Leaning back in his swivel chair Urbain ran a hand over his weary eyes. “We could build more, I suppose.”
“That would take time, sir. And we’d have to get approval from the logistics department to utilize the materials. We’d also need a team of technicians; the human resources department would have to approve their reassignment.”
“Eberly,” murmured Urbain.
“He’s the chief administrator. I’m sure he’d approve our requests.”
Urbain gave his aide a withering look. The young man was a junior scientist who seemed just as anxious as Urbain himself to find the errant Titan Alpha and bring it back under human control. But the aide knew nothing about that politician Eberly. This stripling pays no attention to politics, Urbain said to himself, as he eyed the younger man. His only interest is in his own scientific research, his own career.
At last he said, “I will speak to the chief administrator. In the meantime, I want all of those spacecraft modified for orbital reconnaissance. We must be prepared to launch them as soon as humanly possible.”
“All twelve of them, sir?”
“All of them! That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”
The aide swallowed visibly. “But, sir, that will leave us without any backups whatever.”
“We will build new ones!” Urbain snapped. Then he added, “As soon as I get the chief administrator to grant us the necessary materials and personnel.”
“Yes, sir,” said the aide in a low voice.
“I want the probes placed in polar orbits, low enough to scan the complete surface of Titan continuously.”
“I’ll get the orbital mechanics people working on it first thing tomorrow, sir.” The aide started backing toward the door, thinking, Everbody’ll be hung over tomorrow. It’s a holiday, anyway. Nobody’s going to be working. Except for the boss.
“Good. And I will contact the chief administrator.”
“Yes, sir.” Practically bowing, the aide scuttled through the door, leaving Urbain alone in his modest little office.
He stared distastefully at the list still displayed on the smart wall, then his eyes turned to the phone console on his desk.
Eberly, he thought. I will have to go groveling to that swine, that … that politician. Urbain hated the idea of it. More, he feared having to ask Malcolm Eberly for help. He knew that a snake of Eberly’s sort would never do a favor for anyone without extracting something in return.
What will he ask of me? Urbain wondered. What am I prepared to offer him?
The pavilion by the lake swarmed with partygoers. The maintenance department had even spread a thin honeycomb sheeting in front of the band shell to serve as a dance floor. People trooped in on foot or electrobike from the other villages, eager to welcome the new year with revelry. As the crowd swelled and the music grew louder and wilder, couples picnicked, drank, sang, and laughed together. Pancho and Wanamaker danced nonstop while Cardenas and Gaeta did an impromptu tango on the grass and Holly even got Tavalera to loosen up enough to dance with her. Wunderly arrived with her date; the two of them sat quietly together on the grass. Despite her rigid dieting of the past two weeks she was still a blocky, thickset figure. Her date, Habib, looked elegant in a black tunic and slacks.
The party grew louder and wilder. People splashed fully clothed into the lake. Others followed, after stripping. Finally, when midnight was announced by electronic chimes, everyone kissed everyone within reach: friends, lovers, strangers—it didn’t matter. A new year was beginning. A new opportunity. A fresh start.
Alone in his apartment, Malcolm Eberly watched the party on television, thinking, Bread and circuses, that’s what they want. Keep them amused and distracted, just like a stage magician does to keep the audience from seeing how he does his tricks.
Eduoard Urbain worked in his apartment until midnight, when Jeanmarie burst in from the kitchen with a bottle of actual champagne and a tray of caviar. Placing them on the coffee table, she sat herself squarely on Urbain’s lap and kissed him soundly.
“Bon année, mon cher,” she said.
Urbain was briefly irritated that she interrupted his work, but he quickly decided that this was one occasion when the work could wait.
“Bon année, ma précieux,” he whispered happily, hoping desperately that it truly would be a good year.
Kris Cardenas could not get drunk. No matter how much she drank, the nanomachines inside her quickly broke down the alcohol into harmless molecules, mainly carbon dioxide and water. She burped a lot and made several trips to the row of portable toilets that had been set up behind the lakeside bandstand. She met Wunderly there each time.
“How’s it going?” she asked Nadia brightly, as they headed yet again toward the toilets.
“Goin’ a lot,” Wunderly slurred. Then she giggled.
Cardenas nodded happily to herself: the diuretics she had given the physicist were working. Nadia looked pretty good; not svelte, it was too soon for that, but she had slimmed down noticeably. Best of all, she seemed happy with herself. She had a nice-looking guy for the party and she was having a good time.
Manny Gaeta, on the other hand, could get drunk but didn’t. Even on New Year’s Eve, Cardenas noted, Manny was careful about his drinking. By one A.M. they left the party—which was now roaring louder than ever—and headed home. As they walked hand in hand from the lake, the blare of the live band dwindling to an insistent thumping bass beat, Cardenas asked:
“Have a good time?”
He shrugged his strong shoulders. “Yeah, sure. You?”
“It was awfully noisy.”
“Hey, it’s New Year’s. People let off steam, what the hell.”
“You didn’t. You’re as sober as I am.”
With a weak, almost apologetic smile, Gaeta said, “Habits are hard to break, guapa. All those years I was doing stunts, couldn’t drink and drive, you know what I mean.”
“But you’re retired now.”
“Yeah, but still …”
They walked along the curving pathway for some moments. Then Cardenas asked, “You’re not thinking of going back to the rings, are you?”
He looked away from her.
“Well, are you?”
“I’m not going to do it,” he said firmly.
“Good,” she replied with equal resolution.
But hours later, as they lay together in bed, sticky and musky from making love, Gaeta said into the darkness, “You learn to live with it.”
“It?” she asked in a whisper.
“The fear. It’s always there, but you learn to live with it. You find ways to deal with it.”
Of course, Cardenas said to herself. Of course he’d feel fear. How could he not? His whole life was built around those terrifying stunts.
“Fritz helped a lot,” Gaeta went on, almost as if talking to himself. “I knew he wouldn’t let me get into anything unless he was satisfied we could get through it okay.”
“And now he’s gone,” Cardenas said.
“Yeah. But you know what he told me before he left? He said I was smart to quit the business. He said I was a fugitive from the law of averages: sooner or later I’d do a stunt that would kill me. He was actually glad I quit.”
“I am, too.”
“I really can’t do it anymore, Kris. You put your butt on the line just so many times, and then your number comes up. You’ve gotta quit while you’re ahead, while you’re still alive. Don’t push your luck.”
Cardenas heard the guilt and conflict in his voice and felt the heat of anger surge through her. Damn Nadia! Why did she have to make him feel like this?
The ice lake
By stopping its drive engines Titan Alpha slowed its sinking into the ice-covered lake. Still it slid sluggishly, inexorably, deeper into the frigid water. The central computer swiftly reviewed its damage tolerance specifications and confirmed that its body was designed to be watertight. Checking internal sensors, it determined that structural integrity was being maintained: no leakage could be detected.