In the bridge’s sweeping display screens, Millard could see the rim of the bluish-gray planet and the two circular man-made habitats hanging side by side in orbit around it.
Millard felt tense as the ship approached the docking port. Haven II was obviously unfinished, bare skeletal metal ribbing making up half its circular structure. He saw flashes of what must have been welding torches here and there along the structure.
Then they passed Haven II and aimed at the original station, Haven.
From his command chair at the focal point of the bridge’s control stations, the ship’s captain announced, “Rendezvous in six minutes. Confirmed.”
The six-person crew sat at their stations, relaxed, at ease, as the ship’s master computer guided it into the docking berth of Haven.
Seated behind the crew members, Millard nodded, even though none of the crew had turned to look at him. His palms felt sweaty, his fingers gripped his thighs rigidly. Although he enjoyed traveling, even over interplanetary distances, this business of docking a spaceship with a rotating habitat was something he had never been able to feel comfortable about.
The time stretched interminably, then Millard felt a barely noticeable tremor and finally a slight thump.
“Docking confirmed,” announced the master computer.
The captain turned in his seat and smiled at Millard. “That’s it, sir. We’re docked.”
The crew all got to their feet, grinning at one another. Each was dressed in a ceremonial uniform, black with silver trim. The captain’s shoulders were heavy with braid. Millard, in a civilian’s undecorated jacket, turtleneck shirt and slacks, pushed himself to his feet, happy that he hadn’t wet himself during the approach.
Reverend Umber was determined to stand when he met Millard. Sitting in a hospital-provided wheelchair, with a fresh-faced doctor and an even younger nurse behind him, Umber tensed as the reception area’s hatch swung open.
Gordon Abbott stood at one side of the minister’s chair, wearing a crisp hip-length sky-blue tunic and sharply creased darker slacks. On Umber’s other side stood Raven Marchesi, in a simple buttercup-yellow sleeveless mid-thigh dress.
The first man through the hatch was the ship’s captain, smiling and looking splendid in his black-and-silver uniform. Right behind him was a civilian, modestly dressed, smiling gently.
Abbott stepped forward and put out a beefy hand. “Harvey,” he said, loud enough to have his voice echo off the reception area’s metal walls. “Good to see you again! Welcome to Uranus and Haven.”
Millard allowed Abbott’s hand to engulf his. “It’s good to see you, Gordon.”
Umber pushed himself to his feet as Abbott half turned and introduced the minister. “This is the Reverend Kyle Umber, founder and leader of the Haven habitat.”
As he shook hands with Umber, Millard said, “Please sit down, sir. There’s no need for formalities.”
Umber smiled at the smaller man. “I prefer to stand, actually. I’ve been sitting far too much.”
Millard dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “As you wish.”
“You’re alone?” Umber asked. “No staff?”
Millard grinned, almost maliciously. “‘He travels fastest who travels alone,’” he quoted. Then he added, “I can reach my staff when I need to.”
The ship’s captain and crew were led toward a shuttle that would take them to Haven II as Umber introduced Raven. Scarcely taller than Raven, Millard took her hand in his and smiled radiantly at her. Raven muttered a greeting.
Turning back to Umber, Millard glanced at the scar running down his cheek and said, “I heard you had some unpleasantness here a fortnight ago.”
Umber nodded as he pointed toward the moving stairs that led down into Haven’s living quarters. “My attempt at a nonviolent demonstration turned bloody,” he said, his voice going low, guilty. “Thirty-eight persons were killed.”
“Something about narcotics?” Millard asked.
His face grim, Umber said tightly, “Yes,” as he slowly, haltingly led Millard and the others to the moving stairs.
Millard listened in silence as Umber—clearly embarrassed—explained Waxman’s drug manufacturing and sales.
By the time they reached Umber’s offices, the minister was saying, “Unfortunately, we never outlawed narcotics here in Haven. It never crossed my mind. I thought that the refugees we took from Earth would want to be free of drugs here in Haven. And most of them did! The only real trouble we’ve had has come from the top, not from the refugees but from my own staff!”
Millard nodded sympathetically. “That’s often the way. The rich don’t really believe that the law applies to them.”
DISPOSITIONS
Once the little group reached Umber’s office, the reverand sank gratefully onto his desk chair while Millard ensconced himself on one of the comfortable armchairs in front of the minister’s desk.
“Now where is this man Gomez? I want to hear what he has to say.”
As if answering a cue, Tómas and Zworkyn entered Umber’s office. Umber introduced them and they sat down.
Without preamble, Millard asked, “You believe you have evidence that several of Uranus’s moons were torn from their orbits around the planet some two million years ago?”
“Conclusive evidence,” said Gomez.
Millard raised an eyebrow. But he smiled as he said, “Show me.”
Nearly two hours later, Millard was nodding agreeably as he said, “I’ve got to admit, you seem to have it nailed down quite conclusively.”
“Thank you,” said Zworkyn.
“Of course, I’m not an astronomer. We’re going to have the real stargazers look over your evidence.”
“I am an astronomer,” said Gordon Abbott, sitting at Millard’s side. “They’ve convinced me.”
“Uranus’s moons were disturbed just two million years ago,” Millard mused.
“Give or take a few millennia,” said Zworkyn, with a wily grin.
Dead serious, Millard went on, “By alien invaders.”
“That’s one possibility,” Zworkyn said.
“The most likely one,” Gomez added.
“Fantastic.”
Abbott said, “This has enormous consequences. If it was an alien invader…” His voice faded away.
“But why Uranus?” Millard asked. “Why didn’t they strike any of the other planets?”
“Maybe they did,” Gomez said, in a low, anxious voice.
Millard fixed him with a hard stare. “What do you mean?”
“The last ice age on Earth started about two million years ago.”
“Ice age?”
From behind his desk, Umber disagreed, “Surely you’re not suggesting—”
“That the ice age was caused to wipe out the ape-like creatures that had arisen on Earth,” Gomez said, in a near whisper. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. The aliens tried to prevent the human race from being born.”
Kyle Umber’s elaborate office went dead silent.
Meanwhile, in his own office a few paces down the passageway from Umber’s, Evan Waxman was contemplating his future.
The safest place for me is right here, in Haven. Even if Kyle gets the Interplanetary Council to accept this space habitat as a member nation, I’ll be protected here. I’m an important man here, respected. There’s no reason for me to run away.