“Of course I’m including you in my request, Tirzah,” Ajit said, with all his usual courtesy. There was something beneath the courtesy, however, a kind of glow. I recognized it. Scientists look like that when they have the germ of an important idea.
I thought Kane would object or ridicule, but something in their technical discussion must have moved him, too. His red hair stood up all over his head. He glanced briefly at his own displays, back at Ajit’s, then at the younger man. He said, “You want to put the probe on the other side of Sagittarius A West.”
“Yes.”
I said, “Show me.”
Ajit brought up the simplified graphic he had created weeks ago for me to gain an overview of this mission. It showed the black hole at the center of the galaxy, and the major structures around it: the cluster of hot blue stars, the massive young stars that should not have existed so close to the hole, the red giant star IRS16, with its long fiery tail. All this, plus our probe, lay on one side of the huge, three-armed spiraling plasma remnant, Sagittarius A West. Ajit touched the computer and a new dot appeared on the other side of Sag A West, farther away from the hole than we were now.
“We want to go there, Tirzah,” he said. Kane nodded.
I said, deliberately sounding naïve, “I thought there wasn’t as much going on over there. And besides, you said that Sag A West would greatly obscure our vision in all wavelengths, with its own radiation.”
“It will.”
“Then—”
“There’s something going on over there now,” Kane said. “Ajit’s right. That region is the source of whatever pull is distorting the gas infall. We need to go there.”
We.
Ajit’s right.
The younger man didn’t change expression. But the glow was still there, ignited by Ajit’s idea and fanned, I now realized, by Kane’s approval. I heated it up a bit more. “But, Kane, your work on the massive young stars? I can only move the probe so many times, you know. Our fuel supply—”
“I have a lot of data on the stars now,” Kane said, “and this matters more.”
I hid my own pleasure. “All right. I’ll move the probe.”
But when I interfaced with ship’s program, I found the probe had already been moved.
Kane and Ajit fell on the minicap of prelim data like starving wolves. There were no more games of go. There was no more anything but work, unless I insisted.
At first I thought that was good. I thought that without the senseless, mounting competition over go, the two scientists would cooperate on the intense issues that mattered so much to both of them.
“Damn and double damn!” Kane said, admiringly. “Look at that!”
Ajit reacted as if Kane had spoken to him, but of course Kane had not. He was just thinking aloud. I put down my embroidery and went to stand behind them at their terminals.
Ajit said, with the new arrogance of the go wins in his voice, “Those readings must be wrong. The sensors were damaged after all, either in hypertransit or by radiation.”
Kane, for a change, caught Ajit’s tone. He met it with a sneer he must have used regularly on presumptuous postgrads. “‘Must be wrong’? That’s just the kind of puerile leaping to conclusions that gets people nowhere.”
I said quickly, “What readings?”
It was Ajit who answered me, and although the words were innocuous, even polite, I heard the anger underlying them. “The mass readings are wrong. They’re showing high mass density for several areas of empty space.”
I said, “Maybe that’s where the new young stars are forming?”
Not even Ajit answered this, which told me it was a stupid statement. It doesn’t matter; I don’t pretend to be a scientist. I merely wanted to keep them talking, to gauge their states of mind.
Ajit said, too evenly, “It would be remarkable if all probe equipment had emerged undamaged from the jump into core radiation.”
“Kane?” I said.
“It’s not the equipment.” And then, “Supersymmetry.”
Ajit immediately objected to this, in terms I didn’t understand. They were off into a discussion I had no chance of following. What I could follow was the increasing pressure of Ajit’s anger as Kane dismissed and belittled his ideas. I could almost see that anger, a hot plasma. As Kane ridiculed and belittled, the plasma collapsed into greater and greater density.
Abruptly they broke off their argument, went to their separate terminals, and worked like machines for twenty hours straight. I had to make them each eat something. They were obsessed, as only those seized by science or art can obsess. Neither of them would come to bed with me that night. I could have issued an executive order, but I chose not to exert that much trust-destroying force until I had to, although I did eventually announce that I was shutting down terminal access.
“For God’s sake, Tirzah!” Kane snarled. “This is a once-in-a-species opportunity! I’ve got work to do!”
I said evenly, “You’re going to rest. The terminals are down for seven hours.”
“Five.”
“All right.” After five hours, Kane would still be snoring away.
He stood, stiff from the long hours of sitting. Kane is well over a hundred; rejuves can only do so much, so long. His cramped muscles, used to much more exercise, misfired briefly. He staggered, laughed, caught himself easily.
But not before he’d bumped the wardroom table. Ajit’s statue of Shiva slid off and fell to the floor. The statue was old—four hundred years old, Ajit had said. Metal shows fatigue, too, although later than men. The statue hit the deck at just the right angle and broke.
“Oh… sorry, Ajit.”
Kane’s apology was a beat too late. I knew—with every nerve in my body, I knew this—that the delay happened because Kane’s mind was still racing along his data, and it took an effort for him to refocus. It didn’t matter. Ajit stiffened, and something in the nature of his anger changed, ionized by Kane’s careless, preoccupied tone.
I said quickly, “Ship can weld the statue.”
“No, thank you,” Ajit said. “I will leave it as it is. Good night.”
“Ajit—” I reached for his hand. He pulled it away.
“Good night, Tirzah.”
Kane said, “The gamma-ray variations within Sag A West aren’t quite what was predicted.” He blinked twice. “You’re right, I am exhausted.”
Kane stumbled off to his bunk. Ajit had already gone. After a long while I picked up the pieces of Ajit’s statue and held them, staring at the broken figure of the dancing god.
The preliminary data, Kane had declared when it arrived, contained enough information to keep them both busy until the second minicap arrived. But by the next day, Kane was impatiently demanding more.
“These gas orbits aren’t right,” he said aloud, although not to either me or Ajit. Kane did that, worked in silence for long stretches until words exploded out of him to no particular audience except his own whirling thoughts. His ear was raw with rubbing.
I said, “What’s not right about them?” When he didn’t answer, or probably even hear me, I repeated the question, much louder.
Kane came out of his private world and scowled at me. “The infalling gases from beyond the circumnuclear disk aren’t showing the right paths to Sag A*.”
I said, repeating something he’d taught me, “Could it be wind from the IRS 16 cluster?”
“No. I checked those updated readings yesterday and corrected for them.”
I had reached the end of what I knew to ask. Kane burst out, “I need more data!”
“Well, it’ll get here eventually.”
“I want it now,” he said, and laughed sourly at himself, and went back to work.