Her smile became more sympathetic. “Your participation was an integral part of this success, Cadet. Anything else is a matter for your own conscience.”
“I don’t deserve it,” he repeated, glancing down. He hated to disappoint the professor, but he couldn’t lie anymore about what he had done. “Didn’t Eto Mahs tell you how awful I was to him?”
“We have the data,” Professor B’ton reminded him. “This course was designed to provoke strong feelings, so we could study the common ways humanoids communicate through nonverbal movements and gestures. You’d be surprised how clearly people speak without saying a word.”
Titus swallowed, imagining the professor, along with a bunch of young lab techs–including the one with the black hair and merry eyes–reading his movements like he was writing on a wall. He felt himself go red.
“Relax, Cadet,” Professor B’ton told him, chuckling slightly at his embarrassment. “You deserve the recommendation. Do a good job at the Assembly, and I’m sure you’ll get whatever field assignment you want.”
His eyes went wide. Could she read his mind?
“Never underestimate a communications expert.” She winked at him, exactly like the young lab tech the day before. “Good‑bye, Cadet Titus. I believe you have an interestinglife ahead of you.”
Chapter Seven
Third Year, 2370‑71
“MOVE A LITTLE TO YOUR LEFT,” Starsa called out.
Louis Zimmerman, Director of Holographic Imaging and Programming at the Jupiter Research Station, inched slightly to his left.
“Now to the right–” Starsa started to say.
“That’s good enough,” Jayme interrupted, realizing from Starsa’s smirk that she was having a good time at the director’s expense. She had to put a stop to it before Dr. Zimmerman’s dissatisfied expression turned on them.
“Hold . . . three, two, one,” Jayme said. “That’s it. You can move again.”
“I appreciate that,” Dr. Zimmerman said dryly, returning to his computer.
Starsa ran the hololoop to make sure they had gotten a good feed. “If you hadn’t made yourself the template of the Emergency Medical Hologram, then we wouldn’t have to keep bothering you.”
“And who would you prefer the EMH to look like?” Zimmerman inquired, concentrating on his screen. “One of you?”
Starsa giggled and raised her hand. “Pick me, pick me!”
Zimmerman looked at them closely. “You aren’t my regular holotechnicians. Where are they? Well, speak up! Are the cadets the only warm bodies we can muster around here?”
“The others got sick,” Starsa said artlessly.
“They have a couple of emergencies down in the power station,” Jayme corrected, giving Starsa a hard look.
“I see,” he said, as if he doubted their sanity more than anything else.
Jayme kept smiling, trying to push Starsa out of the director’s lab. They couldn’t tell Dr. Zimmerman that the technicians had eagerly shoved the dozens of routine imaging checks that had to be run every few weeks onto the unsuspecting shoulders of the cadets on field assignment from the Academy. It only took a few days to figure out why–Dr. Zimmerman wasn’t the most pleasant man when he was interrupted, and that’s what they had to do in order to run imaging checks.
But Starsa was perversely drawn to the imaging devices sitting on the counters of the room, supporting half‑completed holographic models.
“What’s this?” she asked, sticking her finger through an engineering schematic.
“That’s the interior of a matter‑fusion assembly.” He glanced over and snapped, “Don’t touch it!”
“We’ll stay out of your way,” Jayme assured him, grabbing Starsa to make her come along.
“See that you do,” the director drawled, raising his eyes to the ceiling at the incompetence he had to put up with.
“Please state the nature of the medical emergency,” the EMH announced as it materialized.
“Okay, say I’ve got a double hernia and a severed spine,” Jayme suggested. “What would you do?”
The EMH turned, sweeping an arrogant look around the tiny holo‑imaging workshop. There was a plasteel wall protecting the neural gel‑packs, with only the emitters set up in the shop itself. “Where is the patient?” the EMH asked.
“This is a hypothetical situation,” Jayme told him.
The EMH drew himself up, remarkably resembling Director Zimmerman. “I do not deal in hypothetical situations.”
“Doctor, you area hypothetical situation,” she informed him. At his wounded expression, she added, “Come on, I’m dying of boredom here, running these imaging loops. You might as well test out some of your knowledge.”
“Hypothetically speaking?” he asked, edging closer.
“Have a seat,” she told him. “I’ll finish inputting these feeds, while you tell me what to do with a double hernia and a severed spine.”
The EMH hesitated, then glanced around. “I suppose there’s no harm in answering a few questions.” He settled back with his hands clasped, his tone taking on a lecturing quality. Jayme noted with approval the realistic way the overhead light seemed to shine on his slight balding spot.
“The situation you describe is an interesting one,” the EMH began. “The herniated discs must be isolated to ensure they are not causing the spinal distress . . .”
Jayme let it flow over her, smiling at the doctor’s dry enthusiasm. She had to admit that Zimmerman was right. He made the perfect template for a medical doctor.
“What’s going on?” Starsa asked, interrupting an engrossing discussion of neural surgery.
“I’m running the imaging checks,” Jayme said defensively, glancing at the EMH.
“It’s after 0100,” Starsa pointed out. “I thought you were supposed to do the graviton adjustments–”
“It’s that late?” Jayme jumped up. “End EMH program.” The EMH had a reproachful expression as he disappeared. “I’ve got to run.”
“You must have been daydreaming about Moll again,” Starsa teased.
“That’s not true. I just lost track of time.” Jayme started out the door. “I better hurry or Ensign Dshed will report me.”
Jayme walked along the narrow graviton conduits, tricorder in hand. Each section of the gravity emitter array had to be calibrated every day to compensate for the expanding and contracting ice mantle of Jupiter’s moon. Calibrating the system basically consisted of flushing the blocked gravitons caused by the rapid temperature shifts. It was menial labor of the most routine kind. But then again, Jayme was finding that almost all her engineering tasks were mind‑numbingly routine.
Except their imaging sessions with Zimmerman. The man always had some curve to throw them, some way to make her feel like he had seen right through her. Well into her third year now, she was becoming used to her professors’ disappointment at her lack of engineering skill, but she got the feeling that even geniuses felt stupid around Zimmerman.
She bent down to attach the pressure gauge to the graviton valve. The sensors were two microns off, so she brought the gauge back into line. Jupiter Research Station was one of the oldest functioning stations in the solar system–even the original Mars station had been abandoned centuries ago. All the equipment on Jupiter’s moon was like a creaky great‑great‑grandmother, not ready to retire but moving so slowly and stiffly that she might as well find a nice desk job somewhere warm.
Jayme wished Moll could see the station–she always liked anything that was old. Moll would also love the way Jupiter dominated the sky, as if you could almost fall off the station and down into the swirling clouds of the gas giant. Jayme had taped a message to Moll last week, with Jupiter visible through the window, but she was sure the impact wouldn’t be the same. She had suggested that Moll take a hop to Jupiter Station, but she hadn’t heard back. Not that she should be surprised. It was fairly typical of the ups and downs of their friendship.