“Yes,” she admitted. Reluctantly, Holly thought.
“So, if it became permissible …? I mean, you’re still young enough to have a baby, obviously.”
“I … might,” she said slowly. Then she quickly added, “But not until the community can support a larger population.”
The camera pulled back to show Berkowitz sitting facing Mme. Urbain. He turned slightly in his chair and another camera showed him full-face.
“So Mme. Jeanmarie Urbain, wife of the habitat’s chief scientist, has formed a committee to oppose repeal of the ZPG protocol. How do you feel about this issue? Send in your thoughts. We’ll keep a running score, with reports every hour.”
Holly’s wall screen suddenly went blank. The interview was finished. She sat there, her mind spinning. Turncoat! Holly thought. Traitor! Then she calmed down a bit and she realized that this had to be Eberly’s doing. Just like the snake he is, Holly thought, getting a woman to fight against this women’s issue.
“How’re you doin’ in there?” Pancho asked, letting her feet float free of the floor loops so she could bob up to the level of Gaeta’s transparent visor. She could see his rugged face through the reflections of the cargo bay’s overhead light strips.
“Checking everything twice,” Gaeta replied, his amplified voice echoing slightly off the bay’s bare metal bulkheads.
“Just like Santy Claus.”
“Watch this,” said Gaeta.
Pancho saw the hulking suit’s two arms rise from their sides, their servomotors whining. The pincer claws opened and snapped shut.
“Like a crab, huh?” she commented.
“Wanna dance?” Gaeta asked, wrapping both arms around her waist. He began lumbering awkwardly across the floor, his heavy magnetized boots lifting and then thumping down again on the metal deck.
Pancho hung on to his broad shoulders, grinning. “Hey, don’t let Jake see this. He’s the jealous type.”
Laughing, Gaeta lowered her gently to the floor and released his double grip on her. Pancho hooked one foot into a floor loop, then made a wobbly curtsy. “Thanks for the dance.”
“Pilot to the bridge,” Wanamaker’s voice came over the intercom. “Ejection point in one hour.”
“Gotta go,” she said. “You okay in there? Need anything?”
“I’m fine, Pancho. I’ll start the final checkout now.”
“Right. I’ll tell Jake; he’ll be monitoring you.”
She pushed off for the hatch and swam weightlessly back to the bridge. Her eye caught the control board’s master clock as she settled into the floor loops at the pilot’s station.
“Just about time for Holly’s big shootout with Eberly,” she muttered.
Wanamaker didn’t reply. He had a headset clamped over his thick steel-gray hair, already working with Gaeta, going through the suit’s final checkout.
12 April 2096: The first debate
Holly was still steaming about Mme. Urbain when she climbed the four steps to the auditorium stage. The place was packed: as far as she could see, every seat was taken. And there was Jeanmarie Urbain in the front row with her husband beside her.
Of course! Holly thought. Malcolm’s got her to oppose the petition drive ’cause she’s afraid population growth will affect her husband’s science work. I’ve got to get that crock off their screens right away.
Professor Wilmot extended his hand to her as she stepped onto the stage and led her to one of the three chairs set up behind the lectern. Eberly hadn’t shown up yet. Just like Malcolm, Holly said to herself, stewing inside. He’ll wait until everybody else is here and then make his grand entrance.
She scanned the audience, looking for friendly faces. Jeeps, none of my friends have shown up. She knew Pancho, Jake and Gaeta were on the ring mission, and Raoul was running their control operation. But Kris Cardenas was nowhere in sight, either. Maybe she’s at the control center worrying about Manny, Holly told herself. She saw Dr. and Mrs. Yañez sitting in the fifth row, the Mishimas behind them, and a lot of the volunteers who’d been working on the petition drive. But nobody who was really close to her.
She sighed inwardly. It’s lonely at the top, I guess.
The double doors at the rear of the auditorium swung open and Malcolm Eberly swept in, trailed by an entourage of several dozen people. Eberly smiled grandly as he strode up the central aisle. People got up on their feet and applauded him. Flacks, Holly decided. They all work in the administration offices.
Eberly sprang youthfully up the steps and went straight to Professor Wilmot. The professor rose from his chair, wearing a look somewhere between polite disdain and unpleasant duty. Eberly grabbed his hand and pumped it several times while the audience buzzed and chattered.
“Hello, Holly,” Eberly said as he bent over her, all smiles.
“Hello, Malcolm. Glad you could make it.”
He laughed. “A sense of humor is important. It will help you to deal with your defeat.”
Holly smiled back at him. “We’ll see.”
As Eberly sat on Wilmot’s other side, the professor got up and went to the lectern. Holly noticed that Eberly’s entourage had no place to sit, so they lined the side walls of the auditorium and remained on their feet. Hope this goes on for hours, Holly said to herself. Serve ’em right.
Wilmot quieted the crowd and explained the rules of the debate: Each candidate would make an opening statement of five minutes, then a rebuttal of three minutes. After that, the meeting would be thrown open to questions from the audience.
“Each candidate will be given the opportunity to make a final statement of three minutes’ duration,” Wilmot concluded. Turning slightly in Eberly’s direction, he said, “The incumbent will speak first.”
Kris Cardenas paced the workroom that they were using as the mission control center. It was the same chamber where they had brought the suit out of storage and refurbished it for the flight. The bare-walled room looked too large, empty, now that Manny and his suit were gone.
Timoshenko was sitting at the row of flimsy-sheet computers that Tavalera had brought from the airlock and pressed onto the work room bulkhead; the Russian’s face was set in a dark scowl of concentration. Cardenas could hear the voices of Pancho and Wanamaker through the computers’ speakers, but there had been no word from Manny for nearly half an hour.
He was afraid to go, Cardenas said to herself. He didn’t want to do this mission. He said he was a fugitive from the law of averages. But he’s out there now, risking his neck for Nadia. Cardenas shook her head, No, not just for Nadia. For all of us. His damned macho sense of honor. Come back to me, Manny. Don’t get yourself killed out there. Come back to me.
Tavalera was pouring himself a mug of coffee from the urn they had plugged in earlier. He looked serious, too, almost grim. But then Raoul always looks sour, Cardenas told herself. She wanted to ask the men if everything was all right, but she didn’t want to interfere with their work, distract them. And she didn’t want to seem like a worried, nagging “little woman.”
“Go for separation in five minutes, on my mark,” Pancho’s voice came through, sounding calm, professional. “Mark. Five minutes to separation.”
“Copy five minutes.” Manny’s voice.
“You want some coffee?”
Cardenas almost jumped. Tavalera startled her, she had been concentrating on the voices from the spacecraft so completely.
“Look, Doc,” Tavalera said gently, “it’s gonna be a long mission. Have a seat, try to relax. He’s gonna be fine.”
“I know, Raoul. I know, but I can’t help worrying.”
He pushed the coffee mug into her hand. “At least sit down. You don’t want to be on your feet all through this.”