“They’re about a thousand times larger,” van Neumann said.
“And they drift through the Jovian atmosphere,” added Hideshi. “Not the ocean.”
Muzorawa said, “There’s a fascinating ecology in the atmosphere. Soarbirds that nest on the Medusa balloons, for example. They live their entire life cycles aloft, never touching the surface of the ocean.”
“It’s a mutilated ecology,” Karlstad said. “It’s just starting to come back from the disaster of Shoemaker-Levy.”
Grant felt briefly confused, then remembered from high school that the comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 had struck Jupiter with the force of thousands of hydrogen bombs.
“That was almost a century ago,” he said. “Its effects are still being felt?”
Karlstad nodded, tight-lipped. “It must have wiped out god only knows how many species.”
“But it didn’t affect the manna,” said Hideshi.
“Manna?”
“The organic compounds that form in the clouds,”
Karlstad explained. “Carbon-chain molecules that drift down into the sea below.”
“Have you found any life-forms in the ocean?” Grant asked.
The four of them looked at one another. Then Karlstad answered, “Officially—no.”
Grant forgot his untouched dinner sitting in front of him. “But unofficially?” he asked.
Before he could answer, a short, bustling, red-haired man with a thick brick-red mustache stepped up to the table and grabbed Karlstad roughly by the shoulder. “How’s it goin’, mate? This th’ new bloke, is it?”
Karlstad grinned and nodded. “Grant Archer,” he said. “Grant, this is one of the most important men in the station: Rodney Devlin.”
“Better known as the Red Devil,” van Neumann added dryly.
“Pleased to meetcha, Grant,” said Devlin, sticking out his hand. “Just call me Red.”
From the food-stained white jacket Devlin was wearing, Grant guessed that he was a cook or some sort of cafeteria employee. He had one of those perpetually youthful faces, lean and lantern-jawed, with a big toothy grin beneath the bushy mustache.
“Red is the chef here,” Karlstad explained.
“An exaggerated job description, if I ever heard one,” jabbed Hideshi.
“More than that,” Karlstad went on, unperturbed, “Red is the man to see if you want anything—from toilet paper to sex VRs. Red actually runs this station, in reality.”
Muzorawa smiled pleasantly. “Dr. Wo doesn’t know that, of course.”
“Don’t be too sure o’ that, Zeb,” Devlin said jovially. “Grant, old sock, anything you need, you come see me. I’ll take good care o’ you. Right?”
The others all nodded or murmured agreement. Devlin banged Grant on the back, then made his way to the next table.
Grant turned back to his tablemates. “Is he really that important around here?”
Van Neumann muttered, “You’d better believe it.”
“He runs every thing!”
“Unofficially,” Muzorawa said. “Red is a kind of expeditor.”
“A facilitator,” Karlstad added.
“Every organization has one,” Muzorawa went on.
“Every organization needs one: a person who can get around the red tape, operate in between the formal lines of the organization chart.”
“A procurer,” van Neumann said flatly.
“Facilitator,” Karlstad insisted. “That’s a better word.”
Van Neumann shrugged as if it didn’t matter to her. She plainly did not like Devlin, Grant could see.
Then he remembered their interrupted conversation. “Let’s get back to where we were … you said there’s life in Jupiter’s ocean?”
“Not so loud, please!” Muzorawa hissed.
Karlstad leaned across the table toward Grant. “The only thing we can tell you is that some of the deep probes have recorded things moving around down there,” he whispered.
“Things? Living things?”
“We don’t know,” said Muzorawa, his voice also low. With a glance at Karlstad he added, “And we are not permitted to talk about it unless you’ve been specially cleared for sensitive information.”
Grant slumped back in his chair. “All right,” he said. “I understand. I don’t want to get you into any trouble.”
“Or yourself,” said van Neumann.
“Hey, that’s right,” Karlstad said, brightening. “How’d your session with the Woeful Wo turn out?”
Grant jabbed at his salad. “He wasn’t very happy with me.”
“Why not?” Hideshi asked.
The others had all finished their dinners. Grant tried to eat as he talked.
“I was curious about that extension hanging off to one side of the station. Tried to look up its schematic in the computer system.”
“Uh-oh,” said van Neumann.
“You tripped an alarm,” Muzorawa said.
Grant nodded as he swallowed a mouthful of greens.
“So what did Old Woeful say?” Karlstad asked, grinning.
Before Grant could answer, Muzorawa nudged Karlstad in the ribs. “You should be more careful about the way you talk,” he said in a near whisper.
Karlstad’s grin faded. “He can’t have the whole cafeteria bugged.”
“You hope,” said the black man.
Turning back to Grant, Karlstad asked in a quieter, more guarded tone, “So what did the director say to you?”
“He told me to keep my nose out of sensitive areas and sent me to see the security chief.”
“No flogging?” van Neumann joked.
“Who’s on the security desk this week?” Hideshi wondered.
“O’Hara,” said Muzorawa.
“So you saw our little Lainie,” Karlstad said.
“She’s not so little,” Grant replied. “I mean, she’s taller than I am, a bit.”
His grin widening, Karlstad asked, “Was she cruel to you?”
Grant was startled by his question. Before he could think of what to answer, Hideshi piped up: “Egon has an illicit sweat over Lainie. Fantasizes about her.”
“It’s more than a fantasy,” Karlstad said, his grin getting toothy.
“In your dreams,” van Neumann retorted.
“Wait,” said Grant. “You said she’s on the security desk this week? Does that mean that she’s not always the security officer?”
Muzorawa nodded soberly. “All the scooters take turns at it.”
“Scooters?”
“Scientists,” Hideshi explained. “Anyone on the scientific staff is called a scooter.”
Grant wondered where the term came from, but before he could ask, Karlstad chimed in. “Old Woeful doesn’t trust any one of us enough to appoint a permanent security chief, so he rotates the assignment among us.”
“Why does he need a security chief at all?” Grant asked. “What’s going on here that’s so sensitive?”
Again they hesitated, glancing at one another.
“Why should possible life-forms in Jupiter’s ocean be regarded as sensitive information?” Grant persisted.
At last Muzorawa said quietly, “That’s Dr. Wo’s decision. You’ll have to ask him about it.”
With a glum shake of his head, Grant said, “No thanks.”
“So you met Lainie, eh?” Karlstad asked, grinning again as he deftly returned to his subject.
Grant nodded as he dug into his dinner.
“She’s a marine biologist, you know.”
“Oh?”
“Makes me wish I was a marine,” Karlstad said with a leer.
The others laughed. Then van Neumann said, “Why don’t you take Grant down to the fish tanks?”
“Yeah,” Hideshi added, teasing. “You might bump into Lainie there, Egon.”
“Not a bad idea,” said Karlstad.