Carter turned to face him, anguish turning to unreasoning fury. "And I guess that's what matters to you, isn't it? That and closing down the Firefly Project. Well, you've got plenty of new ammunition now, don't you? So go ahead—tell the Council, hold your news conference, and get everyone screaming for the Project to be shut down. Then what are you going to do, demand we put as much mass as we can into Firefly and try to push it out of the system before it blows?—never mind that that's more dangerous than keeping it here."
He stopped, out of breath. In a quiet voice the Senator said, "The Council must be told, certainly. But there will be no news conference. The people of Earth must never know what almost happened."
The anger and frustration rising within Carter vanished at the unexpected answer. He stared hard at Chou, a dozen questions swarming through his mind. Only one got out: "Why?"
"Because you were right, Doctor. I've spent some time in the last few hours studying the figures. Without Firefly Earth would spend nearly eight percent of its resources over the next four decades in building new energy supplies, and we just can't afford that. There are too many problems that will take our full attention to solve. Like it or not, we need Firefly." He waved toward the control board. "Oh, I will push strongly for more safety precautions—running Firefly at a lower temperature, for example. But you have proved that the black hole can be handled, with the right man in charge." He must have seen something in Carters face, for his eyes narrowed slightly. "You do want to stay, don't you?"
Carter turned toward the port, looking through it as if he could see through the shielding and collectors at the impossibly brilliant pinprick in space that was Firefly. Once he had seen it as a servant, even a friend. But it had turned on him once, and he would never again be able to look upon it without knowing the acrid taste of fear.
He took a deep breath. "I'll have to think about it," he said. Afterword
This one grew out of a series of five lectures on black holes given at the University of Illinois by a visiting astrophysicist in the spring of 1979. After filling a notebook with more facts, figures, numbers, and equations on black holes than any sane layman could possibly want or need, I figured the least I could do was to get a story out of it. Maybe more than one—I'll have to check those notes one of these days and see what else is lurking in there.
As a matter of historical interest, the black hole Firefly was originally named Shiva. Elinor Mavor, then editor of Amazing, asked me to change it to avoid comparisons (or confusion) with the Gregory Benford/William Rotsler novel Shiva Descending. I've never felt Firefly was as aesthetically pleasing a name as Shiva, but it was the best of the twenty-odd alternatives I came up with. Writing, like politics, is often the art of compromise.
Return to the Fold
The tiny spaceship was very definitely in trouble. Six enemy defiants were bearing down on it in a loose net pattern that Tomo knew was far more effective than it looked. Choosing one of the defiants at random, he kept his eye on it, control rod gripped tightly in his palm... and as the blue globe zigged he twisted the rod hard over, sending his spaceship into a zag maneuver that ran it neatly up against the defiants side. Up against it at the required zero delta vee, in fact, and Tomo smiled briefly as the defiant vanished and his own ship grew another size. One down, five to go, with his craft now a bigger and slower target.
"Tomo?"
"What is it, Max?" Tomo answered, his eyes still on the images darting around above his lounge chair.
"I've located a fault in my number-five close-approach antenna," the computer told him. "Nothing serious; just a bearing shell that needs replacing."
"And you want it done now, I suppose?" He sighed, the gesture more theatrical than serious. Max always waited until they were only days out from a spaceport before checking the Goldenrod's docking equipment, and the ship's six mainters were well used to it by now. In theory, it could result in a mad rush if something major went bad, but in practice the odds against that were low enough to ignore. "All right. Freeze the game and give me a schematic. Flat will do."
The holographic game images froze in midair and then vanished as Tomo levered himself easily out of his chair. The Goldenrod was decelerating at about two-tenths gee, half of what he was used to. Setting his game stick down beside the main control ball, he watched as Max put a complex schematic onto the nearby viewer. The affected bearing flashed in red; tracing a curve on the control ball with his finger, Tomo had the view enlarge and rotate. He debated changing his mind and asking for a complete hologram, decided the bearing's orientation was clear enough from the flat. The data box beneath the schematic directed him to Level Four, access panel four-twenty-six. Stepping to the circular staircase, he picked up his tool belt from its holder and started down.
Level Four was an equipment deck, with the sort of floor plan that could only be approved by someone who'd never have to work there. It took Tomo three minutes to work his way back to panel twenty-six, two more to get the plate off, and two more after that to find a comfortable position to work in. "Has Maigre Port sent you our manifest and next destination yet?" he asked Max, prodding a bolt experimentally with his wrench.
"Yes," the computer answered. "The main items are bioelectronics and exotic foodstuffs; we'll be taking them to Canaan Under Vega."
"Tricky stuff, bioelectronics. Should be good for, what, a seven-day layover?"
"The port has scheduled us for eight point five. Is the number significant?"
"Well..." Tomo paused, wondering whether he ought to bring this up. It seemed like such a crazy idea, sometimes, even to him. Still, he was going to have to talk to someone about it, and Max at least wouldn't laugh at him. "Tell me about Maigre. What's it like?"
"The design is a common one: a rotating disk in equipoint orbit, with docking facilities—"
"No, not the spaceport," Tomo interrupted. "I mean Maigre the planet."
"I'm not sure I understand the question. Do you want physical or sociopolitical data or something else entirely?"
"Oh, never mind." Tomo picked up another tool and got back to work. "I just... Actually, I've been thinking about maybe—well, maybe going dirtside this layover. Just to see what life on a planet is really like."
There was a short pause. "I see," Max said in a surprisingly neutral tone. "Actually, I don't believe you'd like it. Conditions are vastly different than they are on the Goldenrod. There are large, open areas without walls or ceilings—"
"I know, I know—I've seen all the tapes. I just thought it might be... interesting... to see it for real."
"I see. How long have you been thinking about this?"
Tomo had the computer's tone pegged now. "Oh, no you don't," he shook his head, grinning. "That 'I see' opener is a dead giveaway you've tied in your psych program. You're not starting me on that silly motivation questionnaire just because I've been thinking about planets and people lately." With a gentle tug he removed the top half of the damaged bearing shell, the bottom half dropping neatly onto the grab-cloth he'd spread out beneath it.
"Lately?" Max persisted.
Tomo twisted his head to send a mock glare at the computer monitor. "Max—"
A beep from the pod-to-pod interrupted him. "Tomo?" a voice asked. "What's the word on that antenna?"
"No problem, Andra," Tomo assured him. "Just a fatigued bearing shell. Take me a couple of hours to replace it."
"Good. I don't like dockings even when Max has all six close-approach
systems to work with. I'd hate to try it with one missing."