliation."

She swallowed once, then looked out at the audience and said, "Dr.
Nadia Wunderly. I'm with the Planetary Sciences group."

"A scientist." I thought so, Eberly said to himself. Here's mychance to show the voters how self-centered the scientists are, howrighteous they are, not caring an iota about the rest of us.

"That's right, I'm a planetary scientist. And you can't startmining the rings. You'll destroy them. I know they look big, but ifyou put all of the ring particles together they'd only form a body ofice that's no more than a hundred kilometers across."

 Turning to Urbain, Eberly said, "Would you care to join thisdiscussion, Dr. Urbain?"

The Quebecois got up from his chair and approached the platform,
while Timoshenko sat unmoving, his arms still folded across hischest, his face still scowling.

"The rings are fragile," Wunderly said earnestly. "If you startstealing tons of particles from them you might break them up."

Eberly asked, "Dr. Urbain, is that true?"

Urbain's face clouded momentarily. Then, with a little tug at hisbeard, he replied, "Yes, of course, if you continue to removeparticles from the rings, at some point you will destabilize them.
That is obvious."

 "How many tons of ice particles can we remove without destabilizingthe rings?" 


 Urbain looked at Wunderly, then gave a Gallic shrug. "That isunknown."

 "I could calculate it," Wunderly said.

"How many tons of ice are there in the rings?" Eberly probed.

Before Urbain could answer, Wunderly said, "A little over fivetimes ten to the seventeenth metric tons."

 "Five times..." Eberly made a puzzled face. "That sounds like alot, to me."

Urbain said, "It is five with seventeen zeroes after it."

"Five hundred thousand million million tons," said Wunderly.

Eberly pretended to be amazed. "And you're worried about oursnitching a few hundred tons per year?"

A few snickering laughs rose from the crowd.

"But we don't know what effect that would have on the ringdynamics," Wunderly said, almost pleading.

Urbain added more forcefully, "You say a few hundred tons per year,
but that number will grow."

"Yes, but there's five hundred thousand million million tonsavailable," said Eberly.

Nostrils flaring, Urbain said, "And once all of Canada was coveredwith trees. Where are they now? Once the oceans of Earth were filledwith fish. Now even the plankton are dying. Once the jungles ofAfrica were home to the great apes. Today the only chimpanzees orgorillas in existence live in zoos."

Turning to the audience, Eberly said in his strongest, mostauthoritative voice, "You can see why scientists must not be allowedto run this habitat. They care more for apes than they do for people.
They want to keep five hundred thousand million million tons of waterice out of our hands, when just a tiny amount of that water couldmake all of us wealthy."

Wunderly burst, "But we don't know enough about the rings! At somepoint you could upset the ring dynamics so badly that they'll all gocrashing down into the planet!"

"And what would happen to any organisms living beneath theclouds?" Urbain added. "It would be an environmental catastrophebeyond imagining. Planetary genocide!"

Eberly shook his head. "By taking a hundred tons or so, out of fivehundred thousand million million?"

 "Yes," Urbain snapped. "I will not allow it. The InternationalAstronautical Authority will not allow it."

"And how will they stop us?" Eberly snapped back. "We're anindependent entity. We don't have to follow the dictates of the IAAor any other Earthbound authority."

Turning again to the audience, he said, "I will establish ourgovernment as independent of all Earthbound restrictions. Just likeSelene. Just like the mining communities in the Asteroid Belt. Wewill be our own masters! I promise you!"

The audience roared its approval. Urbain shook his head inbafflement. Tears sprang to Wunderly's eyes.

 PROFESSOR WILMOT'S QUARTERS

 Instead of his usual evening's entertainment, Wilmot watched thefinal rally. Eberly's a rabble-rouser, nothing less, he thought.
Mining the rings and making everyone rich. What an extraordinaryidea. Ecologically unwise, perhaps, but the short-term gains willwipe out any fears of long-term problems.

The scientists are unhappy, of course. But what can they do?
Eberly's got this election sewed up. Timoshenko's people will votetheir pocketbooks and go for Eberly. So will a good many of thescientists, I wager. 


 He leaned back in his comfortable upholstered chair and watched thecrowd boil up onto the platform and carry Eberly off on theirshoulders, leaving Urbain, Timoshenko, and that pathetic little red-
haired woman standing there like forlorn children.

Holly knew there was no exit from the utilities tunnel that openeddirectly into the apartment building where Professor Wilmot lived.
Since she'd gone into hiding she'd been able to sneak into officebuildings in the dead of night and use their lavatory facilities. Shehad even gone clothes shopping in the main warehouse without beingdetected. But now she would have to risk coming up into the villageand scurrying along the streets of Athens in full view of thesurveillance cameras atop the light poles.

How can I do that without being seen? she asked herself as she madeher way along the tunnel. I need a disguise.

Or a diversion, she realized. She stopped and sat on the floor,
thinking hard.

Tavalera walked for kilometers along the main utility tunnelrunning from Athens out under the orchards and farms and all the wayto the endcap. No sign of Holly.

He passed a sturdy little maintenance robot swiveling back andforth across a small patch of the metal flooring, its vacuum cleanerbuzzing angrily.

Tavalera stopped and watched the squat, square-shaped robot. Fromhis weeks spent with the Maintenance Department, Tavalera knew thatthe robots patrolled these tunnels, programmed to clean any dust orleaks they found, or to call for human help if they came acrosssomething beyond their limited means of handling. There was some kindof crud at this one spot, Tavalera reasoned. He couldn't see any dirtor an oil smear. Could it have been crumbs? Could Holly have beeneating here?

He looked up and down the tunnel. The robot, satisfied that thearea was now clean, trundled off toward the endcap, deftlymaneuvering around Tavalera, its sensors alert for anything amiss.

"Holly!" Tavalera yelled, hoping she was close enough to hear him.
No answer except the echo of his own voice bouncing down the tunnel.

 Sitting side by side, Cardenas and Gaeta watched the rally, too,
from the enforced confinement of her apartment.

"Mine the rings?" Cardenas gasped at the idea. "Nadia's going tohave a stroke over that."

 Gaeta made a grudging grunt. "I dunno. Maybe he's onto something.
Ten to the seventeenth is a big number."

"But still..." Cardenas murmured.

 "You know what the going price is for a ton of water?"

"I know it's more precious than gold," said Cardenas, "but that'sbecause the price of gold has collapsed since the rock rats startedmining the asteroids."

"Mining the rings." Gaeta scratched at his jaw. "Might be aworkable idea."

 "What are we going to do about Holly?" Cardenas asked, her voicesuddenly sharp.

Gaeta said, "There's not much we can do, is there? We're stuckhere."

 "For the time being."

"So?"

 "There's the phone," Cardenas said.

"Who do you want to call?"

"Who can help us? And help Holly?"

"Quien sabe?"

"What about Professor Wilmot?"

 "He wasn't at the rally," said Gaeta.

"So he's probably at home."

Cardenas told the phone to call the professor. No image formed, but 


Wilmot's cultured voice said, "I cannot speak with you at the moment.
Please leave a message."

Before Gaeta could say anything, Cardenas said, "Professor, this isKris Cardenas. I'm concerned about Holly Lane. I've taken the libertyof accessing her dossier from the Earthside files, and it doesn'tmatch the dossier that Eberly claims is hers. There's no record ofmental illness or emotional instability. Something is definitelywrong here, and I'd like to discuss it with you as soon as possible."

Once the phone light winked out, Gaeta said, "That's assumingEberly lets us out of here."

Cardenas replied tightly, "He can't keep us under lock and keyforever."

 "Well, he's got us under lock and key right now."

"What can we do about it?" she wondered aloud.

 Gaeta reached for her. "Well, you know what they say."

She let him pull her into his arms. "No, what do they say?"

Grinning, "When they hand you a lemon, make lemonade."

She thought about the bugs that Eberly's people must have plantedin the apartment. "They've probably got cameras watching us."

He grinned wickedly. "So let's give 'em something to see."

Cardenas shook her head. "Oh no. But we could stay under theblanket. I doubt that they've got infrared sensors planted."

 Holly came up in the administration building and slipped along itsempty corridors to her own office. There was no window in her cubicleso she went to Morgenthau's office and looked out at the street.
Empty. Everybody's either at the rally or at home watching the rally,
she thought. She hoped.

But there are security goons watching the surveillance cameras.
Worse, there are computers programmed to report any anomalies thatthe cameras pick up, she knew. I bet my description is on their listof anomalies. People can be distracted or lazy or even bribed; thewarping computers never blink.

What I need is a distraction. It won't fool the computers but it'llkeep the security people busy.

A distraction.

 Holly closed her eyes, picturing the schematics of the habitat'ssafety systems that she had memorized. For several minutes she sat atMorgenthau's desk, her face twisted into a grimace of concentration.
Then at last she smiled. She activated Morgenthau's desk computerand, recalling the access code for the fire safety system, beganinstructing the computer to create a diversion for her.

 Tavalera trudged wearily back along the tunnel he had come down. Atleast he was pretty certain it was the same tunnel. He had taken acouple of turns out near the endcap, where several tunnels joinedtogether.

No sign of Holly. Maybe those security goons got her. He felt angerwelling up inside him--anger and frustration and fear, mixed andchurning inside his guts. And the sullen ache in his side where theyhad whacked him with their batons.

 The bastards, he thought. Holly never hurt anybody. Why are theyout to get her? Where could she be? Is she safe? Have they got her?
Where could she be?

 He stopped walking and looked around the dimly lit tunnel. Pipesand electrical conduits ran along the overhead and both walls.

"Christ," he muttered, "where the hell am I?"

 Monitoring the security cameras was easy duty. Gee Archer had hisback to the double row of surveillance screens as he tapped a stylusagainst his teeth, planning his next move. 


 "You sleeping?" asked Yoko Chiyoda, grinning impishly.

"Thinking," said Archer.

"It's hard to tell the difference."

 She was a big woman, with a blocky torso and thick limbs wellmuscled from years of martial arts training. Archer was slim, almostdelicate, with slicked-back blond hair and soft hazel eyes. Thetabletop screen between them showed the battle dispositions of theRussian and Japanese fleets at the Tsushima Straits in May 1905. Justto devil Archer, she had taken the Russian side, and was beating himsoundly nevertheless.

"Gimme a minute," Archer mumbled.

"You've already had-"

Several things happened at once. The sprinklers set in the ceilingbegan spraying them with water. The intercom loudspeakers blared,
"FIRE. EVACUATE THE BUILDING AT ONCE." Archer jumped to his feet,
banging his shin painfully against the play table. Chiyoda sputteredas she got up, blinking against the spray of ice-cold water drenchingher. She grabbed Archer's hand and dragged him limping toward thedoor.

 Unseen behind them, one of the surveillance screens showed a lonewoman walking swiftly along the empty street in Athens that led fromthe administration building to the complex of apartment buildingsfurther up the hill. The security computer's synthesized voice wassaying, "Ninety-three percent match between the person in camera viewand the fugitive Holly Lane. Notify security headquarters at once totake appropriate steps to apprehend the fugitive Holly Lane. She iswanted for questioning..."

But neither Archer nor Chiyoda heard the security computer. Theywere already halfway out of the building, drenched, rushing blindlyto escape the fire that did not exist, except in the circuits of thesafety computer.

 Computers are so smart, Holly thought, and so dumb. A human personwould've looked to see if there really was a fire in the building.
But give a computer the right set of instructions and it'll act as ifa fire had truly broken out.

She grinned as she skipped up the steps in front of the apartmentbuilding and tapped out its security code. The door sighed open andshe stepped in, out of range of the surveillance cameras at last, andhurried up the stairs to the second level, where Wilmot's apartmentwas.

 And ran almost into the arms of the two security officers standingin the corridor outside Wilmot's door.

 "Nobody's allowed to see Professor Wilmot," said the first one.

"But I--"

 "Hey!" snapped the second guard, recognition dawning on his face.
"You're Holly Lane, aren't you?"

Holly turned to run, but the guard grasped her arm. She swung onhim but the second guard grabbed her other arm in midswing.

"Come on, now. We don't want to hurt you."

Holly saw it was useless. She relaxed and glowered at them.

The first guard banged on Wilmot's door hard enough to rattle itagainst its frame while the second one spoke excitedly into hishandheld:

 "We've got her! Holly Lane. The fugitive. She's here at Wilmot'squarters."

A tinny voice replied, "Excellent. Hold her there until we arrive."

Wilmot opened his door, a fuzzy robe of royal blue wrapped aroundhim and tightly tied at the waist. His eyes widened with surprise ashe saw Holly in the grip of the guard.

"Got a visitor for you, Professor," the guard said, pushing Hollypast the startled old man and into his sitting room. Then he slid thedoor shut again. 


 "I suppose I shouldn't be astonished that you're here," Wilmotsaid, standing by the door. "The remarkable thing is that you'vemanaged to elude the security people for so long."

"Not long enough," Holly said ruefully.

"Well... do sit down. We might as well be comfortable. Would youlike something? Sherry, perhaps?"

"No thanks." Holly perched on the edge of one of the twinarmchairs. She glanced at the closed door. No other way out of here,
she knew. Wilmot sank down into the other armchair with a painedsigh.

"Whatever brought you here, to me?" he asked.

"I wanted your help," Holly said. "Colonel Kananga murdered DonDiego and he's after me now."

"Diego Romero? I thought his death was an accident."

"It was murder," said Holly. "Kananga did it. He tried to kill mewhen I found out about it."

 "And Eberly is in on it, is he?"

"You know about that?" Holly asked, surprised.

His face showing distaste, Wilmot said, "He's put out a dossierthat purports to show you are dangerously unbalanced."

Holly bit back the anger and remorse that surged within her. "Yes.
Malcolm's protecting Kananga."

"A little earlier this evening Dr. Cardenas sent me your dossierfrom the files on Earth. Eberly's done some creative lying aboutyou."

"Then you'll help me?"

Wilmot shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm not even able to helpmyself, actually. He's got me locked in here."

"Locked up? You? How could he do that? I mean, you're--"

"It's a long, sad story," said Wilmot wearily.

"Well, now he's got me, too," Holly said.

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 3 DAYS, 45 MINUTES

 Eberly frowned as Kananga shooed the last of the well-wishers outof his apartment. He had enjoyed his triumph at the rally, gloried inthe crowd's adulation. Carried off on their shoulders! Eberly hadnever known such a moment.

 Now, as midnight approached, Kananga officiously shoved the laststarry-eyed young woman out into the corridor and slid theapartment's front door firmly shut. Morgenthau sat on the sofa,
nibbling at one of the trays of finger food that had been set out.
Vyborg hunched by a three-dimensional image of the newscast, alreadyshowing a rerun of Eberly's minidebate against the red-hairedscientist.

 "You've got them," Vyborg said. "They all want to get rich. Most ofthem, at least."

"It was a brilliant stroke," Morgenthau agreed.

Still leaning against the door, Kananga snapped, "Turn that thingoff. We've found her."

 A surge of sudden fear cut through the elation Eberly had beenfeeling. "Found her? Holly?"

Smiling grimly, Kananga said, "Yes. She tried to sneak intoProfessor Wilmot's quarters. Looking to him for help, I suppose."

"Where is she now?"

 "Still there. My people have the apartment sealed off. I told themto cut Wilmot's phone off, too."

"What are you going to do with her?" Morgenthau asked.

The euphoria ebbed out of Eberly like water swirling down a drain.
Morgenthau had asked Kananga, not him. 


 "We'll have to eliminate her. Permanently."

"Tricky," said Vyborg. "If she's with Wilmot you can't just go inthere and snap her neck."

"She can always be killed trying to escape," Kananga said.

"Escape how?"

Kananga thought a moment. Then, "Perhaps she runs away from myguards and goes to an airlock. She puts on a spacesuit and tries togo outside, to hide from us. But the suit is defective, or perhapsshe didn't seal it up properly."

Morgenthau nodded.

Spreading his hands in a fait accompli gesture, Kananga said, "Poorgirl. She panicked and killed herself."

With a mean chuckle, Vyborg said, "She always was unbalanced, afterall."

 The three of them turned to Eberly. This is getting out of control,
he thought. They're making me a party to their murders. They'reforcing me to go along with them. They'll be able to hold this overmy head forever.

And after tomorrow, when I'm the elected head of the government,
they'll still have power over me. I'll be a figurehead, a puppetdancing to their tune. They'll have the power, not me.

Kananga slid the door open. Eberly could see that the corridoroutside was empty now. It was late. All his adoring crowd had gone totheir own homes.

 "Shall we go pick her up?" Kananga said.

"I'll go," said Eberly, trying to sound firmer, more in control,
than he really felt. "Alone."

Kananga's eyes narrowed. "Alone?"

"Alone. It would be more believable if she escaped from me thanfrom two of your thugs, wouldn't it?"

Before Kananga could reply, Vyborg said, "He's right. We've got tomake the story as plausible as possible."

Morgenthau eyed Eberly carefully. "This young woman is a definitethreat to us all. Whether we like it or not, she's got to beeliminated. For the greater good."

"I understand," said Eberly.

"Good," Morgenthau replied.

Kananga looked less agreeable. He obviously wanted to take care ofthis himself. Eberly pulled himself up to his full height and steppedto the door. He had to look up to see into Kananga's eyes. TheRwandan tried to face him unflinchingly, but after a few heartbeatshe moved away from the door. Eberly walked past him and out into thecorridor.

 Not daring to look back, he strode down the hallway toward theoutside door.

 Standing in the apartment doorway watching him, Kananga muttered,
"Do you think he's strong enough to carry this out?"

Morgenthau pushed herself up from the sofa. "Give him a fewminutes. Then you go to Wilmot's building and take the guards awayfrom his apartment door. Wait for him and the girl outside thebuilding. When Eberly brings her out, you and the guards can takeover."

 Vyborg agreed. "That way he's not party to the killing. Good."

Morgenthau cast him a contemptuous glance. "He's party to it. We'reall party to it. I want to make certain that the girl is taken careof properly."

 Holly came out of Wilmot's bathroom and sat tiredly on the sofa.
The digital clock showed it was past midnight.

"My phone doesn't work," the professor grumbled. "They really wantto keep us incommunicado."

"What's going to happen now?" she wondered.

With a sigh that was almost a snort, Wilmot replied, "That's in the 


lap of the gods. Or Eberly and his claque, rather."

"I wish there was some way I could talk to Kris Cardenas."

"Dr. Cardenas lives in this building, doesn't she?"

"Yes."

 Wilmot glanced at the door. "With those two guards outside, I don'tsuppose we'd be able to get to her."

"Guess not." The sofa felt very comfortable to Holly. She leanedback into its yielding softness.

"It's rather late," said the professor. "I'm going to bed. You canstretch out on the sofa if you like."

Holly nodded. Wilmot got up from his armchair and walked slowlyback to his bedroom.

 He hesitated at the bedroom door. "You know where the bathroom is. 
If you need anything, just give a rap."

"Thank you," said Holly, suppressing a yawn.

Wilmot went into his bedroom and shut the door. Holly stretched outon the sofa and, despite everything, fell into a dreamless sleep assoon as she closed her eyes.

 Thinking furiously, Eberly walked slowly along the path that ledfrom his apartment building to Wilmot's.

The voting starts in a few hours, he said to himself. In twelvehours or so I'll be the head of the new government. I'll have it allin my grasp.

But what good will that be if Kananga and the rest of them can holdtheir murders over my head? They'll be able to control me! Make mejump to their tune! I'll just be a figurehead. They'll have the realpower.

It was enough to make him weep, almost. Here I've struggled andplanned and worked all these months and now that the prize is at myfingertips they want to keep it from me. It's always been that way;
every time I reach for safety, for success and happiness, there'ssomeone in my way, someone in power who puts his foot on my neck andpushes me back down into the mud.

What can I do? What can I do? They've put me in this position andthey'll never let me out of it.

As he came up the walk in front of Wilmot's building he saw thatone of Kananga's guards was standing outside the front door, waitingfor him.

 Of course, Eberly thought. Kananga's already talked to him, toldhim that I'd be coming. Kananga and the others are probably coming upbehind me.

 And then it hit him. He stopped a dozen meters in front of theblack-clad guard. The revelation was so powerful, so beautiful, soperfect that a lesser man would have sunk to his knees and thankedwhatever god he believed in. Eberly had no god, though. He simplybroke into a wide, happy smile, grinning from ear to ear. His kneesstill felt a little rubbery, but he strode right up to the guard, whoopened the building's front door for him. Without a word, withouteven a nod to the man, Eberly swept past him and started up the stepsto Professor Wilmot's apartment.

 The knock on the door startled Holly awake. She sat up like a shot,
fully alert.

"Holly, it's me," came a muffled voice from the other side of thedoor. "Malcolm."

 She got up from the sofa and went to the door. Sliding it open, shesaw Eberly. And only one guard in the corridor.

Turning to the guard, Eberly said, "You can go now. I'll takecharge here."

The guard touched his right hand to his forehead in a sloppysalute, then headed toward the stairs. 


 "Holly, I'm sorry it's come to this," Eberly said as he steppedinto the sitting room and looked around. "Where's Professor Wilmot?"

"Asleep," she replied. "I'll get him."

Wilmot came into the room, wearing the same fuzzy robe. Otherwisehe looked normal, wide awake. Not a hair out of place. His face,
though, was set in an expression that Holly had never seen on the oldman before: wariness, apprehension, almost fear.

"May I sit down?" Eberly asked politely.

"I imagine you can do anything you bloody well like," said Wilmot,
irritably.

Instead of sitting, though, Eberly took an oblong black box fromhis tunic pocket and swung it across the room in a full circle, thenswept it up and down, from ceiling to floor and back again.

"What're you doing?" Holly asked.

"Exterminating bugs," said Eberly. "Making certain our conversationisn't overheard by anyone else."

Wilmot bristled. "You've had my quarters bugged for some time,
haven't you?"

"That was Vyborg's doing," Eberly lied smoothly, "not mine."

"Indeed."

 "I want to get this all straightened out before there's any moreviolence," Eberly said as he finally sat in the nearer of the twoarmchairs.

 "So do I," said Holly.

Wilmot sank slowly into the armchair facing Eberly. Holly went tothe sofa. She sat down and tucked her feet under her, feeling almostlike a little mouse trying to make herself seem as small andinvisible as possible.

"You're in danger, Holly. Kananga wants to execute you."

"What do you intend to do about it?" Wilmot demanded.

"I need your help," Eberly replied.

"My help? What do you expect me to do?"

"In eighteen hours or so I'll be the elected head of the newgovernment," said Eberly. "Until then you are still the director ofthis community, sir."

"I'm under house arrest and threatened with scandal," Wilmotgrumbled. "What power do I have?"

"If you ordered those guards away, they would obey you."

"Would they?"

Eberly nodded. "Yes, providing I second your command."

"I see."

 Holly swiveled her attention from Eberly to Wilmot and back again.
Scandal? she wondered. House arrest? What's going on between thesetwo?

 She said to Eberly, "Kananga killed Don Diego, didn't he?"

"Yes."

 "And he wants to kill me."

 "He certainly does."

"How are you going to stop him?"

"By arresting him," Eberly said, without hesitation. But his facelooked worried, doubtful.

"Suppose he doesn't want to be arrested?" Wilmot said. "He's thechief of the security forces, after all."

"That's where you come in, sir. You still have the legal power andthe moral authority to command the security officers."

"Moral authority," Wilmot mumbled.

"We'll need to arrest Morgenthau and Vyborg as well. They wereparties to Kananga's crime."

"Easier said than done. If Kananga wants to resist, I'll warrantmost of the security force will follow his lead, not mine."

Holly said, "But the security force is only about three dozen menand women."

 "That's a dozen for each of us," Wilmot pointed out.

"Yes," said Holly. "But there are ten thousand other men and women 


in this habitat."

 ELECTION DAY

 Kananga looked at his wristwatch, then up at the apartmentbuilding. He'd been waiting out in the street with a half-dozen ofhis best people for nearly an hour.

"I don't think she's coming out, sir," said the team's leader. "Wecould go in and get her."

"No," Kananga barked. "Wait."

He yanked his handheld from his tunic pocket and called for Eberly.

"What's going on?" he demanded as soon as Eberly's face appeared onthe miniature screen.

 "Miss Lane is going to stay here in Professor Wilmot's quarters forthe time being," Eberly said smoothly.

"What? That's not acceptable."

"She'll remain here until after the election is finished. We don't 
want to have anything disturb the voting."

"I don't see why--"

"I've made my decision," Eberly snapped. "You can post guardsaround the area. She's not going anywhere."

His image winked out, leaving Kananga staring angrily at a blankscreen.

 "What do we do now?" the team leader asked him.

 Kananga glared at her. "You stay here. If she tries to leave thebuilding, arrest her."

"And you, sir?"

"I'm going to try to get a few hours' sleep," he said, stalking offtoward his own quarters.

The phone woke Kris Cardenas. She sat up groggily and called out,
"No outgoing video." Glancing at Gaeta sleeping peacefully besideher, she thought that the man could probably snooze through the endof the world.

 Holly's face appeared at the foot of the bed. "Kris, are youthere?"

 "Holly!" Cardenas cried. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I'm in Professor Wilmot's apartment, upstairs from you. Can youcome up here right away?"

Cardenas saw that it was a few minutes past seven A.M. "There's acouple of security goons outside my door, Holly. They won't--"

"That's okay. They'll let you come up here. Professor Wilmot'salready spoken to them."

 Oswaldo Yańez woke bright and cheerful. He heard his wife in thekitchen, preparing breakfast. He showered and brushed his teeth,
whistling to himself as he dressed.

Breakfast was waiting for him on the kitchen table, steaming hotand looking delicious. He kissed her lightly on the forehead andsaid, "Before I eat, I must do my duty as a citizen."

He called to the computer as he sat across the table from Estela.

"Who will you vote for?" she asked.

Grinning, he replied, "The secrecy of the ballot is sacred, mydarling."

"I voted for Eberly. He makes more sense than the others."

Yańez's jaw dropped open. "You voted? Already?"

"Of course. As soon as I awoke."

 Yańez felt all the excitement of the day drain out of him. Hewanted to be the first to vote. It was unfair of his wife to sneak in 
ahead of him. Then he sighed. At least she voted for the rightcandidate. 


 "You're really okay?" Cardenas asked as soon as she enteredWilmot's apartment. Gaeta was right behind her, looking a littlepuzzled.

"I'm fine," said Holly. Turning to Eberly and Wilmot, she said,
"You know everybody, don't you?"

"Of course."

 Gaeta fixed Eberly with a pugnacious stare. "What's the idea ofcooping us up in the apartment? What's going on?"

"We are trying to save Miss Lane's neck," Eberly said.

"Yes," Wilmot added. "We want to avoid violence, but there arecertain steps we must take."

Holly told them what she had planned, and what she needed them todo.

 Cardenas blinked, once she understood. "Posse comitatus?" sheasked, unbelieving.

Gaeta broke into a nervous laugh. "Holy Mother, you mean a posse,
like in the old westerns?"

 "It won't work," Cardenas said. "These people are too independentto form a posse just because you ask them to. They'll want to knowwhy and how. They'll refuse to serve."

"I was wondering about them myself," said Wilmot.

Eberly smiled, though. "They'll do it. They merely need a bit ofpersuasion."

 After a few hours of sleep, Kananga stormed into Eberly'sapartment. "What are you doing? We agreed that the Lane woman wouldbe put into my custody."

Sitting bleary-eyed at his desk, watching the three sets of numbersfrom the early voting returns, Eberly said, "I've been up all night,
working on your problem."

"My problem? She's your problem, too. I want her delivered to meimmediately."

Eberly said blandly, "She will be. Don't get upset."

"Where is she? Why isn't she in my hands?"

Trying to control the tension that was tightening inside him,
Eberly said, "She's in Wilmot's apartment. She's not going anywhere."

"What's going on? What are you up to?" Kananga loomed over Eberlylike a dangerous thundercloud.

"Wait until the election returns are in," Eberly said, jabbing afinger toward the rapidly-changing numbers. "Once I'm officially thehead of this habitat I'll be able to act with real authority."

Kananga scowled suspiciously.

Hoping he had at least half-convinced the Rwandan, Eberly got upfrom his desk chair. "If you'll excuse me, I've got to get somesleep."

"Now? With the voting still going on?"

"There's nothing I can do to affect the voting now. It's all in thelap of the gods."

Despite himself, Kananga smiled tightly. "Better not let Morgenthauhear you speaking like a pagan."

Eberly forced himself to smile back. "I must sleep. It wouldn't dofor the newly-elected head of this habitat to have puffy eyes when heaccepts the authority of office."

 SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 1 DAY, 7 HOURS

 Edouard Urbain watched the final few minutes of the voting in theprivacy of his quarters with a strange mixture of disappointment andrelief. Eberly had clearly won, that much was certain early in theafternoon. But Urbain waited until the voting ended, at 17:00 hours, 


before finally accepting the fact that he would not be the directorof the habitat.

 He almost smiled. Now I can get back to my real work, he toldhimself. I will no longer be distracted by these politicalmonkeyshines.

Yet he felt close to tears. Rejected again. All my life I have beenturned away from the top position. All my life I have been told thatI am not good enough to be number one. Even Jeanmarie turned againstme, in the end.

And more, he realized. Now I must face this crazy stuntman and hisdemand to go to the surface of Titan. Eberly will support his demand,
of course. I will have to ask the IAA to inform Eberly that they willnot permit it. I will have to show everyone back on Earth that I amnot strong enough to keep a simple adventurer from contaminating apristine new world.

Tears blurred his eyes as he commanded the phone to contact Eberly.
I must congratulate him and concede my defeat, Urbain thought.
Another defeat. With more to come.

 Ilya Timoshenko had no difficulty making his concession message.
Sitting at the bar in the Bistro surrounded by a gaggle ofsupporters--mostly engineers and technicians--he used his handheld tocall Eberly.

"You've won and I'm glad," he said to Eberly's pleased image. "Nowlet's get this bucket into its proper orbit around Saturn."

Eberly laughed. "Yes, by all means. We're all counting on you andthe technical staff to bring us into Saturn orbit tomorrow."

 While Eberly's supporters celebrated his victory with an impromptupicnic out by the lake, Holly was still in Wilmot's apartment, usinghis computer to comb through the habitat's personnel files. It tookseveral hours, but at last she had a list of fifty men and women whomshe thought could serve as her posse.

As she sent the list to Eberly at his quarters, she wondered howgood her idea really was. Would the people she had selected actuallyagree to serve as a posse? It was so hard to pinpoint attributes suchas loyalty and responsibility from a person's dossier. Most of thepeople aboard the habitat were far from being "establishment" types.
They weren't misfits, as Pancho had called them, but they weredefinitely free thinkers, self-starters, unwilling to acceptdiscipline imposed by others.

I hope this works, Holly thought. She realized that her very lifedepended on it.

 The victory party was getting rowdy. Several of Eberly's supportershad brought coolers of home-brewed beer to the lakeside picnic andnow the celebrants were getting noisier and more obstreperous,
laughing uproariously at almost anything, sloshing beer over oneanother's heads, even wading into the lake fully dressed, gigglingand staggering like college students.

Normally, Eberly would have basked in the adulation of hissupporters. He didn't drink, and no one dared to douse him with beeror anything else, but still Eberly would have enjoyed everymillisecond of the hours-long picnic. Except that he knew what wascoming after the party ended.

So despite the smile he wore, in the back of his mind he wasthinking that he would have to deal with Kananga, and that was goingto be far from pleasant. Dangerous, more likely.

Morgenthau seemed rather pleased, despite the drunken antics of thestaggering, boisterous crowd. Even snaky little Vyborg chattedhappily with a few of the glowing-eyed young women that clustered 


about him, Eberly noted. Power goes to some people's heads; in otherpeople, power goes straight to the groin.

Morgenthau shouldered her way through a throng of well-wisherscrowding Eberly, a plastic cup in her chubby hand. Nonalcoholic,
Eberly was certain. Probably lemonade. The crowd melted away. Arethey being respectful, Eberly wondered, or do they realize that sheviews all this frivolity with infinite distaste?

Once the others had moved out of earshot, she quietly asked Eberly,
"Enjoying your triumph?" A knowing smile dimpled her broad face.

He nodded soberly. He had been careful to drink nothing strongerthan iced tea all through the picnic.

"Now our true work begins," she said, in a lower voice. "Now webring these people under control."

Eberly nodded again, less enthusiastically. He knew that she meantthat he too would be under control, as well. Her control. I've doneall this work and she thinks she's going to be the true power.

He wondered if Wilmot and Holly would turn out to be strong enoughto help him.

 The following morning, fifty puzzled men and women crowded into thelargest conference room in the administration building. Holly,
escorted by Gaeta and Cardenas, left Wilmot's quarters to join them,
after a detour to their own apartments for a shower and change ofclothes. They could see Kananga's security officers following them atsome distance, hanging back but watching their every move as theyspoke into their handhelds for instructions from Kananga. Hollythought of vids she had seen of hyenas tracking a herd of gazelles,
waiting for a weak one to falter so they could pounce.

Eberly met them at the building's front door and together theywalked past the Human Resources offices, where Morgenthau should havebeen, to the conference room.

There weren't enough chairs in the conference room for everyone,
and the fifty people Holly had selected were mostly on their feet,
making the packed room feel hot and sweaty with the press of too manybodies. And they were decidedly unhappy.

"What's going on?" one of the men demanded as soon as Eberlystepped through the door.

"Yeah, why do you want us here?"

"We're not gonna miss the orbit insertion, are we? It's set for afew hours from now."

 Eberly made a placating gesture with both hands as he squeezedthrough the group and up to the head of the table. Holly, with Gaetaand Cardenas still flanking her, waited near the door.

"Hey, isn't that the fugitive?" someone said, pointing at Holly.

"The security people want her."

"She must've turned herself in."

 Holly said nothing, but it frightened her to be considered afugitive, a criminal who has to be turned over to the authorities.

"What's she doing here?"

"Maybe Eberly's got her to give herself up."

"Then why're we here? What's he want with us?"

Gradually, they all turned toward Eberly, who stood in silencebehind the unoccupied chair at the head of the table, his handsgripping the chair back, waiting for their mutterings to cease.

At last he said, "I've asked you here because I need your help."
Pointing down the table to Holly, he said, "Miss Lane has beenfalsely accused. Colonel Kananga is the one who should be arrested."

"Kananga?"

"But he's the chief of security!"

"That's why I need you," Eberly said. "I want you to form acommittee, a posse. We will go to Kananga's office and arrest him."

"Me?"

 "Us?" 


 "Arrest the chief of security?"

"This has gotta be some kind of joke, right?"

"What about the rest of the security staff? You think those goonsare gonna stand by and let us arrest their boss?"

Eberly said, "The fifty of you should be enough to discourage theguards from interfering. After all, they aren't armed with anythingmore dangerous than their batons."

"I heard they're all martial arts specialists."

"I don't see why I have to get involved in this. You're the chiefadministrator now. You do it."

 "As chief administrator, I am drafting you to serve--"

"The hell with that! I'm not going to get my face punched in justbecause you've got a gripe with the security chief. Get some othersuckers to do your dirty work!"

One of the women said, "Anyway, you're not really the chiefadministrator yet, not officially. Not until Professor Wilmot swearsyou in."

"But I need you to arrest Kananga," Eberly pleaded. "It's your dutyas citizens!"

 "Duty my ass! You wanted to be head of this community. You do yourduty. Leave me out of it."

"Do it yourself," a bellicose red-faced man thundered. "We didn'tride all the way out here to Saturn to help you set up adictatorship."

"But--"

 They turned away from Eberly and began filing past Holly throughthe door, grumbling and muttering.

"Wait," Eberly called uselessly.

Hardly any of them even hesitated. They hurried by, leaving theconference room, most of them avoiding Holly's eyes as they left.

Eberly stood at the head of the table, watching them leave.
Morgenthau has all the offices bugged, he realized. Kananga will knowabout this failure before the last of them leaves the room.

 SATURN ORBIT INSERTION

 Unheeding of politics, uncaring of human aspirations andactivities, oblivious to the hopes and fears of the ten thousandpeople aboard the habitat, Goddard fell toward the ringed planet,
gripped in Saturn's massive gravity well, sliding down into itspreordained orbit just outside the ring system.

Half a million kilometers away, a jagged chunk of ice-covered rockhalf the size of the habitat was also falling into an orbit thatwould bring it squarely into Saturn's brightest, widest ring.

In the tidy, efficient command center, Timoshenko scowled at thedata his console screen showed him.

 "We're picking up more dust than predicted," he said.

Captain Nicholson nodded, her eyes fixed on her own screens. "Notto worry."

"It's causing abrasion of the hull."

"Within acceptable limits. Once we're in orbit we'll be moving withthe dust and the abrasion level will go down."

Timoshenko saw that the navigator and first mate both looked morethan a little worried, despite the captain's calm assurance.

"If the abrasion causes a break in one of the superconductingwires," the first mate said, "it could cause our radiation shieldingto fail."

 The captain swiveled her chair toward him. She was a small woman,
but when her square jaw stuck out like that she could be dangerous.

"And what do you want me to do about it, Mr. Perkins? We're in freefall now. Do you expect me to put her in reverse and back out of 


Saturn's gravity well?"

"Uh, no ma'am. I was just--"

"You just attend to your duties and stop being such an old maid.

We calculated the abrasion rate before we left lunar orbit, didn'twe? It's not going to damage our shielding."

The first mate bent his head to stare at his console screens as if 
his life depended on it.

"And you," she turned on the navigator, "keep close track of thatincoming iceball. If there's any danger here, that's where it is."

"It's following the predicted trajectory to within five nines,"
said the navigator.

"You watch it anyway," snapped Captain Nicholson. "Astronomers canmake all the predictions they want; if that thing hits us we're deadmeat."

 Timoshenko grinned sourly. She's a tough old bitch, all right. I'llmiss her when she leaves.

 And then he realized, When she and the other two leave I'll be thesenior man of the crew. Senior and only.

 Vyborg hissed, "He's sold us out. The traitor has sold us out."

Kananga, watching the real-time display of Eberly's failed meetingwith his unwilling posse, laughed aloud. "No," the Rwandan said. "Hetried to sell us out. And failed."

 They were in Morgenthau's office. From behind her desk she turnedoff the spy camera's display, then hunched forward in her creakingchair. "So what do we do about him?" she asked.

 "He's a traitor," Vyborg insisted. "An opportunistic turncoat who'dsell his mother's milk if he thought he could make a penny out ofit."

 "I agree," said Morgenthau, her expression grim. "But what do we doabout him?"

 Still smiling, Kananga said, "That's what airlocks are for. Him andthe girl, as well."

"And Cardenas?" Morgenthau asked. "And the stuntman? And Wilmot andanyone else who opposes us?"

Kananga started to nod, then realized what she was saying. Herubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Vyborg said, "We can't execute everyone who disagrees with us.
Unfortunately."

"Yes," said Kananga. "Even my best people would draw the linesomewhere."

 "So we have to control them, rather than execute them," Morgenthausaid.

 "Can we control Eberly now? In a few hours he'll be installed asleader of this community."

"It means nothing," Morgenthau assured him. "You saw how thosepeople reacted to his plea for their help. These malcontents andfreethinkers won't raise a finger to support him against us."

"They elected him."

"Yes, and now they expect him to run things without bothering them.
They don't want to get involved in the messy work of being activecitizens."

 "Ahh," said Kananga. "I understand."

"As long as we don't bother the people, they'll let us have a freehand to run things as we see fit."

"So Eberly has the title, but we make certain he has no power?"

"Exactly. He'll have to jump to our tune, or else."

"And Wilmot?"

 "He's already out of the way."

"Cardenas? The stuntman?" Vyborg asked.

"The stuntman will be leaving after his performance. He'll go outon the ship that's bringing the scientists from Earth."

"Cardenas," Vyborg repeated. "I don't like having her here. Her and 


her nanomachines."

 "And the Lane girl," said Kananga, touching his once-swollen cheek.
"She has got to be put away. Permanently."

"She should be executed for Romero's murder," Morgenthau said.

"Better that she kills herself trying to escape," said Kananga.

"Yes, probably so."

"What about Cardenas?" Vyborg insisted.

Morgenthau took a deep, sighing breath. "I don't like her, either.
She could become a troublemaker."

 Then her face lit up. "Nanotechnology! Suppose we find that Dr.
Cardenas is cooking up dangerous nanobugs in her lab?"

"She's not."

 "But the people will believe she is. Especially if we find thatRomero was murdered by nanomachines."

 Despite her reliance on Newtonian mechanics, despite her assurancesto Timoshenko and the other two men of her minuscule crew, CaptainNicholson felt her insides tensing as the countdown clock ticked offthe final seconds.

 The screens were all boringly normal. Nothing seemed wrong withtheir trajectory. The dust abrasion was a worry, but it was onlyslightly above predicted limits. The approaching iceball wasfollowing its predicted path, a safe two hundred thousand kilometersaway from the habitat.

Still...

 "Thirty seconds to orbital insertion," said the computer'ssynthesized voice.

I know that, Nicholson replied silently. I can read the countdownclock as well as you, you pile of chips.

"Abrasion level rising," Timoshenko called.

It was still within acceptable limits, the captain saw. Yet it wasworrisome, despite her assurances.

"Ten seconds," said the computer. "Nine ... eight..."

Nicholson glanced up from her screens. The three men looked just astense as she felt, all of them hunched over their consoles.

What if something breaks down? she asked herself. What could I doabout it? What could anyone do?

"Three ... two ... one. Orbital insertion."

 The navigator looked up from his console, his worried frownreplaced by a wide grin. "That's it. We're in orbit. On the nose, tofive nines."

 Timoshenko called out, "The abrasion rate is decreasing rapidly."

Nicholson allowed herself a tight grin. "Congratulations,
gentlemen. We are now the forty-first moon of Saturn."

Then she got up from her chair, noticing the perspiration that madeher blouse stick to her back, flung her arms over her head andbellowed a wild, ear-splitting, "Yahoo!"

 Like most of the other residents of the habitat, Manuel Gaetawatched the final orbital maneuver on his video. With Kris Cardenas 
beside him.

 "It's really gorgeous, isn't it?" she murmured, staring at theimage of Saturn with its bands of many hues swirling across theplanet's disc, and its rings hanging suspended above the equator,
shining brilliantly in the light from the distant Sun, casting a deepshadow across the planet's face.

The rings were tilting as they watched, almost as if they werecoming up to meet the approaching habitat, becoming narrower andforeshortened with each passing second until they were nothing morethan a knife edge slashing across Saturn's bulging middle. stableorbit achieved: the words flashed out over the planet's image.
"That's it," Gaeta said. He turned and gave Cardenas a peck on the 


lips.

"We should do something to celebrate," Cardenas said, without muchenthusiasm.

 "They're going to have a big blowout right after Eberly's installedin office," Gaeta said, equally glum.

"I don't feel like going out."

"I know. Having those security mugs tracking us is a pain. Gimme acouple of beers and I'll knock them both on their asses."

"No you won't," Cardenas said firmly. "No alcohol for you. Tomorrowyou're going out to the rings."

"Yeah. Tomorrow."

 Neither one of them mentioned it, but they both knew that afterGaeta's stunt in Saturn's ring system, he would be leaving thehabitat and heading back to Earth.

 INAUGURATION

 "She's got to be eliminated," Morgenthau said firmly. "And theCardenas woman, too."

Eberly walked beside her at the head of the procession that woundalong the central footpath of Athens down to the lakeside, where theinauguration ceremony would be held. Behind them, at a respectful fewpaces, strode the tall, long-limbed Kananga and Vyborg, looking likea hunchbacked gnome beside the Rwandan. Behind them marched severalhundred of their supporters. Even though every member of theSecurity, Communications, and Human Resources Departments had beentold to attend the inauguration, hardly half of their staffs hadbothered to show up.

"Eliminated?" Eberly snapped, trying to hide the fear that wasmaking his inside flutter. "You can't eliminate someone of Cardenas'sstature. You'll have investigators from Earth flying out here intorch ships to see what happened."

Morgenthau cast him a sidelong glance. "Neutralized, then. I don'twant her working on those damnable nanomachines here."

Without breaking stride, Eberly said, "You don't want? Since whenare you giving the orders here?"

"Since the very beginning. And don't you forget it."

"I'm the one being inaugurated," Eberly said, with a bravado he didnot truly feel. "I'm going to be installed as the leader of thiscommunity."

"And you will do as I tell you," Morgenthau countered, her voiceflat and hard. "We know you tried to sell us out. You and yourposse." She broke into a low chuckle.

"That was a necessary tactical maneuver. I never had anyintention--"

 "Don't add another lie to your sins. I could have you removed fromthis habitat and sent back to your prison cell in Vienna with just asingle call back to Amsterdam."

Eberly bit back the reply he wanted to make. They had reached thelakeside recreation area, where hundreds of chairs had been set inneat rows facing the band shell stage. A few dozen people werealready seated there. Professor Wilmot sat alone up on the stage,
looking somewhere between weary and bored. The band musicians thatwere lounging off at one side of the stage picked up theirinstruments and arranged themselves into a ragged semblance of order.

Eberly stopped at the edge of the last row of mostly empty chairs.
Everything was as he had planned it. This was the moment he hadworked for ever since that meeting in Schönbrunn Prison. He hadplanned out every detail of this inauguration ceremony. The onlything he could not control was the yawning indifference of thehabitat's people. That, and Morgenthau's hardening attitude toward 


him. All the details are perfect, Eberly said to himself, but the dayis an utter failure.

 Turning to Morgenthau, he said, "You'll have to walk three pacesbehind me."

 "Of course," she said, with a knowing smile. "I know how to playthe role of the subservient woman."

 Eberly took a deep breath. It's going to be like this forever, herealized. She's going to make my life a hell on wheels.

Outwardly, though, he appeared to smile and pull himself up to hisfull height. He hesitated at the last row of chairs until he caughtthe bandleader's eye. With a nod, Eberly started marching down thecentral aisle between the empty chairs. Halfway between his secondand third steps the band broke into a halfhearted rendition of "Hailto the Chief."

 Holly watched the inaugural ceremony from her own apartment, deeplyuncertain about what her future had in store. Malcolm tried to goagainst Kananga and got nowehere. What will he do once he'sofficially installed in office?

What will Kananga do?

Holly decided she couldn't wait for them to make up their minds.
She grabbed a few clothes, stuffed them into a tote bag, and headedfor the door of her apartment. I'd better be where they can't findme, she told herself, until I know what they're really going to do.

Her phone buzzed. She put the bag down and pulled out the handheld.

Raoul Tavalera's face appeared on the tiny screen. He looked bone-
weary, disheveled.

"Holly? You okay?"

"I'm fine, Raoul," she replied, nodding. "But I can't really talkwith you now."

"I'm worried about you."

"Oh, for..." Holly didn't know what to say. She felt genuinelytouched. "Raoul, you don't have to worry about me. I can take ofmyself."

"Against that Kananga guy and his goons?"

She hesitated. "You shouldn't get yourself involved in this, Raoul.
You could get into deep trouble."

Even in the minuscule screen she could see the stubborn set of his 
jaw. "If you're in trouble, I want to help."

How to get rid of him without hurting his feelings? Holly blurted,
"Raoul, you're really a special guy. But I've got to run now. See youlater."

 She clicked the phone off, tucked it back into her tote, picked upthe bag and left her apartment. I don't want to hurt him, she toldherself. He's too nifty to get himself tangled up in this mess.

There were only two security people following her as she walkeddown the empty path: a chunky-looking guy and a slim woman who waseither Hispanic or Asian--it was hard for Holly to tell which, at thedistance from which they followed her. Both wore black tunics andslacks, which made them stand out against the village's whitebuildings like ink blots on a field of snow.

She grinned to herself. I'll lose those two clowns as soon as I popdown into the tunnels.

 She never noticed the third security agent moving far ahead of her.
But he tracked her quite clearly. Every item of Holly's clothes hadbeen sprayed with a monomolecular odorant that allowed the agent totrack her like a bloodhound.

 "You're missin' the inauguration," Gaeta said.

Cardenas shrugged. "So I miss it."

Gaeta's massive armored suit stood like a grotesque statue in themiddle of the workshop floor. The chamber hummed with the background 


buzz of electrical equipment and the quiet intensity of specialistsgoing about their jobs. Fritz and two of his technicians were usingthe overhead crane to slowly lower the bulbous suit to a horizontalposition and place it on its eight-wheeled transport dolly. It lookedto Cardenas like lowering a statue. A third technician had crawledinside the suit: Cardenas could see his sandy-brown mop of hairthrough the open hatch in its back. Off at a console against theworkshop wall, Nadia Wunderly was tracing the trajectory of the ice-
covered asteroid that was making its last approach to the main ringbefore falling into orbit around Saturn. Berkowitz shuttled nervouslyfrom one to another, recording everything with his handcam.

Gaeta walked slowly to the diagnostic console and bent over it tostudy rows of steady green lights intently.

He's really trying to get away from me, Cardenas said to herself. Ishouldn't be here. I shouldn't be distracting him now. I should leavehim to focus completely on his job.

Yet she stayed, shuffling uneasily, uncertainly, as the men aroundher went through their final tasks before wheeling the suit down tothe airlock where they would stow it aboard the shuttle craft thatwould take Manny to the rings.

As Gaeta watched them gently lowering the suit, Cardenas realizedthat the contraption would be his home for the next two days. He'llhave to live inside it, work inside it... maybe die inside it.

Stop it! she commanded herself. No blubbering. He's got enough toworry about without you crying all over him.

It took an enormous effort of will, but finally Cardenas heardherself say, "Manny, I'd better get back to my apartment. I--" Shestopped, then touched his strong, muscular shoulder and kissed himlightly on the lips. "I'll see you when you get back," she said.

He nodded, his face deadly serious. "In two days."

"Good luck," she said, barely able to move her hand from hisshoulder.

 "Nothing to worry about," he said, making a smile for her. "This isgonna be a walk in the park."

"Good luck," she repeated, then abruptly turned away from him andstarted walking toward the workshop door. Her mind kept churning,
He'll be all right. He's done more dangerous stunts than this. Heknows what he's doing. Fritz won't let him take any unnecessarychances. He'll be back in two days. In two days it'll be all over andhe'll be safe.

 Yes, said a voice in her mind. And then he'll leave the habitat, goback to Earth, leave you for good.

 "Therefore," Professor Wilmot was saying, "in accordance with thiscommunity's Principles of Organization, I declare the newconstitution to be the deciding law of this habitat. I furtherdeclare that you, Malcolm Eberly, having been duly elected by freevote of the population, are now officially the chief administrator ofthis habitat."

 The few hundred people scattered among the chairs spread across thegrass rose to their feet and applauded. The band broke into "HappyDays Are Here Again." Wilmot gripped Eberly's hand limply andmumbled, "Congratulations, I suppose."

Eberly grasped the podium's edges and looked out at the sparseaudience. There sat Morgenthau, in the front row, eying him like anelementary school teacher waiting for her pupil to recite the speechshe had forced him to write. Kananga and Vyborg sat behind her.

Eberly had composed an inauguration speech, liberally cribbed fromthe words of Churchill, Kennedy, both Roosevelts, and Shakespeare.

He looked down at the opening lines, in the podium's displayscreen. With a shake of his head that was visible to everyone in theaudience, he looked up again and said, "This is no time for fancyspeeches. We have arrived safely at our destination. Let those who 


are Believers thank God. Let all of us understand that tomorrow our 
real work begins. I intend to file a petition with the worldgovernment, asking them to recognize us as a separate and independentnation, just as Selene and Ceres have been recognized."

There was a moment of surprised silence, then everyone jumped totheir feet and applauded lustily. Everyone except Morgenthau,
Kananga, and Vyborg.

 LAUNCH

 Raoul Tavalera watched the orbital insertion and Eberly'sinauguration from his apartment, although he barely noticed what theimages displayed. He was thinking about Holly. She was in trouble,
and she needed help. But when he had offered to help her, she hadturned him down flat.

 The story of my life, he grumbled to himself. Nobody wants me.
Nobody gives a friggin' damn about me. Mr. Nobody, that's me.

He was surprised at how much pain he felt. Holly had been kind tohim, more than kind, since he had first come aboard the habitat. Heremembered the dates they had had. Dinners at the Bistro and evenNemo's, once. That picnic out at the endcap, where she told me aboutold Don Diego. She likes me, he told himself, I know she does. Butnow she doesn't want me to be with her. Why?

He tried phoning her again, but the comm system said her phone hadbeen deactivated. Deactivated? Why? Then it hit him. She's on the runagain. She's trying to hide from Kananga and his apes. That's why shedeactivated her phone, so they can't track her.

Slowly, Tavalera got up from the chair in which he'd been sittingmost of the day. Holly's in trouble and she needs help, whether shethinks so or not. My help. I've got to find her, help her, show hershe's not alone in this.

 For the first time in his life, Raoul Tavalera decided he had toact, no matter what the consequences. It's time for me to stop beingMr. Nobody, he told himself. I've gotta find Holly before Kananga'sbaboons do.

 Focus, Gaeta told himself. Blot out everything from your mindexcept the job at hand. Forget about Kris, forget about everythingexcept getting this stunt done.

He stood at the inner hatch of the airlock, surrounded by Fritz,
Berkowitz, and Timoshenko, who would pilot the shuttlecraft to therings. The other technicians were behind him, checking out the suitfor the final time.

 Berkowitz had microcams mounted on the walls around the airlock 
enclosure, inside the airlock chamber, even clipped to a headbandthat matted down his stylishly curled and tinted brown hair.

"How does it feel to be undertaking the first human traversethrough Saturn's rings?" Berkowitz asked, almost breathless witheager intensity.

"Not now, Zeke," said Gaeta. "Gotta concentrate on the work."

Fritz stepped between them, a stern expression on his face. "Hecan't do interviews now."

 "Okay, okay," said Berkowitz amiably enough, althoughdisappointment showed clearly in his eyes. "We'll just record thepreparations documentary-style and put in the interviews over itafterward."

 Gaeta turned to Timoshenko. "It's going to be just you and me outthere."

 "Not to worry," Timoshenko said, totally serious. "I'll get you tothe B ring, then swing through the Cassini division and pick you up 


on the other side of the ring plane."

Gaeta nodded. "Right."

"Suit's all primed and ready to go," said one of the technicians.

"Any problems?" Gaeta asked.

"The pincer on your right arm is a little stiff. If we had a couplehours I'd break it down and rebuild it for ya."

"You won't be needing the pincers," Fritz interjected.

"It works good enough," the tech said. "Just isn't as smooth as itoughtta be."

Gaeta thought, If it's good enough for Fritz it'll be okay.

But Fritz said, "I'm going in for a final check."

Gaeta smiled and nodded. He had expected that. There were threestandards of acceptability in this world: average, above average, andFritz. His chief technician's keen eye and finicky demands had savedGaeta's life more than once.

 Sure enough, Holly eluded her trackers after less than half an hourin the tunnels. She had ducked through an access hatch, clambereddown a ladder, and then scooted light-footedly along the lower tunneluntil she came to the big valve on the water line. Holly knew thatthis pipeline was a backup and not in use except when the main linewas down for inspection or repair. So she tapped out the combinationcode on the hatch's electronic lock and crawled into the dark pipe,
closing the hatch after her without making a sound.

She couldn't stand up inside the pipe; couldn't even get up to akneeling posture. She slithered along on her belly almosteffortlessly. The pipe was dry inside, its plastic lining smooth andeasy to slide along. Her only problem was estimating distance in thedark, so she used a penlight to show her where the hatches appeared.
Holly knew to the centimeter the distances between hatches. When shehad crawled half a kilometer, she stopped and broke open one of thesandwich packs she had brought with her.

As she munched on the sandwich in the faint glow from the penlight, 
she felt almost like a little mouse down in its burrow. Thereare big cats out there, she knew. But I'm safe enough here. Unlesssomebody decides to divert the main water routing through this backuppipeline. Then I'd be a drowned little mouse.

 The two black-clad security officers stood uncertainly in thetunnel, gazing up and down along the pipes and conduits.

"She just disappeared on us," the man said to the third tracker,
who wore a gray running suit. He was tall, rangy, not a gram of faton him; he looked like an athlete who trained hard every day.

He held the chemical sniffer in one hand, a small gray oblong box-the 
same shade as his running suit.

"She came this way, definitely," he said.

"But where's she gone?" asked the woman.

"That's not your problem. I'll take over from here. You can go backand report to the boss."

They were reluctant to leave, not so much because they were zealousabout their jobs, as a decided lack of enthusiasm for the prospect offacing Kananga empty-handed.

"You sure you don't need help?" the man asked.

The gray-clad tracker smiled and hefted the electronic sniffer.
"I've got all the help I need, right here."

 Gaeta had been in the shuttlecraft before. Fritz insisted that the 
stuntman familiarize himself with the vehicle that would carry himfrom the habitat to the rings. Manny had found the craft to be prettymuch like dozens of others he had seen: utilitarian, austere, builtmore for efficiency than comfort. The cockpit had two seats 


shoehorned in among all the flight controls. Behind that was acloset-sized "amenities" area with a zero-g toilet built into thebulkhead right next to the food storage freezer and microwave oven.
The sink was there, too. Two mesh sleeping bags were pinned againstthe opposite bulkhead.

The cargo bay was pressurized, so while Timoshenko ran through hisfinal checkout of the craft's systems, Gaeta ducked through the hatchto look over his suit.

 It stood looming in the bay, so tall that the top of the helmetbarely cleared the bay's overhead. Gaeta looked up into the emptyfaceplate of the helmet. Some people saw the suit for the first timeand got the shudders. Gaeta always felt as if he were meeting hisother half. Alone, each of them were much less than they weretogether: the suit an empty shell, the man a helpless weakling. Buttogether--Ahh, together we've done great things, haven't we? Gaetareached up and patted the suit's upper arm. Some of the dents fromthe simulation test they'd done hadn't been smoothed out of thesuit's armored chest, he noticed. Shaking his head, he thought heshould speak to Fritz about that. He should've treated you better,
Gaeta said to the suit.

 "Launch in five minutes," Timoshenko's voice came through the opencockpit hatch. "You'll have to strap down."

Gaeta nodded. With a final look at the suit, he turned and wentback into the cockpit to start his journey through the rings ofSaturn.

 Kris Cardenas tried to keep busy during the last hours beforeGaeta's launch. Eberly had lifted the ban on her nanolab, so she hadgone to the laboratory, where she had real work to do. It was betterthan sitting in the apartment trying to keep herself from weepinglike some helpless female who was supposed to stand by bravely whileher man went out to do battle.

 It annoyed her that Tavalera wasn't at his job, until she realizedthat he probably didn't know the lab had been allowed to reopen. Shetried to phone him, but the comm system couldn't find him and hispersonal handheld had been deactivated.

That's not like Raoul, she thought. He's always been reliable.

She went through the motions of designing repair nanos for Urbain'sTitan lander, then finally gave it up altogether and turned on thevid.

 "There is the shuttlecraft," Zeke Berkowitz's voice was poised onthe edge that separated authoritative self-assuredness from excitedenthusiasm. "In precisely fifteen seconds it will separate from thehabitat and begin the journey that will carry Manuel Gaeta into therings of Saturn."

Cardenas saw a view from the exterior shell of the habitat. She 
knew that Berkowitz's newscast was being beamed to all the medianetworks on Earth. She could hear the computer's voice counting downthe final seconds.

 "Three ... two ... one ... launch."

 The shuttlecraft detached from the habitat's huge, curved surface,
looking like a squarish metallic flea hopping off the hide of anelephant. Against the iridescent glowing disc of many-hued Saturn,
the shuttlecraft rose, turned slowly, and then began dwindling out ofsight.

"Manuel Gaeta is on his way," Berkowitz was announcing ponderously,
"to be the first man to traverse the mysterious and fascinating ringsof Saturn."

 "Goodbye Manny," Cardenas whispered, certain that she would neversee him again. 


 INTO THE RINGS

 Even though she knew that the backup pipeline was perfectly safe,
Holly began to get a little edgy about staying in it. In her mind'seye she saw some maintenance engineer casually switching thehabitat's main water flow from the primary pipeline to the backup.
Just a routine operation, yet it would send a flood of frothing watercascading down the pipe toward her, engulfing her, sweeping her alongin its irresistible flow, drowning her as she tumbled over and overin the roaring, inescapable flood.

Dimdumb! she snapped at herself. You're scaring yourself like somelittle kid afraid of monsters under the bed. Yet, as she crawledalong the perfectly dry pipeline, she kept listening for the telltalerush of water, feeling with her fingertips for the slightestvibration of the pipe. And the pipe wasn't perfectly dry, at that:
here and there small damp patches and even actual puddles told herthat water had been flowing not so long ago.

She had thought she'd stay in the pipeline until it made its big U-
turn, up near the endcap. Well, maybe not all the way. It'd be goodto get out and stretch, be able to stand up again. So she slitheredfurther along the pipe, even though the lingering fear of drowningstill gnawed at her.

 The tracker reached the hatch where Holly had entered the pipelineeasily enough. The electronic sniffer in his hand followed the scenttrail she had left quite easily. My faithful bloodhound, he thought,
with a crooked smile.

 Now he had a decision to make. Should I go into the pipe and followher, or stay outside? He decided to remain outside. He could makebetter time walking, or even jogging, than he could crawling insidethe dark pipe. She has to come out sooner or later, and when she doesthe sniffer will tell me which hatch she used.

 But which direction did she go? She was heading away from thevillage, toward the endcap, he knew. I'll follow that vector. Thechances that she'd double back toward the village are pretty scarce.
Still, he phoned Kananga to report the situation and advise him tohave a few people standing by at the pipeline hatches near thevillage.

"I'll do better than that," Kananga said, grinning fiercely. "I'llorder maintenance to run the main water flow through the line.
That'll flush her out."

 Tavalera bicycled out to the endcap along the path that meanderedthrough the orchards and farmlands. He left the bike at the end ofthe path, then followed the walking trail that led through the woodsat the endcap. It felt strange: He could see he was climbing a decentslope yet it felt as if he were going downhill; the gravitydiminished noticeably with every step he took.

At last he reached the little spot in the woods where he and Hollyhad once picnicked. I can't search the whole habitat for you, Holly,
he said silently, so you'll have to come to me.

Tavalera sat down and began to wait for her to show up. It was thebest course of action he could think of.

 Gaeta felt the same pulse of excitement that always hit him once hewas sealed inside the suit, with all the systems turned on andworking. Not merely excitement. What he felt was power. In the suithe had the strength of a demigod. The suit protected him against theworst that the universe could throw at him. He felt virtuallyinvulnerable, invincible. 


 Keep thinking like that, pal, and you'll end up dead, he warnedhimself. Take a deep breath and get to work. And remember that it'sdamned dangerous out there.

Still, he felt like a superman.

"Approaching insertion point." Timoshenko's raspy voice camethrough the helmet earphones.

Gaeta nodded. "I'm sealed up. Open the cargo bay hatch."

"Opening hatch."

Gaeta had been through this many times. He always felt a thrillwhen the hatch slid open and he could look out at the universe ofendless black void and countless brilliant stars.

 But this time was different. As the hatch opened the cargo bay wasflooded with light, overpoweringly brilliant light. Gaeta looked upat an endless field of gleaming, dazzling white, as far as his eyescould see, nothing but glittering sparkling light. It was likelooking out at a titanic glacier or a field of glistening snow thatextended forever.

 No, he realized. It's like looking out at a whole world made ofdiamonds: sparkling, glittering diamonds. They're not just white,
they gleam and glow like diamonds, hundreds of millions of billionsof bright, beautiful gems spread out from one end of the universe tothe other.

 His breath caught in his throat. "Jesus Cristo," he muttered.

"What was that?" Timoshenko asked.

 "I'm going out," Gaeta said.

"Your trajectory program is operative?"

Gaeta called up the trajectory program vocally. It splashed itscolored curves on the inside of his faceplate.

"Operative."

"Ready for insertion in eight seconds. Seven..."

Gaeta had to make a conscious effort to concentrate on the task 
ahead. His eyes kept wandering to the endless field of dazzling gemsstretching out before him.

They're just flakes of ice, he told himself. Nothing more than bitsof dust with ice covering them.

Yeah, answered a voice in his mind. And diamonds are nothing morethan carbon. And the Mona Lisa is nothing more than same dabs ofpaint on a chunk of canvas.

"... one ... zero. Launch," said Timoshenko.

The suit's master computer ignited the thrusters in the backpackand Gaeta felt himself pushed gently out of the cargo bay. Now he waslooking down on the endless field of gleaming gems and beginning todrift toward them.

 How fucking beautiful, he thought. How incredibly fuckingbeautiful!

 "Say something!" came Berkowitz's voice, relayed from the habitat.
"We need some words from you for posterity."

Gaeta licked his lips. "This is the most incredibly beautiful sightI've ever seen. It's ... it's ... beyond description. Words justcan't capture it."

For some minutes Gaeta just drifted along above the ring plane,
allowing the computer to guide him automatically along the presettrajectory. He knew the cameras in his helmet were recording it all,
so there wasn't much for him to do at this point in the trajectory.
He simply gaped, awed by the splendor that surrounded him.

"It's like something out of a fairy tale," he said, hardlyrealizing he was speaking aloud. "A field of diamonds. A whole worldof diamonds spread out below me. I feel like Sinbad the Sailor andMarco Polo and Ali Baba, all rolled into one."

"That's great," Berkowitz's voice answered. "Great."

"Have any particles hit you?" Fritz asked.

"No, nothing that the sensors have picked up," Gaeta replied. "I'mstill too high above the ring." Good old Fritz, he thought. Trying tobring me back to reality. 


 Another gentle push of thrust at his back and Gaeta began to comecloser to the ring. Within minutes he would be going through it. Thatwould be the dangerous part of the stunt, barging in there among allthose bits and chunks while they're whipping around the planet intheir orbits.

 He could see now that the ring wasn't a solid sheet. It was clearlymade of separate, individual rings, braiding together and unwindingeven while he watched. He could see stars through the ring, and theponderous curve of Saturn with its colorful bands of clouds.

"Looks like a cyclonic storm down in the southern tropics," hereported.

"Never mind that," Fritz said. "Pay attention to the rings."

"Yes, master."

"What about the spokes?" Wunderly's voice, trembling withexhilaration. "I can see them in your camera view. One of them isapproaching you."

Gaeta realized that there were darker regions in the ring,
undulating like a wave made by fans at a sports arena.

"Yeah, heading my way," he said.

Looking closer, he saw that it was almost like a cloud of darkerbits of dust rising up from the ring plane and sweeping along thebrighter stuff of the ring's main body. And he was approaching it ata fairly rapid clip.

"I'm going to duck into it," he said.

Fritz warned, "Wait. Let us examine it first."

"It'll pass me; I'll miss it."

"There will be others."

 Gaeta didn't want to wait for another spoke to swing by. He pulledhis right arm out of the suit sleeve and tapped in a maneuver commandfor the navigation program.

"Here we go," he said as the suit tilted and dove into theapproaching cloud.

Fritz muttered something in German.

"It's dust," Gaeta saw. "Sort of gray, like there's no ice coatingthe particles."

"Adjust your approach vector," Fritz snapped. "Don't go plungingheadlong into the cloud."

"I'll just skim along it," said Gaeta, enjoying himself now.
"Doesn't look thick enough to cause any problems. I can see rightthrough it."

Wunderly said, "See if you--" Her voice broke up into cracklingstatic.

 "Say again," Gaeta called. "You're breaking up."

No answer except hissing electronic interference. Gaeta was barelytouching the cloud as it swept along the ring. He called for asystems check and the displays on his faceplate showed everything inthe green, including the radio.

Outside interference, he said to himself. Something in the dustcloud screws up radio communications.

The cloud raced past him, swinging along the ring far faster thanGaeta's leisurely pace.

"...off the scale!" Wunderly was shouting excitedly. "That provesthe spokes are driven by electromagnetic interactions."

"I can hear you again," Gaeta said. "Whatever it was that blockedthe radio is gone now."

"It's the spokes!" Wunderly said. "We've just proved that high-
powered electromagnetic fields drive them!"

"And interfere with radio links," Fritz added calmly.

"It didn't mess up anything else in the suit," Gaeta said.

"The suit is heavily shielded," said Fritz.

"Yeah." Gaeta saw that he was approaching the ring particles prettyfast now. Like diving into a field of diamonds, he thought,
chuckling.

"What is funny?" Fritz demanded. 


 "I was thinking I shoulda brought a big bucket to haul back some ofthese diamonds."

 "They are not diamonds. They are dust particles covered with ice."

"But the ones in the spokes don't seem to have ice on 'em."

"That is a mystery for Dr. Wunderly to ponder. For you, you shouldbe adjusting your velocity vector to make it as close to that of thering particles as possible. That will minimize impacts and abrasionproblems."

It was all in the automated nav program, Gaeta knew, but he checkedhis approach velocity against the ring particles' and saw that hecould notch down his approach a hair. That'll give me more time inthe ring itself, he thought. Good.

Then he saw a bigger chunk of ice tumbling slowly through the ring,
glittering brilliantly.

"Hey, see that one? It's big as a house."

"Stay away from it," Fritz commanded.

"Can you get close enough to measure its size precisely?" Wunderlyasked.

 Gaeta laughed again. "Right. Stay away and get close. No sweat,
folks."

 CAPTURED

 Crawling along the pipe on all fours, Holly's right hand splashedinto a shallow little puddle at precisely the same instant that herleft hand felt a slight vibration along the pipe's curved interiorsurface.

 She froze for an instant, listening for the rush of water, thendecided, By the time I hear it, it'll be too late to do anythingabout it.

 She had passed a hatch about five minutes earlier. That meant thenext hatch would be roughly five minutes ahead. Which way is thewater coming? she asked herself. Doesn't matter, came the answer.
You've got to get your butt out of here. Now!

She scurried forward, feeling like a mouse in its burrow,
scampering as fast as her hands and knees would carry her. She hearda rumble from somewhere behind her, thought it might be herimagination overreacting, then felt the unmistakable shudder of waterrushing along the pipe. By the time she reached the hatch she couldhear the flood roaring down toward her. With trembling fingers sheopened the hatch, crawled out of the pipe, and slammed the hatch shutagain. Water thundered past, some of it splashing through the hatchbefore she could seal it properly.

That was close!

 Holly's legs wouldn't hold her up. She slid to the metal flooringof the tunnel and sat in the puddle beneath the hatch.

They knew I was in the pipe! she realized. They knew and they triedto drown me.

 The tracker was loping along the tunnel, running easily alongsidethe pipeline. He could hear the water gushing through it but, carefulman that he was, he jogged down the tunnel on the chance that hisprey had gotten out in time. Take no chances, don't give the prey achance to get away.

He was an Ethiopian who had dreamed of winning Olympic gold medalsfor long-distance running until the Olympic Games were indefinitelypostponed. He had supported himself, his parents, and his youngersiblings on a policeman's meager salary. Even that failed, however,
when a relative of a politician from the capital was handed hisposition and salary. Faced with starvation, he accepted a position on 


the outbound Saturn habitat, on the condition that his salary be senteach month to his parents. Once aboard the habitat, he was befriendedby Colonel Kananga and given a soft post with the SecurityDepartment.

This job of tracking was his first important duty for the colonel,
after so many months of routine security patrols in a habitat wherethere were no real criminals, only spoiled, independent-minded sonsand daughters of the wealthy who acted like children that didn't haveto grow up.

He had no intention of failing this assignment. He wanted to pleaseColonel Kananga.

 "I'm getting pinged," Gaeta said.

He was still a considerable distance above the ring, but particlesof dust were already impinging on his suit, according to the sensorson its outer shell. No problem, Gaeta told himself. Not yet. It'llget worse in a coupla minutes.

It was hard to estimate distances. He was looking down at adazzling field of white, glaring light, like floating down in aballoon to the top of an enormous glacier. Yet the ring wasn't solid;
it was composed of millions upon millions of particles, like all theshiny bright marbles in the universe had gathered themselves togetherhere. The house-sized chunk of ice had passed by, tumbling end overend, visibly banging into the smaller particles that swarmed aroundit.

 Fritz's voice, calm and assured, said, 'Tour velocity vector isgood. The impacts should be at minimal energy."

"Yeah," Gaeta agreed, drifting closer to the vast sea of glitteringparticles. "I don't feel anything yet."

"We're getting size estimates for the particles," said Wunderly.
"There doesn't seem to be anything above a few millimeters now." Shesounded disappointed.

"You want me to look for bigger stuff?"

"You just stick to the planned trajectory," Fritz said stiffly. "Noadventures, please."

Gaeta laughed. No adventures. What the hell do you call this?

Wunderly came back on. "The new moon has settled into its permanentorbit."

 "Can't see it from here."

 "No, it's on the other side of Saturn. I'm getting video from theminisat in polar orbit."

The particles were noticeably thicker now. Gaeta felt as if he wereslowly sinking into a blizzard: whirling snowflakes glistening allaround him, swirling, dancing on an invisible wind. They seemed to bemoving away from him slightly, making room for him in their midst.

"I know this is crazy," he said, "but these flakes are moving awayfrom me, looks like."

He could sense Fritz shaking his head. "It's merely yourperspective. They're moving around Saturn in their own orbits, justas you are."

"Maybe, but I could swear they're keeping their distance from me."

"Can you grab any of them?" Wunderly asked.

Gaeta worked his keyboard, then wriggled his arms back into thesuit's sleeves. "I've opened the collection box, but I don't thinkany of 'em are getting caught in it."

He heard Fritz chuckle dryly. "Do you think they're avoiding you?
Perhaps they don't like your smell."

"I don't know what to think, pal. It's as if--" Gaeta stopped as ared warning light suddenly flared on the inner surface of hisfaceplate. A shock of alarm raced through his nerves.

"Got a red light," he said.

"Sensors down," Fritz said, his voice abruptly brittle, tense. "Noimmediate problem." 


 Scanning his helmet displays swiftly, Gaeta saw that four of thesensors on the suit's skin had gone blank. Two on the backpack andtwo more on his left leg. He knew it was impossible to see his legsfrom inside the suit but he tried anyway. All he could see throughthe faceplate was the tips of his boots. They seemed to be rimed withice.

 He raised both arms and saw that they too were covered with a thinlayer of ice. As he watched, he saw the ice moving along each arm.

"Hey! I'm icing up. They're covering me with ice."

"That shouldn't happen," Wunderly said, sounding almost annoyed.

"I don't give a shit what should happen. These little cabróns arecovering me up!"

More red lights flashed on his faceplate. One by one the sensors onthe skin of the suit were going down. Covered with ice.

"Can you still move your arms and legs?" Fritz asked.

Gaeta tried. "Yeah. The joints are running a little stiff but theystill--uh-oh." Several particles of ice attached themselves to hisfaceplate.

"What's the matter?"

 "They're on my faceplate," Gaeta said. He stared at the particles,
more fascinated than frightened. The little fregados are crawlingacross my faceplate, he realized.

"They're moving," he reported. "They're walkin' across myfaceplate!"

"They can't walk," Wunderly said.

"Tell it to them!" Gaeta answered. "They're covering up myfaceplate. The whole suit! They're wrapping me up in ice!"

"That's impossible."

"Yeah, sure."

Whatever they were, the tiny particles were crawling over hisfaceplate. He could see it. More of them were coming in, too,
covering more and more of the visor. Within minutes Gaeta could seenothing of the outside. His suit was completely encased in ice.

 PRISONERS

 Wunderly was in her own cubbyhole office, a pair of video monitorson her desk, trying to watch Gaeta on one display screen and the newmoon that had joined the main ring on the screen beside it.

All she was getting from Gaeta was data from his suit's interiorsensors and his own excited report that the ice particles wereencasing the suit. They can't move, she told herself. They're notalive, not motile. They're just flakes of dust covered with ice.

But what's making them cover Manny's suit? Electromagneticattraction? Temperature differential?

She was running through possibilities that grew more and morefanciful while she absently switched to the spectrographic sensorfrom the minisatellite that was watching the newly arrived moonlet onthe other side of the ring. Wunderly frowned at the display. Itdidn't look right. She called up the spectrograph's earlier data. Themoonlet was definitely icy, but laced with dark carbonaceous soot.
Yet the real-time spectrogram showed much less carbon: it waspractically all ice. Where did the carbon get to?

Intrigued, she switched back to the minisat's visual display. Andsank back in her little chair, gasping.

The moonlet was in the center of what looked like a maelstrom. A 
whirlpool of ice flakes was swirling around the moonlet, like a hugefamily engulfing a newly arrived member.

"My God almighty, they're alive!" Wunderly shouted, leaping out ofher chair. "They're alive!" 


 Gaeta had learned long ago that panic was the worst enemy. Evenwith his faceplate covered so thickly that he could see nothingoutside, he kept calm as he checked the suit's systems. Life supportokay, power okay, communications in the green, propulsion ready. Noneed to push the red button yet.

"Try rubbing the ice off your faceplate," came Fritz's voice, alsocalm, methodical.

Fritz'll keep on recommending different fixes until I go down inflames, Gaeta knew.

"I've done that," he said, raising his left arm to wipe at thefaceplate again. The arm felt suffer than it had just a few momentsearlier. "They just come back again."

As he spoke, Gaeta rubbed the pincers of his left arm across thefaceplate. They scraped some of the ice off enough so that he couldsee more particles rushing toward him. Within seconds the faceplatewas covered up again.

"No joy," he said. "They just swarm in and cover everything. It'slike they're alive. I can see them crawling across my faceplate."

"They are alive!" Wunderly broke in, her voice shrill withexhilaration. "Get some in the sample box!"

Gaeta huffed. "Maybe they're gonna get me in their sample box."

He wondered how much thickness of ice it would take to block his 
antennas and cut off communications. I'm getting freeze-wrapped likea Christmas turkey and she's worried about getting samples to study.
He checked the temperature inside the suit. The display was normal,
although Gaeta thought it felt chillier than normal. Just myimagination, he told himself. Yeah. Sure.

He called to Fritz, "I think maybe I oughtta light off the jets andget outta here."

"Not yet!" Wunderly pleaded. "Try to collect some samples!"

Fritz's voice, icy calm, said, "Your suit functions aren't beingimpaired."

"Not yet," Gaeta agreed. "But what chingado good am I sitting outhere, blind as a bat and covered with ice?"

Wunderly asked, "Can you at least wait until the minisat swingsover to your side of the planet, so I can get spectrographic readingson the ice that's covering you?"

"How long will that take?" Fritz asked.

A pause. Then Wunderly answered, her voice much lower, "Elevenhours and twenty-seven minutes."

"The suit is designed for a forty-eight-hour excursion," saidFritz.

 "But if the ice covering continues to build up, his communicationsand propulsion functions might be disabled."

Before Wunderly could reply, Gaeta said, "I'm okay for now, Fritz.
Let's see what happens."

Berkowitz spoke up. "This is terrific stuff, people, but all yoursuit cameras are covered up. We're getting nothing but audio fromyou, Manny. If we can get outside video from the minisat, we'll begolden."

Gaeta nodded inside his helmet, thinking sardonically, And if I getkilled, the ratings'll be even better.

 Feeling shaky after her near drowning, and even shakier knowingthat somehow Kananga's people were tracking her, Holly walked as fastas she could to the end of the tunnel, climbed the metal ladder thatled up to the surface, and pushed open a hatch disguised to look likea small boulder. She was at the endcap; she paused for a moment andtook a deep breath of air. It seemed fresh and sweet. The entirehabitat spread before her eyes, green and wide and open.

She pulled herself up from the hatch, swung the plastic bouldershut again, and started across the springy green grass toward the 


grove of young elms and maples sprouting farther up toward thecenterline.

 Somebody was already there, she saw as she approached the woods.
Lying stretched out on the mossy ground in among the trees.

Holly froze, feeling like a deer that's spotted a mountain lion.
But the man--she thought it looked like a man--seemed to be asleep,
or unconscious or even dead. He wasn't wearing the black outfit ofthe Security Department, either; just tan coveralls.

Cautiously, Holly approached near enough to make out his face. It'sRaoul! she realized. What's he doing out here? A thought stopped herin her tracks. Is he working for Kananga? Is he part of some searchgroup, looking for me?

Then she realized she was standing out in the open, perfectlyvisible to anyone within a kilometer or more. Raoul wouldn't go overto Kananga, she decided. He's a friend.

She went to him, feeling a little safer once she was within theshadows of the trees.

 Tavalera stirred as she approached him, blinked, then sat up soabruptly it startled Holly.

He blinked again, rubbed his eyes. "Holly? Is it you, or am Idreaming?"

She smiled warmly. "It's me, Raoul. What are you doing all the wayout here?"

 "Lookin' for you," he said, getting to his feet. "Guess I dozedoff. Some searcher, huh?" He grinned sheepishly.

"You're just going to get yourself in trouble, Raoul. Kananga'speople are following me. I've been trying to stay a jump ahead ofthem."

 Tavalera took in a deep breath. "I know. I came to help you."

Holly thought that if Raoul knew enough about her to wait for herhere at the endcap, Kananga's people must have figured out herhabits, too.

"We've got to find someplace to hide," she said. "Someplace wherewe'll be safe."

 "It's too late for that," said a new voice.

They turned and saw a tall, lanky young man whose skin was thecolor of smooth dark chocolate. In his hand was the small electronic 
sniffer.

 "Colonel Kananga wants to see you, Miss Lane," he said, his voicesoft, nonthreatening.

"I don't want to see Colonel Kananga," said Holly.

"That's unfortunate. I'm afraid I must insist that you come withme."

 Tavalera stepped in front of Holly. "Run, Holly," he said. "I'llhold him off while you get away."

The black man smiled. Pointing out beyond the trees to a trio ofblack-clad people approaching them, he said, "There's no need forviolence. And there's no place to run to."

 RING CREATURES

 Wunderly could barely contain her excitement. She was bouncing upand down in her little chair as she watched the ring particlesswarming over the new moonlet.

It's food for them! she told herself as she switched from visual to 
infrared and then to the spectrographic display. She wished there hadbeen room in the minisat for ultraviolet and gamma ray sensors. Whatwe need is an active laser probe, she thought, then immediatelycountered, But that might kill the particles. Particles? No, they'reliving creatures. Ice creatures, surviving at temperatures of minustwo hundred Celsius and lower. Extremophiles that thrive in a low



temperature environment.

The mystery of Saturn's rings is solved, she thought. The ringsaren't just passive collections of ice flakes. They're made ofactive, living creatures! They grab anything that falls into theirregion and take it apart. Asteroids, little ice chunks, it's all foodfor them. That's how Saturn can maintain its ring system. It's alive.

Let's see, she thought. Saturn has forty-two moons that we know of.
Every so often an asteroid or an ice chunk from the Kuiper Beltwanders into the ring system and these creatures chew it up. Therings are constantly losing particles, having them sucked down intoSaturn's clouds. But the rings keep renewing themselves by devouringthe incoming moonlets that stray into their grip.

Suddenly she looked up from the displays. Manny! They'll try tochew up Manny's suit. They could kill him!

She yelled into her comm link, "Manny! Get out of there! Now!
Before they chew through your suit!"

Fritz's voice replied coldly, "I don't know if he can hear us. Ihaven't had any word from him for nearly half an hour. The ice musthave built up too thickly over his antennas."

 Holly watched the three black-clad figures approaching, climbingthe grassy rise toward the copse where she and Tavalera stood withthe Ethiopian tracker. He had his comm unit to his ear, noddingunconsciously as he listened to his orders.

At last he said, "Colonel Kananga is on his way. He wants to meetyou by the central airlock, here at the endcap."

Tavalera suddenly lunged at the tracker, shouting wildly, "Run,
Holly!" as he tackled the Ethiopian.

The two men went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Holly hesitatedan instant, long enough to see that Raoul was no fighter. TheEthiopian quickly recovered from his surprise and threw Tavalera offhis back, then scrambled to his feet. Before he could do anything,
Holly launched herself in a flying kick that caught the tracker inthe ribs and knocked him down again. Tavalera got up and grabbed forher hand.

 The bolt of a laser beam knocked him down again. Tavalera grabbedhis leg with both hands as he rolled on the ground in pain. "Shit!
The same friggin' leg!"

Holly froze into immobility. Raoul's leg wasn't bleeding much, buta pinprick of a black hole smoldered halfway up his thigh.

The Ethiopian got slowly to his feet as the three other securityofficers ran across the grassy rise toward them.

"How'd they get weapons into the habitat?" Holly asked, sinking toher knees beside the writhing, cursing Tavalera.

"Cutting tools," Tavalera grunted, grimacing. "They must've adaptedlaser tools into sidearms."

 The leader of the three newcomers looked over the situation. "Good 
work," he said to the Ethiopian. Gesturing to his two underlings, hesaid, "Haul this one to his feet and drag him along."

They grabbed Tavalera, not gently at all.

"Come along," the leader said to Holly. "Colonel Kananga wants tosee you at the central airlock."

 The only thing that truly worried Gaeta was being cut off fromcommunicating with Fritz. The suit was holding up all right, althoughthe interior temperature had definitely dropped nearly three degrees.

Gaeta was thinking of his possible alternatives as he drifted,
wrapped in ice, mummified cryogenically. Wunderly thinks the iceparticles are alive. Maybe she's right. They sure looked like theywere crawling across my faceplate. So maybe they're trying to eat me,
eat the suit. Can they eat cermet or organometallics? Jezoo, I hopenot! 


 Wait for another eleven hours, so they can get video of me? I couldbe dead by then.

But if I bug out now, there won't be any video to show the nets.

Funny, he thought, how the mind works. Right here in the middle ofthis mierda what does my brain come up with? He who fights and runsaway lives to fight another day. These rings have existed forthousands of years, millions, more likely. They're not going away. Ican come back. With better preparation, better equipment. And bettervideo coverage.

That decided him. Gaeta pulled his right arm out of its sleeve andset up the thruster program. I'll be flying blind, he realized. Hehad lost all sense of where he was in relation to the habitat or to 
Timoshenko, waiting for him in the shuttlecraft. The suit'snavigation program was useless now. Better take it slow and easy.
First priority is to get your butt out of this blizzard. But don't goblasting off to Alpha Centauri.

He touched the keypad that fired the thruster jets. Nothinghappened.

 Eberly had taken over Professor Wilmot's old office, now that hewas officially the habitat's chief administrator. His first officialact was to send Wilmot's stuffy old furniture to storage and replaceit with sleek modernistic chrome and plastic bleached and stained tolook like teak.

 He had hardly sat at his gleaming desk when Morgenthau pushed openthe door to his office and stepped in, unannounced. Dressed in aflamboyant rainbow-hued caftan, she looked around the office's barewalls with a smug, self-satisfied smile that was close to being asmirk.

 "You'll need some pictures on these walls," she said. "I'll seethat you get some holowindows that can be programmed--"

"I can decorate my own office," Eberly snapped.

Her expression didn't change at all. "Don't be touchy. Now that youhave the power you should surround yourself with the proper trappingsof power. Symbols are important. Just ask Vyborg--he knows all aboutthe importance of symbolism."

"I have a lot of work to do," Eberly said.

"You have to meet with Kananga."

Eberly shook his head. "It's not on my agenda."

"He's waiting for you at the central airlock, out at the endcap."

"I'm not going--"

"He has Holly in custody. He wants you there for her trial. Andexecution."

 DRUMHEAD

 Blinded by the ice coating his suit, his communications antennasblocked, the temperature inside the suit dropping, Gaeta mulled overhis options. The thrusters won't fire, he realized, and I don't knowwhy. The diagnostic display splashed on the inside of his faceplateshowed the propulsion system was in the green.

"Engineer's hell," he muttered to himself. "Everything checks butnothing works."

The suit's diagnostics were bare-bones. Fritz had a better idea ofwhat was going on than he did, Gaeta knew. He's got the details. He'seven got the positioning data that feeds my nav program; all I've gotis a comm link that doesn't work.

 Gaeta had one last trick in his repertoire. If this doesn't workI'll be a frozen dinner for these chingado ice bugs, he told himself.
He popped the suit's emergency antenna. The spring-loaded Buckyball 


wire cracked through the ice shell and whizzed out the full length ofits hundred meters. Gaeta felt the vibration inside the suit, likethe faint buzz of an electric razor.

 "Fritz! Can you hear me?" he called.

"Manny!" Fritz's voice replied immediately. "What's your situation?
The diagnostics here are a blur."

"Suit antennas iced over," Gaeta replied, slipping automaticallyinto the clipped, time-saving argot of pilots and ground controllers.
"Thrusters won't fire."

 "Life support?"

"Okay for now. Thrusters, man. I gotta get outta here."

"Have you tried the backup?"

"Of course I've tried the backup! It's like everything's frozensolid." Wunderly's voice interrupted, "Crank up your suit's heaters."

"The heaters?"

 "Run them up as hot as you can stand it," she said. "The ice bugsprobably don't like high temperatures."

"Probably doesn't sound like much help," Gaeta said.

"Try it," Fritz commanded.

Gaeta knew the suit's electrical power came from a nuclearthermionic generator: plenty of electricity available for theheaters.

 Reluctantly he said, "Okay. Going into sauna mode."

 Holly was more worried about Tavalera's leg than her own prospects.
Two of the black-clad security people were dragging Raoul up theslope toward the central airlock. He looked to be in shock, his facewhite, his teeth gritted. It was foolish of him to try to help me,
Holly thought. Foolish and very brave.

With the Ethiopian in the lead, they climbed the gentle rise,
feeling the odd decrease in gravity as they got closer to thehabitat's centerline. Holly wondered if she could use the confusingloss of gravity as a weapon, but there were four of Kananga's peopleand only herself and the wounded Tavalera to counter them. Shecouldn't leave Raoul in their clutches, no matter what lay ahead.

"Why are you taking us here?" Holly demanded.

"Just following orders," said the burly leader of the securityteam.

 "Orders? Whose orders?"

 "Colonel Kananga's. He wants to meet you at the central airlock."

 Eberly groused and grumbled, but he realized he had no choice butto accompany Morgenthau to this meeting with Kananga. What else can Ido? he asked himself. I'm nothing more than a figurehead. She holdsthe real power: she and Kananga and that viper Vyborg. If it hadn'tbeen for him and his stupid ambition, none of this would havehappened. I've won power for them, not myself.

He meekly followed Morgenthau to the bike racks outside theadministration building and mounted one of the electrically poweredbicycles. From the rear, Morgenthau looked like a hippopotamus ridingthe bike. He noted that she hardly pedaled at all, even on the flat;
instead she let the quiet little electrical motor propel her along. Ihope she runs out of battery power by the time we have to startclimbing, Eberly thought viciously.

But she made it all the way to the endcap and the hatch that led tothe central airlock, Eberly dutifully following behind her. They leftthe bikes in the racks at the hatch and entered the cold, dimly litsteel tunnel that led to the airlock.

 As the hatch swung shut behind them, Eberly looked over hisshoulder, like a prisoner taking his last glimpse of the outsideworld before the gates close on his freedom. He saw a small group ofpeople trudging up the slope toward the hatch. Three of them were in 


the black tunics of the security forces. The tall slim figure intheir midst looked like Holly. He didn't recognize the even tallerman in a gray outfit walking up ahead of the others. Two of thesecurity people were dragging a man who was clearly injured.

Then the hatch closed, and Eberly felt the chill of the cold steeltunnel seep into his bones.

"Come along," said Morgenthau. "Kananga's waiting for us at theairlock. Vyborg is there, too."

Wondering what else he could do, Eberly followed her like adesperately unhappy little boy being dragged to school.

 Gaeta blinked sweat from his eyes. He had reeled in the emergencyantenna and fired it out again, twice. Each time it had given himabout five minutes of clear communications before the ice creatures 
coated it so thickly that the radio link began to break up.

His faceplate displays were splashed with yellow as he divertedelectrical power from the suit's sensors and even the servomotorsthat moved its arms and legs to pour as much energy as possible intothe heaters. The arms were getting too stiff to move even with theservomotors grinding away. Christ knows how thick the ice is packingup on them.

Trouble is, he knew, the suit's skin is thermally insulated toodamned well. The suit's built to keep heat in, not to let it leakoutside.

 That gave him an idea. It was wild, but it was an idea. How longcan I breathe vacuum? he asked himself. It was an old daredevil gamethat astronauts and stuntmen and other crazies played now and then:
vacuum breathing. You open your suit to vacuum and hold your breath.
The trick is to seal up the suit again before you pass out, or beforeyour eyes blow out from the loss of pressure. A lot of people claimedthe record; most of 'em were dead. Pancho Lane had a reputation forbeing good at it, he remembered, back in the days when she was anass-kicking astronaut.

The real question, Gaeta realized, is: How much air does the suithold? And how fast will it leak out if I pop one of the smallhatches, like the one in my sleeve?

He wished he could check it out with Fritz, but even the emergencyantenna was out now; the last time he'd used it, it got too thicklycoated with ice to reel it back in.

 You're on your own, muchacho. Make your own calculations and takeyour own chances. There's nobody left to help you.

 Kananga looked calm and pleased, standing tall and smiling in frontof the inner hatch of the airlock. It was an oversized hatch, wideand high enough to take bulky crates of machinery or other cargo, aswell as individuals in spacesuits.

Vyborg was fidgeting nervously, obviously anxious to get this overwith, Eberly thought.

On the other side of the steel-walled chamber stood Holly, tryingto look defiant but clearly frightened. A young man who identifiedhimself as Raoul Tavalera lay at her feet, grimacing in pain andanger. Eberly remembered him as the astronaut who had been rescuedduring the refueling at Jupiter. The Ethiopian tracker and the threesecurity team people were further down the tunnel, blocking anyattempt to run away.

"I'm pleased," said Kananga, "that our newly installed chiefadministrator could take the time away from his many duties to joinus here at this trial."

 "Trial?" Eberly snapped.

"Why, yes. I'd like you to serve as the chief judge."

Eberly glanced uneasily at Holly, then quickly looked away.

"Who is on trial? What's the charge?" 


 Extending a long pointing finger, Kananga said, "Holly Lane standsaccused of the murder of Diego Romero."

"That's bullshit!" Tavalera shouted.

 Kananga stepped toward the wounded young man and kicked him in hisribs. The breath rushed out of Tavalera's lungs with a painful grunt.
Holly's hands balled into fists, but Kananga turned and struck herwith a vicious backhand slap that split her lip open. She staggeredback a few steps.

"This court will not tolerate any outbursts," Kananga said severelyto the gasping, wincing Tavalera. "Since you have aided and abettedthe accused, you stand accused along with her."

"If I'm the judge here," Eberly said, "then I'll determine who canspeak and who can't."

Kananga made a mock bow. "Of course."

"I assume you are the prosecutor," Eberly said to the Rwandan.

Kananga dipped his chin once.

"And who is the defense attorney?"

"The accused will defend herself," Morgenthau answered.

"And the jury?"

Vyborg said, "Morgenthau and I will serve as the jury."

Eberly thought bleakly, A drumhead military trial. They're makingme part of it. I'll never be able to deny that I took part in Holly'sexecution, they've seen to that. The best I can do is see to it thatthis drumhead trial follows some kind of legal order. The result isas clear as the fear in Holly's eyes.

He sighed deeply, wishing he could be somewhere else. Anywhereelse, he thought, except my old prison cell back in Vienna.

"Very well," he said at last, avoiding Holly's eyes. "This trial iscalled to order."

 EXECUTION

 Using the suit's internal computer, Gaeta made some roughcalculations. The temperature inside the suit was still sinking eventhough he had the heaters up full blast. Make up your mind whileyou've still got some heat inside the suit. Otherwise you're dead.

He made his decision. Gaeta pulled both arms out of the suitsleeves. Getting his legs out of the suit's legs was more difficult.
Shoulda taken those yoga lessons they were offering last year, hetold himself as he strained to pull out one leg and fold it beneathhis buttocks. The other leg was even more difficult; Gaeta yelpedwith pain as something in the back of his thigh popped. Cursing influent Spanglish, he finally managed to pull the other leg up intothe suit's torso. Panting from the exertion, feeling his thigh musclethrobbing painfully, he sat inside the suit's torso in a ludicrousparody of a lotus position.

"Okay," he said to himself. "Now we see how long you can breathevacuum."

 "I didn't kill Don Diego," Holly insisted, dabbing at the bloodfrom her split lip. With her other hand she pointed at Kananga. "Hedid. He admitted it to me."

 "Do you have any witnesses to that?" Eberly asked, stalling fortime. He didn't know why. He knew there was no hope. Kananga wasgoing to "convict" Holly of the murder and execute her, with Tavaleraalongside her. Airlock justice.

Holly shook her head dumbly.

Kananga said, "She's lying, of course. She was the last one to seeRomero. She claims she discovered the body. I say she murdered theold man." 


 "But why would I do that?" Holly burst. "He was my friend. Iwouldn't hurt him."

 "Perhaps he made sexual advances at you," Eberly suggested,
clutching at straws. "Perhaps the killing was self-defense. Or evenaccidental."

 Morgenthau, standing to one side beside Vyborg, muttered,
"Nonsense."

 "You're the jury," Eberly said. "You shouldn't make any comments."

"She's guilty," Vyborg snapped. "We don't need any furtherevidence."

 Let the heat out of the suit and maybe it'll drive 'em away, Gaetatold himself. If it doesn't, I'm dead. So what've I got to lose?

He nodded inside the ice-covered helmet. So do it. What're youwaiting for?

He refigured the control board inside the suit's chest to pop theaccess panels in both the suit's arms and both legs. The four keypadsglowed before his eyes. The four fingers of his right hand hoveredabove them.

 Do it! he commanded himself.

 Squeezing his eyes shut and blowing hard to make his lungs as emptyas possible, Gaeta jammed his fingers down onto the keypad.

And counted: One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousandthree...

 In his mind's eye he saw what was happening. The suit's heated airwas rushing out of the open access panels. The ice creatures shouldfeel a sudden wave of heat. Maybe it would kill them. Certainly itshould make them uncomfortable.

 ...one thousand eight, one thousand nine...

Gaeta's ears popped. He couldn't hold his breath much longer, buthe didn't dare open his eyes yet. He remembered tales of guys who'dbeen blown apart by sudden decompression. The whole suit's insides'llbe dripping with my blood and guts, he thought.

...one thousand twelve, one thousand...

He banged the keyboard and felt the access panels slam shut.
Opening his eyes a slit, he hit the air control and heard the hiss ofair from the emergency tank refilling the suit.

But his faceplate was still completely iced over. In finaldesperation he banged on the thruster firing key again.

It was like lighting a firecracker under his butt. The thrust ofthe jets caught him completely unaware. He yowled in a mix ofsurprise, delight, and pain as the suit jetted off. He was flyingblind, but at least he was flying.

 Morgenthau and Vyborg didn't even have to look at each to agree ontheir verdict.

 "Guilty," said Morgenthau.

"Guilty as charged," said Vybrog. "And her accomplice, too."

"Accomplice?" Tavalera blurted.

Kananga kicked him again.

"The jury has found you guilty," Eberly said to Holly. "Is thereanything you wish to say?"

"Plenty," Holly spat. "But nothing you'd want to hear."

Morgenthau stepped in front of Holly. Pulling a palmcomp from hergaudy caftan, she said, "There is something I would like to hear. Iwant you to confess that you and your friend here were working withDr. Cardenas to develop killer nanobugs."

"That's not true!" Holly said.

"I didn't say it had to be true," Morgenthau replied, with a slysmile on her lips. "I merely want to hear you say it."

"I won't."

 "Neither will I," Tavalera said. 


 Kananga looked down at the wounded, beaten engineer, then turned toface Holly. Smiling wolfishly, he said, "I think I can convince her."

He punched Holly in her midsection, doubling her over. "That's forthe kick in the face you gave me," he said, fingering his jaw.
"There's a lot more to come."

 Fritz had been sitting tensely at the main control console forhours, not speaking, not moving. The other technicians tiptoed aroundhim. With their communications link to Gaeta inoperative, there wasnothing they could do except wait. The mission-time clock on Fritz'sconsole showed Gaeta still had more than thirty hours of airremaining, but they had no idea of what shape he was in.

Nadia Wunderly came into the workshop and immediately sensed thefuneral-like tension.

 "How is he?" she whispered to the nearest technician.

The man shrugged.

She went to Fritz's side. "Have you heard anything from him?"

Fritz looked up at her, bleary-eyed. "Not for two hours."

"Oh."

 "Are those ice flakes actually alive?" Fritz asked.

"I think so," she said, with the accent on the I. "We'll have toget some samples and do more studies before it's confirmed, though."

"They're actually eating the new moonlet?"

Wunderly nodded somberly. "They're swarming all over it. I've gotthe instruments making measurements, but it'll be some time beforewe'll be able to measure a decrease in the moonlet's diameter."

 "I see. You've made a great discovery, then."

"I wish I had known about it before Manny went out--"

"Hey Fritz!" the radio speaker crackled. "Can you hear me?"

"Manny!" Fritz jerked to his feet. "Manny, you're alive!"

"Yeah, but I don't know for how long."

 RETURN

 Alone in the cockpit of the shuttlecraft, Timoshenko had listenedto the chatter between Gaeta and his technicians, then grown moroseas Gaeta fell silent. So the scientists have made a great discovery,
he thought. They will win prizes and drink champagne while Gaeta isforgotten.

That's the way of the world, he thought. The big shots congratulateone another while the little guys die alone. They'll do some videospecials on Gaeta, I suppose: the daring stuntman who died in therings of Saturn. But in a few weeks he'll be totally forgotten.

Timoshenko had programmed the shuttlecraft to ease through theCassini division between the A and B rings and take up a loiteringorbit at the approximate position where Gaeta was programmed to comeout below the ring plane. He knew that the stuntman wasn't going tocome out at that precise spot, not with what had happened to him.
Probably Gaeta would not come out at all, but still Timoshenkoremained where he had promised he would be.

"Hey Fritz! Can you hear me?"

Fritz blurted, "Manny! You're alive!"

The sound of Gaeta's voice electrified Timoshenko. He stared out 
the cockpit's port at the gleaming expanse of Saturn's rings, sobright it made him blink his eyes tearfully. Then his good sense gotinto gear and he checked his radar scans. There was an object aboutthe size of a man hurtling out of the rings like a rifle shot.

"Gaeta!" Timoshenko shouted into his microphone. "I'm coming afteryou!" 


 It took Gaeta a few seconds to recover from the shock of the 
thruster's sudden ignition. He had no control over it; he banged atthe keyboard in desperate frustration, but the rocket simply blastedaway until it ran out of fuel and abruptly died. Only then did Gaetatry his comm link. He got Fritz's voice in his earphones; the chieftech sounded stunned with surprise and elation, something that was sorare it made Gaeta laugh. The old cabrón was worried about me!

"What is your condition?" Fritz asked, getting back to his normalprofessional cool. "The diagnostics we're getting are still rathermuddled."

 Watching ice particles fly off his faceplate, Gaeta said, "I'mokay, except I don't know where the hell I'm going. What's myposition and vector?"

"We're working on that. Your thruster has burned out, apparently."

"Right. I've got no way to slow myself down or change course."

"Not to worry," came Timoshenko's voice. "I have you on radar. I'mon a rendezvous trajectory."

"Great," said Gaeta. The faceplate was almost entirely clear now.
He watched one little ice flake scurry around like an ant onamphetamines and finally disappear.

"So long, amigito," Gaeta said to the particle. "No hard feelings.
I hope you get back home okay, little guy."

 Pain! Holly had never known such white-hot pain. Never even dreamedit could exist. Kananga punched her again in the kidneys and freshpain exploded inside her, searing, devastating agony that overwhelmedall her senses.

 "A simple statement," Morgenthau was saying, bending over her.
"Just a single sentence. Tell us that you were helping Cardenas todevelop killer nanobugs." She jabbed the palmcomp under Holly's nose.

Holly could barely breathe. Through lips that were puffed andbleeding she managed to grunt, "No."

Kananga put a knee into the small of her back and twisted her leftarm mercilessly. Holly screamed.

"It only gets worse," Kananga hissed into her ear. "It keeps ongetting worse until you do what we want you to."

Holly heard Eberly's voice, miserable, pleading, "You're going tokill her. For God's sake, leave her alone."

"You call on God?" Morgenthau said. "Blasphemer."

"You'll kill her!"

 "She's going to die anyway," Kananga said.

"Work on the other one," Eberly pleaded. "Give her a rest."

"He's unconscious again. Holly is a lot tougher, aren't you,
Holly?" Kananga grabbed a handful of hair and yanked Holly's headback so sharply she thought her neck would snap.

"If we had the neural controllers," Vyborg said, "we could make hersay anything we wanted."

"But we don't have the proper equipment," Morgenthau said. Shesighed heavily. "Break her fingers. One at a time."

 Timoshenko swung the little shuttlecraft into a trajectory thatswiftly caught up with the hurtling figure of Gaeta.

"I'm approaching you from four o'clock, in your perspective," hecalled. "Will you able to climb into the cargo bay hatch once I comewithin a few meters of you?"

Gaeta answered doubtfully, "I dunno. Got no propulsion fuel left.
Nothing but the cold-gas attitude microthrusters; all they can do isturn me around on my long axis."

"Not so good." Timoshenko looked through the cockpit port. He couldsee the tiny figure of a man outlined against the broad, brilliantglow of Saturn's rings. 


 "Ow!" Gaeta yipped.

"What's the matter?" Fritz's voice.

 "I pulled a muscle when I got my legs outta the suit legs," Gaetaanswered. "Now I'm putting 'em back in and it hurts like hell."

"If that's your worst problem," said Fritz, "you have nothing tocomplain about."

Timoshenko couldn't help laughing at the technician's coolness.
Like a painless dentist, he thought. The dentist feels no pain.

Gaeta said, "I'm not gonna be much help getting aboard theshuttlecraft. I'm just barging along like a fuckin' meteor. Got nomore propulsion, no maneuvering fuel."

"Not to worry," Timoshenko said. "I'll bring this bucket to you.
I'll bring you in like a man on the high trapeze catching his partnerin midair. Like a ballet dancer catching his ballerina in her leap.
Just like that." He wished he truly felt as confident as he sounded.

 Holly lay crumpled on the steel flooring of the airlock chamber,
unconscious again.

"She's faking," Morgenthau said.

"For God's sake, let her be," Eberly begged. "Push her out theairlock if you want to, but stop this torture. It's inhuman!"

Vyborg said, "We have enough recordings of her voice to synthesizea statement against Cardenas."

"I want to make certain," Morgenthau insisted. "I want to hear itfrom her own lips."

Kananga nudged Tavalera's inert body with a toe. "I'm afraid someof his ribs are broken. He's probably bleeding pretty heavilyinternally. Perhaps a lung's been punctured."

Morgenthau planted her fists on her wide hips, a picture ofimplacable determination in a ludicrous rainbow-striped caftan.

"Wake her up," Morgenthau commanded. "I want to hear her say thewords. Then you can get rid of her."

 "One hundred meters and closing." Timoshenko's voice in Gaeta'shelmet earphones sounded calm, completely professional.

He couldn't see the approaching shuttlecraft in his faceplate, soGaeta spent a squirt of minithruster fuel to turn slightly. There itwas, coming on fast, its ungainly form looking as beautiful as aracing yacht to Gaeta's eyes. The cargo hatch was wide open,
inviting.

"You look awful damn good, amigo," Gaeta said.

"I'm adjusting my velocity vector to match yours," Timoshenkoreplied.

Fritz's voice added, "Your fuel supply is reaching critical.
Instead of trying to return to the main airlock, it will save fuel ifyou come in to the central 'lock at the endcap."

"Is it big enough to let me squeeze through in the suit?" Gaetaasked.

 "Yes," said Fritz. "Aim for the endcap's central airlock."

Gaeta said, "Lemme get aboard the shuttleboat first, man."

Timoshenko nodded his silent agreement. Get safely aboard theshuttlecraft. Then we can head for the airlock that's easiest to 
reach.

 Deftly he tapped out commands on the control panel, edging theshuttlecraft closer to Gaeta. Timoshenko knew that if he'd had the 
time he could have set up the rendezvous problem for the craft'scomputer and have it all done automatically. But there was no timefor that. He had to bring Gaeta in manually. He almost smiled at theirony of it. The computer could solve the problem in a microsecond,
but it would take too long for him to set up the problem in thecomputer.

There was no way to match their velocities exactly. He had to close 


the distance to Gaeta, move the shuttlecraft on a trajectory thatwould intersect Gaeta's path at the smallest possible difference invelocity. Timoshenko wiped sweat from his eyes as he stared at theradar display. Ten meters separated them. Eight. Six.

Gaeta saw the cargo hatch inching closer and closer. Come on, pal,
he encouraged silently. Bring it in. Bring it in. He wished he hadsome drop of fuel left in the propulsion unit; even the tiniest nudgeof thrust would close the gap between him and the cargo hatch.

"Almost there." Timoshenko's voice sounded tense, brittle.

Gaeta raised both arms and tried to reach the hatch's rim. Less 
than a meter separated his outstretched fingertips from safety.

"Get ready," Timoshenko said.

"I'm ready."

The hatch suddenly lurched toward Gaeta, engulfing him. He slammedinto the cargo bay with a thump that banged the back of his headagainst the inside of his helmet.

"Welcome aboard," said Timoshenko. Gaeta could sense the huge grinon his face.

 "A little rough, but thanks anyway, amigo."

They both heard Fritz breathe an astonished, "Thank God."

 AIRLOCK JUSTICE

 Fritz and the three other technicians, accompanied by Wunderly andBerkowitz, raced out to the endcap to meet Gaeta and Timoshenko whenthey docked. Much to Fritz's amazement, pudgy, wheezing Berkowitzkept up with him as they pedaled madly along the length of thehabitat. Even Wunderly was not far behind, while his technicianslagged farther along the bike path.

He waited impatiently for them at the hatch to the endcap's centralairlock, thinking, I'll have to see that they get considerably morephysical exercise. Watching how they panted and sweated, he shook hishead. They've turned into putty globs since we've been aboard thishabitat.

 Flanked by Wunderly and the still-puffing Berkowitz, with thetechnicians behind him, Fritz marched along the steel-walled tunnelthat led to the airlock. They got as far as the chamber that frontedthe airlock's inner hatch. A trio of black-clad security peoplestopped them. A taller black man in gray coveralls was with them.

"This area is restricted," said the guard leader.

"Restricted?" Fritz spat. "What do you mean? A shuttlecraft isgoing to dock at this airlock within minutes."

The guard drew his baton. "You can't go in there. I have myorders." A woman's scream rang off the steel walls, curdling Fritz'sblood. "What the devil is going on in there?" he demanded.

 As Timoshenko guided the shuttlecraft to the endcap airlock, hecalled to Gaeta in the cargo bay. "Do you want to get out of yoursuit? I can come back and help you."

"No can do," said Gaeta. "I've got this hijo de puta pulled musclein my thigh. I'm gonna need a couple guys to help pull me out."

Timoshenko shrugged. "Hokay. We'll be at the airlock in less thanten minutes."

 But when they reached the habitat and Timoshenko mated the cargobay hatch to the airlock's outer hatch, his command screen showed,
AIRLOCK ACCESS DENIED.

 "Access denied?" Timoshenko grumbled. "What stupid shit-for-brainshas put this airlock off-limits?"

"Try the emergency override," Gaeta suggested.

Timoshenko's fingers were already dancing across his keyboard. 


"Yes, good, it's responding."

He got out of the cockpit chair and ducked through the hatch intothe cargo bay. Looking at Gaeta in the massive suit, he grinned. "Atleast I can enter the habitat in shirtsleeves."

 "Tell you the truth, amigo, the way my fregado leg feels, if Iweren't inside this suit I wouldn't be able to walk without somebodypropping me up."

 Through a haze of agony, Holly forced her mind to center on onlyone thought. Don't give them what they want. Don't let them drag Krisdown. I'm already dead, I'm not going to let them kill Kris, too.

One of her eyes was swollen shut, the other down to a mere slit.
She felt a hot breath on her ear. Morgenthau's voice, heavy and dark,
whispered, "This is nothing, Holly. If you think you've felt pain,
it's nothing to what you're going to feel now. So far we've merelygiven you a beating. If you don't speak, we'll have to start tearingup your insides."

Holly concentrated on the pain, tried to use it to keep the fearout of her mind. They're going to kill me, whatever she says, they'regoing to kill me. All the pain in the world isn't going to changethat.

 Someone shouted, "The airlock's cycling!"

"Impossible. I gave orders--"

"Look at the indicators." That sounded like Eberly's voice. "Theouter hatch is opening."

 Inside the bulky suit Gaeta watched the telltales on the airlock'sinner wall flick from red through amber to green. Jezoo, he thought,
it'll be good to get out of this suit. I must smell to high heaven bynow.

 The inner hatch slid open slowly, ponderously. Gaeta expected tosee Fritz and the techs waiting for him. Instead, he saw a group ofstrangers. Eberly, he recognized after a disoriented moment. Andthose others-


Then he saw two figures on the floor. Bloody. Beaten. Jesus Christalmighty! That's Holly!

"What the fuck's going on here?" he demanded.

Gaeta's voice boomed like a thunderclap in the steel-walledchamber.

 Eberly blurted, "They're trying to kill Holly!"

Morgenthau whirled on Eberly, hissing, "Traitor!"

Kananga stepped in front of the huge suit, looking almost frail incomparison. "This doesn't concern you. Get out of here immediately."

"They're killing Holly!" Eberly repeated, even more desperately.

Kananga called up the tunnel, "Guards! Take this fool out."

The three security personnel raced toward him, but skidded to astop at the sight of Gaeta's suit, looming like some monster from afolk tale. A taller man in gray coveralls hovered uncertainly behindthem.

 "Shoot him!" Kananga bellowed. "Kill him!"

From inside the suit, Gaeta saw the three guards drawing lasercutting tools from their belts. Behind them, Fritz and the otherscame up cautiously. His eyes returned to Holly, lying on her back onthe floor, her face bloody and swollen, one arm bent at a grotesqueangle, the fingers of her hand caked with blood.

The guards fired their lasers at him. They're trying to kill me,
Gaeta realized, as if watching the whole scene from a far distance.
The sons of bitches!

 The red pencil lines of three laser beams splashed against thearmor of the suit's chest. With a growl that the suit amplified intoan artillery barrage, Gaeta pushed Kananga aside and advanced on thethree guards. One of them had the sense to aim at his faceplate, but 


the heavily tinted visor absorbed most of the laser pulse; Gaeta felta searing flash on his right cheek, like the burn of an electricshock.

 He barged into the guards, smacking one backhanded with his servo-
amplified arm, sending the man smashing into the wall. He grabbed thelaser out of the hand of the woman and crushed it in the pincers ofhis right hand. They turned and fled, running past Fritz and hisopenmouthed companions. The guard that Gaeta had hit lay crumpled onthe floor, unconscious or dead, he didn't care which.

He turned back toward Kananga, who was staring at him with wide,
round eyes.

"Trying to kill Holly," Gaeta boomed. "Beating her to death."

"Wait!" Kananga shouted, retreating, holding both hands in front ofhim. "I didn't--"

 Gaeta picked the Rwandan up by the throat, lifted him completelyoff his feet, and carried him back through the open hatch of theairlock. With his other arm he banged the airlock controls. The hatchslid shut. Kananga writhed in the merciless grasp of the pincers,
choking, pulling uselessly at the cermet claws with both his hands.

"We're gonna play a little game," Gaeta snarled at him. "Let's seehow long you can breathe vacuum."

The airlock pumped down. Gaeta kept his the pincers of his lefthand firmly pressed against the controls, so that no one outsidecould open the hatch. He held Kananga high enough to watch his faceas the Rwandan's terrified eyes eventually rolled up and thenexploded in a shower of blood.

 EPILOGUE: SATURN arrival plus 9 days

 Professor Wilmot sat sternly behind his desk, wishing desperatelyhe had a glass of whisky in his hand. A stiff drink was certainlywhat he needed. But he had to play the role of an authority figure,
and that required absolute sobriety.

Sitting before his desk were Eberly, Morgenthau, Vyborg, Gaeta, andDr. Cardenas.

 "They made me do it," Eberly was whining. "Kananga murdered the oldman and they made me stay quiet about it."

Morgenthau gave him a haughty, disgusted look. Vyborg seemedstunned into passivity, almost catatonic.

Pointing to Morgenthau, Eberly went on, "She threatened to send meback to prison if I didn't do as she wanted."

"Prison would be too good for you," Morgenthau sneered.

For more than an hour Wilmot had been trying to piece together whathad happened at the airlock. Part of the background he already knew.
Gaeta had freely admitted to killing Kananga; Cardenas called it anexecution. Wilmot had gone to the hospital and was thoroughly shockedwhen he'd seen Holly Lane, her face battered almost beyondrecognition, her shoulder horribly dislocated, her fingersmethodically broken. Tavalera was in even worse shape, broken ribspuncturing both his lungs. Dr. Cardenas hadn't waited for permission;
as soon as she learned what had happened to them she had rushed tothe hospital and began pumping both of them full of therapeuticnanomachines: assemblers, she called them. Drawn from her own body,
they were programmed to repair damaged tissue, rebuild bones andblood vessels.

 Wilmot agreed with Cardenas. Killing the Rwandan was an execution,
nothing less.

"Colonel Kananga deliberately murdered Diego Romero?" Wilmot asked.

Eberly nodded eagerly. "He put Kananga up to it," he said, jabbinga thumb toward Vyborg. "He wanted to be in charge of theCommunications Department."

Vyborg said nothing; his eyes barely flickered at Eberly's 


accusation. Wilmot remembered Eberly's insistence that Berkowitz beremoved from the department.

"And all this was part of your plan to take control of thehabitat's government?" he asked, still hardly able to believe it.

"My plan," Morgenthau insisted. "This worm was nothing more than ameans to that end."

 With an incredulous shake of his head, Wilmot said, "But he waselected to the office of chief administrator. You won the power in afree election. Why all the violence?"

Before Eberly could frame a reply, Morgenthau answered, "We didn'twant to have a democratically run government. That was just a tactic,
a first step toward acquiring total power."

"Total power." Wilmot sank back in his chair. "Don't you understandhow unstable such a government would be? You self-destructed withinhours of being installed in office."

"Because of his weakness," Morgenthau said, again indicatingEberly.

"And this disgusting torture of Miss Lane? What good did that doyou?"

"We had to get rid of all traces of nanotechnology in thehabitat," Morgenthau said, with some heat. "Nanomachines are thedevil's work. We can't have them here!"

 Bristling, Cardenas said, "That's idiotic. If you really believethat, then you must be an idiot."

"Nanotech is evil," Morgenthau insisted. "You are evil!"

Cardenas glared at the woman. "How can anybody be so stupid? Soself-righteously stupid that they're willing to commit mayhem andmurder?"

 Morgenthau glared back. "Nanotechnology is evil," she repeated.
"You'll pay for your sins, sooner or later."

Wilmot had his own reservations about nanotechnology, but thisMorgenthau woman is a fanatic, he realized.

He turned to Eberly. "And you just stood there and let them torturethe poor girl."

"I tried to stop them," Eberly bleated. "What could I do?"

Wishing more than ever for a whisky, Wilmot took in a deep breath.
Tricky waters here. They still have those foolish entertainment vidshanging over my head.

"Very well," he said. "My course seems clear enough. Ms. Morgenthauand Dr. Vyborg will return to Earth on the ship that brings thescientists here."

 "We don't want to go back to Earth," Morgenthau said.

"Nevertheless, that's where you're going. The two of you arebanished from the habitat. Permanently."

"Exiled?" For the first time Morgenthau looked alarmed. "You can'tdo that. You haven't the authority to do that."

"I do," said Eberly, breaking into a smile. "I think exile is aperfect solution. Go back to your friends in the Holy Disciples. Seehow they reward failure."

Morgenthau's eyes flared. "You can't do that to me!"

"I'm the duly elected chief administrator of this community,"
Eberly said, obviously enjoying the moment. "It's well within mypower to exile the two of you."

Vyborg finally stirred from his stupor; suddenly he lookedstartled, frightened. Wilmot was focused on Eberly, however. Can Istrike up an alliance with this man? the professor asked himself. CanI trust him to run the government properly?

"Yes, you are officially the chief of government," Wilmot agreedreluctantly. "But we're going to have to find some way to get theentire population involved in the running of your government."

"Universal draft," Cardenas said. "It's been done in Selene andsome countries on Earth; seems to work pretty well."

Wilmot knew the concept. "Require every citizen to spend at least ayear in public service?" he asked, full of skepticism. "Do you 


actually think for one instant that such a scheme could be made to

work here?"

 "It's worth a try," Cardenas replied.

"The people here will never go for it," Wilmot said. "They'll laughin your face."

"I'll go for it," said Gaeta. "It makes good sense to me, gettingeverybody involved."

Wilmot raised an eyebrow. "What does it matter to you? You'll beleaving on the same ship that brings the scientists in."

"No I won't," Gaeta said. He turned toward Cardenas, suddenly shy,
almost tongue-tied. "I mean, I--uh, I don't want to leave. I want tostay here. Become a citizen."

"And quit being a stuntman?" Cardenas asked, obviously surprised.

He nodded solemnly. "Time for me to retire. Besides, I can helpWunderly explore the rings. Maybe even get down to Titan's surfaceone of these days, help Urbain and the other science jocks."

Cardenas threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly.
Wilmot wanted to frown, but found himself smiling at them instead.

 Sitting in the chief scientist's office, Urbain and Wunderlywatched once again a replay of the new moonlet's arrival in the mainring. They saw the ring's bright icy particles swarm around thenewcomer, covering its darker irregular form in glittering ice.

"Remarkable," Urbain murmured. He used the same term each time theyhad watched the vid. "They behave like living creatures."

"They are living creatures," Wunderly said. "I'm convinced of it."

Urbain nodded as he smoothed his hair with an automatic gesture.
"Too big a leap, Nadia. The particles are dynamic, yes, that much isobvious. But alive? We have much work to do before we can state 
unequivocally that they are living entities."

Wunderly grinned at him. He said we, she thought. He's on my sidenow.

 "Already many academics have spoken against your interpretation,"
Urbain pointed out. "They refuse to believe the ring particles arealive."

 "Then we'll have to get the evidence to convince them," saidWunderly.

"That will be your task," Urbain said. "Myself, I will return toEarth on the ship that brings in the other scientists."

Wunderly was shocked. "Return to Earth! But--"

"I have thought it all out very carefully," Urbain said, with afinger upraised for emphasis. "You need a champion back on Earth,
someone who can present your evidence and argue your case against theskeptics."

"But I thought you'd stay here."

"And play second fiddle to the newcomers?" Urbain forced a smile,
and she could see there was pain behind it. "No, I return to Earth. Ihave never been any good at pushing my own career, but I believe Ican be ferocious defending yours. For you, and your ring creatures, Iwill be a tiger!"

Wunderly didn't know what to say. Every young scientist with anunorthodox new idea needs a champion, she knew. Even Darwin neededHuxley.

"Besides," Urbain went on, "my wife is on Earth. In Paris, Ibelieve. Perhaps... perhaps I can impress her enough to come back tome."

 "I'm sure you could," Wunderly said gently.

"So the decision is made. I return to Earth. You will be in chargeof all work on the rings."

"In charge...?"

He smiled widely. "I have given you a promotion. The team coming infrom Earth has only three researchers interested in the rings, andthey are all junior to you, still graduate students. I have named you 


as chief of the ring dynamics study. They will work for you."
It was all Wunderly could do to refrain from hugging the man.

 Holly flexed the fingers of her right hand, holding the hand upbefore her eyes as she sat in the hospital bed.

"Good as new, almost," she said.

Cardenas smiled satisfiedly. "Give it a few days. Even nanomachinesneed some time to put everything right."

Gaeta was sitting beside Cardenas, the two of them perched onlittle plastic chairs, close enough to touch each other.

"I'm gonna use nanos the next time I go into the rings," he said.

"Even Urbain is losing his fear of nanomachines," Cardenas said.
"He came into my lab this morning and didn't flinch once!"

All three of them laughed.

Then Holly grew more sober. "Manny, I want to thank you for savingmy life. Kananga was going to kill me."

His face hardened. "I let him off too easy. Back in the barrio wewould've done to him just what he did to you and Raoul. And thendropped him on the freeway from an overpass."

"You guys talkin' about me?"

Tavalera wheeled himself into Holly's room and pulled to a stop onthe other side of her bed.

 "I was going to come in to look you over," Cardenas said. "How areyour lungs?"

"Okay, I guess. The medics examined me this morning. They lookedkinda surprised I'm healin' so fast."

"Rebuilding your lung tissue is going to take several days,"
Cardenas warned. "The ribs were easier."

 Tavalera nodded. "It's funny. I think I can almost feel theselittle bugs workin' inside me."

"That's your imagination."

"I must have a good imagination," he said.

"Raoul," said Holly, "you were really wonderful, trying to protectme."

 His face reddened. "I didn't do you much good, though."

"You tried," said Holly. "When I needed help the most you werethere trying."

"And I got a body full of nanobugs to show for it."

Cardenas caught his meaning. "Don't worry, I'll start flushing themout of your system in a few days. You'll be able to go back home. Youwon't have any trace of nanomachines in you by the time you get backto Earth."

 "You're gonna hafta to go back by yourself, amigo," said Gaeta.
"I'm staying here permanently." And he slid an arm around Cardenas'sshoulders.

 Holly saw the light in Cardenas's eyes. "But what about yourtechnicians?" she asked. "Will they stay, too?"

With a shake of his head, Gaeta said, "Naw. Fritz wants to go backto Earth and find a new pendejo to make into a media star. But I'mkeepin' the suit. That baby is mine."

Tavalera looked pensive. "I been thinkin' about that too."

"About what?" Holly asked.

"Stayin' here."

"You have?" Holly asked, her eyes widening.

"Yeah. Sort of. I mean ... it ain't so bad here. In this habitat,
y'know. I was wondering, Dr. C, could I keep on workin' in your lab?
As your assistant?"

Cardenas answered immediately, "I need your help, Raoul. I waswondering what I would do after you left."

"I wanna stay," Tavalera said, glancing at Holly.

She held out her hand to him. As he took it in his, she warned,
"Not too tight, Raoul. It's still kind of tender."

He grinned and let her hand rest atop his. 


 Cardenas got to her feet. "I've got work to do. I'll drop in on youtwo later this afternoon. Come on, Manny."

Gaeta leaned back in the creaking little chair. "I've got no placeto go. I'm retired, right?"

Cardenas grabbed him by the collar. "Come on, Manny. I'll findsomething for you to do."

He let her haul him to his feet. "Well, if you put it that way..."

They left. Holly lay back in the bed. Tavalera still clasped herhand lightly in his.

"You're not staying because of me, are you?" she asked him.

"No, not--" He stopped himself. "Yeah, I am. I really am stayingbecause of you," he said, almost belligerently. "That's the truth."

Holly smiled at him. "Good. That's what I wanted to hear."

He grinned back at her.

Holly called out. "Phone! Connect me with Pancho Lane, at AstroCorporation Headquarters in Selene."

Tavalera let go of her hand and started to back his wheelchair awayfrom the bed.

 "Don't go away, Raoul," Holly said. "I want my sister to meet you."

 Professor Wilmot sat in his favorite chair, gently swirling thewhisky in the glass he held in his right hand. Although his eyes werefocused on the report he was dictating, he was actually staring farbeyond the words hovering in mid-air before him, looking with hismind's eye into the events of the past few days and trying to foreseethe shape of the events to come.

For a long while he sat there, alone, slowly swishing the whisky,
wondering what he should say to his superiors back on Earth, how heshould explain what had gone wrong with the grand experiment.

"Actually," he said at last, "nothing has really gone wrong. Thisexperiment was intended to test the ability of a self-containedcommunity to survive and develop a viable social system of its own.
Unfortunately, the social system they began to develop was definitelynot the type that we expected or desired. It was based on violenceand deception, and it would have led to a rather harsh, restrictiveauthoritarian regime. On the other hand, such systems are inherentlyunstable, as the events of the past few days have proven."

He sat in silent thought for long moments. Then, taking a sip ofhis whisky, he continued, "We are now entering a new phase of theexperiment, an attempt to develop a working democratic government.
The question is, are the people of this community too lazy, tooselfish to work at governing themselves? Are they nothing more thanspoiled children who need an authoritarian government to run thingsfor them? Only time will tell."

He thought of Cardenas's suggestion of a universal draft: requireeach citizen to serve a certain portion of time in public service.
It's worked elsewhere, Wilmot said to himself. Perhaps it could workhere. But he had his doubts.

 He took a longer pull on the whisky, then spoke the final sectionof his report to the leaders of the New Morality organization inAtlanta.

 "You have provided the major funding for this expedition toascertain if a similar selection of individuals could serve as the 
population of a mission to another star, a mission that would takemany generations to complete. Based on the results of merely thefirst two years of this experiment, I must conclude that we simply donot know enough about how human societies behave under such stressesto make a meaningful judgment.

"In my personal opinion, we are not ready to begin planning aninterstellar mission. In fact, we are nowhere near the understandingwe will require to send a genetically viable human population out ona star flight that will take many generations to complete.

"That is disappointing news, I'm sure, but it should hardly be 


surprising. This is the first time an artificially generated humansociety has been sent on its own so far from Earth. We have much tolearn."

 He drained the whisky, then continued on a brighter note, "On theother hand, this group of cantankerous, squabbling, very bright menand women has accomplished some significant successes. We have madeit to Saturn. We have avoided falling into the trap of anauthoritarian government. We have found a new life-form in the ringsof Saturn, possibly. We are preparing to study the moon Titan withsurface probes and, eventually, with a human presence on the surfaceof that world.

 "You of the New Morality may not like everything that we haveaccomplished, and you may not agree with everything we plan to do-including 
using nanotechnology wherever it is appropriate. But youcan take comfort in the fact that your generous funding has helped toestablish a new human outpost twice as far from Earth as the Jupiterstation; an outpost that is prepared to explore Saturn, its rings,
and its moons."

 Wilmot smiled at the irony of it. "In a very real sense, you haveshown the rest of the human race how to escape the limits of theEarth. For that, no matter what you think or what you believe, youwill gain the eternal thanks of generations to come."

 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

 My thanks to all the friends and colleagues who providedinformation and ideas for this novel, especially Jeff Mitchell,
Ernest Hogan, and, from Columbia University's Biosphere 2, GilbertLaRoque and John S. Engen.