Pancho shook her head, thinking that Saturn’s rings would still be there for a potful of millions of years.
They changed into their regular clothes and went to the cafeteria at last. Pancho was hungry enough to eat half the menu, but she restrained herself and followed Wunderly’s lead: fruit salad and a flavored soy drink.
Just as they sat down at an unoccupied table, Holly came stomping up to them and banged her lunch tray down so hard the tea sloshed out of her cup.
“The sumbitch fired me!” Holly snapped, slamming into the vacant seat between Pancho and Wunderly.
“What?”
“Eberly. The slimeball fired me. Kicked me out of the human resources department. Don’t you people watch the morning news?”
“We’ve been in the simulator since oh-seven-thirty,” Pancho said. “And then the gym.”
Fuming, Holly grabbed at the sandwich on her tray and tore off a big bite.
Wunderly asked, “He fired you because you’re opposing him in the election?”
“Why else?” Holly mumbled, her mouth full of sandwich.
“But he didn’t say it that way, I bet,” Pancho said.
“Hell no.” Holly swallowed hard. “His news release was all about ‘the interests of efficient government and fair play.’ The creep.”
Wunderly dimpled into a smile. “I’ve never seen you so angry.”
“And he’s making a major speech tonight,” Holly grumbled. “Prob’ly going to bring up that idea of mining the rings again.”
Wunderly’s smile crumpled. “He can’t do that!”
“Wanna bet?” Holly and Pancho said in unison.
Jumping to her feet, Wunderly shouted, “He can’t! I won’t let him!”
People at nearby tables turned to stare at her.
“How’re you gonna stop him?” Pancho asked softly, reaching for the sleeve of Wunderly’s tunic.
Sitting again, Wunderly stared at Pancho for a long, wordless moment. At last she said, “Pancho, we’ve got to get me into the rings before the election.”
“That’s three months off, isn’t it?”
Holly nodded. “June first.”
“I’ve got to prove that there are living organisms in the rings,” Wunderly said, her eyes welling with tears. “Then the IAA will declare the rings off-limits for commercial exploitation.”
Pancho shook her head sadly. “Nadia, it’s gonna take more than three months to get you ready. Otherwise you’ll just be killing yourself.”
“I don’t care! I’ve got to do it, Pancho. I’ve got to!”
Timoshenko wished he knew more about computer programming.
He sat in his office, scrolling through the reports his staff had prepared on the equipment they’d brought in for testing from the solar mirrors.
There’s nothing wrong, Timoshenko saw. Everything works well within design limits. But when these very same motors and actuators were outside they performed erratically.
He knew the problem wasn’t major. The deviations from normal parameters were so minor that hardly anyone even noticed them. But they were deviations, Timoshenko told himself, and they shouldn’t exist. And to make matters worse, the replacement parts that his crew had put into the mirrors were starting to show similar deviations. Just small fluctuations from normal performance. The mirrors moved a few seconds before the computer program was to activate them; they made minor adjustments that reduced the amount of sunlight focused into the habitat by a trifle.
Only a trifle now, Timoshenko thought. But what happens if these fluctuations grow bigger? We could all die in here if the solar mirrors fail in a major way.
He shook his head. There’s nothing wrong with the motors or the actuators, he told himself. We’ve tested them sixteen times now and they perform within design specs each time. But they don’t work within the specs when they’re outside, attached to the mirrors!
Is the computer program at fault? he wondered. He ran a hand through his bristly mop of hair. I’ll have to get somebody from the computer group to go over the mirror program. Line by line, byte by byte. They won’t be happy about it. Nothing but dogwork, thankless drudgery. But it’s got to be done.
Or else we could all end up in the dark. And the temperature outside is near absolute zero. A super Siberia.
17 February 2096: Campaign speech
Zeke Berkowitz couldn’t help but admire the thoroughness of Eberly’s preparations for this speech. He’s a terrific stage manager, Berkowitz thought. He knows how to make a maximum impact.
Eberly had cajoled only a few dozen of his own staff people to serve as the live audience for his speech, but the conference room he had chosen was small enough to make the place look crowded. Since most of the habitat’s citizens would watch the speech from their homes, Eberly’s flunkies were enough to make it seem like a sizeable and enthusiastic audience.
Berkowitz had his staff remove the conference table from the room and set up rows of chairs for the audience. A small lectern stood at the front of the room; Berkowitz’s minicams were positioned in the rear.
At precisely 2100 hours, Sonya Vickers—the newly appointed acting director of the human resources department—stepped daintily to the lectern and looked out over the audience that filled the room to capacity. She was elfin slim, blonde, youthful, smiling.
“I’m glad to see so many of you here in person,” she began, “to witness this important policy statement by our chief administrator.” Lifting her eyes to look directly into Berkowitz’s central camera, she continued, “And to those of you at home, welcome.”
She hesitated a heartbeat, then said, “Now, without further ado, I would like to introduce your chief administrator, a man who has served all of us selflessly and very capably, Malcolm Eberly.”
The audience rose to their feet on cue and cheered enthusiastically.
In the living room of her apartment, Holly sat on her sofa, flanked by her sister and Jake Wanamaker. The screen on the opposite wall showed Eberly smiling brilliantly as he walked the six steps to the lectern, where he shook Vickers’s hand and thanked her for her introduction. Impulsively, it seemed, she gave him a peck on the cheek.
“That was scripted, betcha,” Holly muttered.
Eberly beamed at his audience as they applauded lustily. After a few moments he gestured for silence. He had to repeat the gesture several times before they stopped clapping and sat back in their seats.
“That was scripted, too,” Holly grumbled.
“Take notes,” said Pancho. “You can learn a few things from this guy.”
Eberly gripped the sides of the lectern and bowed his head for a moment. The audience fell absolutely silent.
“Thank you all for that magnificent welcome,” he said, his voice low, as if choked with emotion.
“This is a momentous occasion,” Eberly went on, sweeping the room with his startling blue eyes, then looking directly into the camera. His voice rose, strengthened. “You—all of you, every citizen of this habitat—has the chance to make history. Tonight we are embarking on a contest that will decide who will direct this habitat for the coming year. You citizens have the right, the power, the responsibility of electing the person you want to be your chief administrator. You will make this decision. You will vote in a free and fair election on the first day of June.” He hesitated, then added, with a modest smile, “As a politician back in my native Austria once said: ‘Don’t let anybody tell you how to vote. You go to the polls and vote for me!’”
The audience laughed. But Holly growled, “He was born in Omaha, Nebraska.”
Pancho nodded.
On the wall screen, Eberly was continuing, “Our first year under the constitution that we ourselves have written has been a very good year. We are in a stable orbit around Saturn, the farthest outpost of human civilization in the entire solar system. We have achieved self-sufficiency as far as food and our other life-support requirements are concerned. The machinery of our habitat is performing admirably, thanks to the hard work and great care of our technicians and engineers. Our scientists have landed a probe on Titan, and although they have had some difficulties with it, I’m sure that in the coming year they will successfully regain contact with it and explore that mysterious world thoroughly.”