“Yes, of course,” Eberly agreed easily. “But let me remind you that more than ninety-five percent of our inhabitants are not scientists, and I must think of them, too.”
Too enraged to say what he truly felt, Urbain muttered, “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Good. I’m glad we had this chance to talk.” Eberly got to his feet.
Urbain realized he was being dismissed. He rose slowly from his chair. “Then you will give the necessary orders to the department heads?”
Eberly pursed his lips, as if thinking it over. “I’ll set up a meeting for you. It would be best if you sat down with the department heads and talked this through with them face-to-face.”
Understanding that this was the best Eberly was willing to do for him, Urbain said, “Very well, if you think so. But it must be done quickly.”
“I’ll get them together this afternoon. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“Today,” Urbain urged. “It must be done today.”
“If it’s humanly possible.”
Standing uncertainly before Eberly’s desk, Urbain could think of nothing more to say. He turned and headed for the door.
As Eberly watched the scientist, he thought, He wants a favor. All right, but he’ll have to give me a favor in return. How can I use this situation to my benefit?
The answer came to him before Urbain reached the door.
“By the way, Dr. Urbain,” he called, “are you planning to run against me in the elections coming up?”
Urbain stopped and turned back toward him, brows knitted. “Run in another election? No. Impossible. I have far too much work to do.”
Eberly nodded. Then I’ll have to figure out some other way for you to pay me back for helping you, he said to himself.
They look like two little porcelain dolls, Holly thought, as she sat behind her desk. Sitting before her, Hideki and Tamiko Mishima looked tiny, almost delicate, dressed in identical tunics of dark blue with lighter slacks. They also looked—not worried, but terribly concerned. And determined.
“Mr. Eberly promised us, when he held the post you now have,” said Mrs. Mishima in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper.
“Chief of human resources,” her husband added.
“I remember your conversation with him,” said Holly. “At least the last part of it.”
“Yes, you were there,” Tamiko said.
“Nearly two years ago, right here in this office.” Mishima nodded for emphasis.
The office had been Eberly’s when habitat Goddard began its long flight to Saturn. Once Holly had become chief of human resources she had brightened the ascetically bare walls with holoviews of flowers and reproductions of famous paintings. The smart wall behind her displayed a real-time view of Saturn, its glittering rings framing her head neatly.
“We have waited long enough,” Mishima said. “We want to bring our baby into the world.”
“We want our child,” said Tamiko.
She was a technician in the electrical maintenance section, Holly knew from a quick scan of their dossiers; he was a chef for the cafeteria. Both from California, they had voluntarily joined the Saturn mission to get married because neither of their families approved of their union. The ultimate elopement, Holly thought, jumping all the way out to Saturn to get out from under their families. Now they’re bumping up against the protocols of the habitat and trying to fight their way through our rules.
Holly tried to make a pleasant, placating smile for them as she mentally reviewed their case. Tamiko Mishima had become pregnant almost as soon as Goddard had left the Earth/Moon system, despite the agreement about zero population growth that all the habitat’s personnel had signed. The habitat’s protocols called for terminating the pregnancy, but Eberly had allowed them to cryonically freeze the fetus in the expectation of thawing it one day and bringing the baby to term.
One day is now, Holly realized. Malcolm’s little bird has come to roost—on my shoulders.
“Mr. and Mrs. Mishima,” she heard herself saying gently, “you understand that we’re still under the ZPG protocol.”
“But Mr. Eberly said that once we had established the new government such restrictions would be removed,” said Mishima.
“Reviewed,” Holly corrected. “Not necessarily removed.”
Mishima’s face settled into a scowl. “That was not our understanding.”
“The habitat is so large,” said his wife. “Much of it is empty. There are entire villages that are unoccupied by anyone at all. Surely there is room for a few children now that we are firmly established in our final orbit.”
“There should be,” Holly agreed. “But we have to proceed carefully.”
“I want my baby,” Tamiko said firmly.
“You can’t keep the fetus frozen indefinitely,” Mishima said. “Cryonic preservation isn’t perpetual. There are long-term risks.”
“I know,” said Holly. “I’m a reborn myself.”
Their eyes widened and they both sucked in air.
“I understand how you feel,” Holly went on. “I truly do. I’ll do my best to help you.”
Once they left her office, practically bowing as they backed to the door, Holly understood that it really was time to take up this entire ZPG protocol. With something of a shock she realized that some day she’d want to have a baby herself.
5 January 2096: Afternoon
Urbain stared unhappily at Eberly and his three department heads, sitting across the small conference table from him. One very young-looking woman, two nondescript men. Except for Eberly he knew none of them. Both the men had golden complexions, almost yellow, even though they were obviously not Asians. The woman’s skin was light brown, like toasted bread.
It had taken a frustrating three days merely to bring these people into the same small conference room with him. Despite all of Urbain’s promptings and importunings, Eberly had delayed this meeting unconscionably, in Urbain’s view.
“I’m sorry it’s taken so long to bring this conference together,” Eberly said, by way of opening the meeting. “Getting these three very busy people into the same place at the same time isn’t easy, I assure you.”
“So it would seem,” Urbain replied stiffly.
Turning to his department heads, Eberly explained, “Dr. Urbain needs materials and manpower to build new satellite platforms. Twelve of them, I believe?”
“Twelve,” Urbain confirmed. “At least twelve. The need is quite urgent.”
“How many technical people will you need?” asked the director of human resources. She had been introduced to Urbain as Holly Lane.
Urbain picked up his handheld computer and projected his list of requirements onto the blank wall at the head of the conference room. The department heads turned to scan the list; Eberly had to swivel his chair completely around. Good, Urbain thought. Make him do a little work.
The head of the logistics department shook his head worriedly. “That’s a lot of electronics equipment you’re going to need. It’ll cut into our spares inventory pretty damned deep.”
“Yes, but—”
“And I can’t just pull people off their existing tasks,” said the manufacturing chief. “Do you have any idea of how thin we’re stretched as it is? Why, I’ve got requisitions for jobs going into the next six months. Just rebuilding those damned solar panel actuators is taking up more than half my resources.”
And so it went for some forty-five minutes, the department heads complaining that it would be impossible for them to meet Urbain’s needs for at least several months. Urbain sat in growing impatience, trying to keep from exploding, knowing that he needed the support of these blundering oafs and if he told them what he truly thought of them and their attitudes he would never get the help he so desperately needed.