Leviathans of Jupiter

IMMERSION CENTER

Deirdre had never swum before. Living in the Chrysalis II habitat, the nearest thing to a swimming pool had been an ancient bathtub that her father had imported at tremendous cost from London. The nearest lake or seashore was some three hundred million kilometers away, on Earth.

Even when she made contact with the dolphins she stayed out of the water, under Andy Corvus’s encouraging direction. She experienced what Baby felt like swimming effortlessly through the big aquarium tank, but she had never gotten herself wet.

So she felt more than a little trepidation as she approached the immersion center, Andy at her side. Deirdre had searched station Gold’s storerooms for something to wear in the immersion tank and found a black maillot which, the logistics clerk assured her, was considered very fashionable swimwear back Earthside. It had been left at the station by a planetary physicist who had gotten herself pregnant and transferred back to Selene.

Wearing a white terry cloth robe over the one-piece swimsuit, Deirdre had gone with Andy down to the immersion center.

“Nervous?” he had asked her as they walked along the passageway.

“A little,” she admitted, shaving the truth considerably.

“I’ll have to go through this, too, you know.”

“I know.”

“But not today,” Corvus said. For once, Andy looked dead serious. As they walked down the passageway leading to the immersion center, his slightly uneven face was set in a tight expression of concern.

Deirdre said, “I watched some videos last night of people scuba diving back on Earth. It looked like fun.”

“It’s fun swimming with the dolphins,” he said, trying to sound brighter.

They reached the double-door entrance to the immersion center. Corvus reached for both handles and slid the doors open.

“Well, after you’re finished they want me to go in,” he said.

Deirdre smiled gently at him. I’ll be the test subject for you, she said to herself. After you see me get through it, then you’ll have the courage to do it yourself. But then she thought, If everything goes right. If there aren’t any problems.

Half a dozen people were waiting for them by the immersion tank. Deirdre saw what looked like a modest-sized swimming pool, glowing with light from below its surface that cast strange rippling shadows on the overhead.

But Dorn was nowhere in sight. The cyborg had promised Deirdre that he’d be present to lend her moral support. But he wasn’t there. Deirdre felt disappointed, almost betrayed.

A short, stocky, dark-skinned man in a crisp white laboratory coat came up to her and brusquely extended his hand to Deirdre.

“I am Dr. Vavuniva,” he said. “I am in charge here.”

“Deirdre Ambrose.”

“Yes. Of course.” Vavuniva looked cranky, impatient frown lines creasing his forehead. His dark eyes shifted toward Corvus. “And you?”

“Andy Corvus. I’m scheduled for a dunking this afternoon.”

“Dunking?” Vavuniva snapped. “This is not a frivolous matter, Dr. Corvus.”

“No,” Andy quickly agreed. “Of course not.”

A pretty young woman with a digital clipboard stepped between Deirdre and Dr. Vavuniva. Deirdre saw that she was wearing a colorful flowered dress beneath her white lab coat. She was no taller than Deirdre’s own shoulder, and there was a delicate little flower tattooed on her golden cheek.

“You have viewed the orientation video?” she asked, proffering the clipboard.

“Yes,” Deirdre said, nodding as she signed the form with the attached stylus.

The other technicians were all men, mostly young: Deirdre’s own age, she thought. One of them, a gangling blond youngster, seemed hardly out of his teens. He was staring openly at her. Deirdre smiled at him, and the youngster actually blushed.

Corvus stepped up and put himself between Deirdre and the technician, frowning at the kid. Oh Andy, Deirdre thought, none of the guys can get within ten meters of me without you or Dorn or Max shooing them away. She sighed inwardly. It’s good to have protectors, but still …

The young technician opened the gate in the railing that circled the pool. “This way, Ms. Ambrose,” he said.

The Polynesian woman handed her a belt of weights. “You’ll need this,” she said softly. “We’ve adjusted it for your weight.”

Deirdre thanked her and, opening her robe slightly, slipped the belt around her waist and clicked its catch. She stepped up to the gate, then pulled off her robe. The young technician gaped at her. She heard one of the other men whistle softly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Andy bristling.

Vavuniva seemed angered by it all. “Into the tank,” he said brusquely.

As she pulled her snug-fitting hood over her hair, Deirdre smiled at the men’s reaction. Her swimsuit covered her from neck to crotch, although her arms and legs were bare. The suit was dead black but fit her snugly. She could feel her nipples straining against the fabric. Stepping over the rim of the pool and putting a foot into the water, she felt disappointed that nobody in the whole station had been able to make a pass at her since she’d arrived. Except for Max, of course, but he didn’t really count: Max was all talk.

She glanced over her shoulder at Andy, who was now himself staring goggle-eyed at her. Good! Deirdre thought. He’s got normal male reactions.

The water felt cold. As Deirdre started to climb down the ladder she remembered that this wasn’t really water, it was liquid perfluorocarbon. She was going to have to breathe in it.

The pretty Polynesian woman leaned over the railing and reminded her, “You’ll gag at first. Everybody does. It’s a normal reflex. Don’t panic. Just try to relax and breathe as normally as you can.”

Deirdre nodded, thinking that it’s easy to give advice. I wonder if she’s ever gone into this soup. I wonder if any of them have. I’ll bet that officious little Dr. Vavuniva’s never even put a toe in this stuff.

The liquid was chilling, and somehow cloying, slimy. Deirdre forced herself to slowly descend the ladder, rung by rung. The liquid came up to her hips, her waist, her breasts, her shoulders. Another step and it’ll be over my head, she realized.

Glancing up, she saw Vavuniva’s dark face looking nettled, annoyed. And Andy beside him, watching her with his soft blue eyes, looking as if he’d lean over and pull her out if he thought that’s what she wanted.

She smiled at Andy, then ducked her head into the liquid. The hood kept her hair dry. She blinked her eyes and found that she could see perfectly well. She held her breath, though. All well and good to claim that you could breathe this liquid, but Deirdre’s body didn’t really believe that.

Don’t panic, she told herself. Plenty of other people have done this. Dr. Archer did, lots of others. Dorn, too. Why isn’t he here, as he said he’d be?

Her lungs were burning. She had to breathe! Don’t panic. Don’t panic, she screamed silently. Take a breath, a deep breath. But her body refused to obey her mind’s command. Deirdre squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly wishing that she were with her father back home, safe, warm, breathing normal air …

Involuntarily, she sucked in a breath. And gagged. Coughing, sputtering, her body arched painfully. And she realized that she was breathing! Her mouth open and gasping, Deirdre was breathing the liquid perfluorocarbon. It felt cold and oily and completely awful, but she could breathe it.

Her hands let go of the ladder rung and she sank gently down toward the bottom of the tank. Looking down, she saw there was a console of some sort set up down there. And someone sitting at it, looking up at her.

“Welcome,” said Dorn, his voice magisterially deep in the perfluorocarbon liquid.

FARADAY

Sure enough, the predators had led Faraday to the leviathans. One sensor set after another confirmed that a huge agglomeration of the gigantic creatures was moving steadily through the dark sea in a massive spherical formation. The predators themselves had slowed their own advance and remained at a considerable distance from the leviathans.

Faraday’s human analog program projected an image of lions hunting on a wide, grassy plain on Earth. Their prey was a herd of spiral-horned antelope, off in the distance, loitering by a sluggishly moving stream. The tawny beasts hunkered down in the long, waving yellow grass, crawling slowly on their bellies to get close enough to the herd to attack and kill. As some of the antelope stooped to drink, other members of the herd stood alert, ears twitching, sniffing the wind for a scent of danger.

An analogy, Faraday’s central computer understood, programmed into the memory core to help the computer to recognize what its sensors showed of the alien undersea world.

The sharklike predators swam off to one side of the huge spherical formation of leviathans. They stayed the same distance from the outermost periphery of the herd, content to wait. For how long? Central computer’s forecasting subprogram did not have enough data to make a meaningful prediction. But the time line showed that Faraday’s mission was almost at its conclusion. Already the countdown for returning to the orbiting research station had started ticking.

A human observer would have found the situation maddeningly strange. The predators were following the leviathans’ spherical formation, neither coming closer to their prey nor abandoning their long chase. The leviathans showed no indication that they recognized the danger lurking nearby.

One minute left in the mission, the time line showed. Main propulsion drive activated: intake valves open, fusion powerplant ramping up to heat the intake water into plasma. Propulsion jets ready and on standby.

Suddenly the spherical formation of leviathans shifted, split apart into two separate halves. From the core of the formation a mammoth leviathan glided purposefully outward, its flanks flashing colors that shimmered through the water.

Like a school of fish, the predators immediately turned as one unit toward the creature that was emerging from the leviathans’ formation.

Faraday’s priority hierarchy demanded that a fresh data capsule be prepared. This kind of behavior had never been observed before. The major priority, second only to self-survival, was to send this data back to mission control.

The time line showed forty-seven seconds left in the mission. Central computer concluded it could carry the data to mission control without risking a data capsule launch. But the priority hierarchy insisted that a capsule be launched. Redundancy, central computer recognized. Better to have the data relayed to mission control twice than not at all. If Faraday became incapacitated, unable to get out of the ocean, the data capsule would still deliver the information to mission control.

That decision took fourteen nanoseconds. Faraday ran a final diagnostic check on its main propulsion system even while its sensors showed that a huge leviathan was leaving the protective formation of its group and heading away from them, alone.

The predators slowly, warily approached the lone leviathan as it glided majestically away from its kin.

Twenty-five seconds to propulsion ignition, central computer’s time line showed. Data capsule programmed and ready for launch.

The lone leviathan began to shudder as it swam away from its fellows. Part of the huge beast separated from its main body and floated aimlessly away. Not for long, though. One of the predators broke from its formation and slashed at the separated piece with scimitar-sized teeth.

The predators swarmed over the lone leviathan, tearing at it, while the rest of the leviathans swam slowly away, as if nothing were happening.

Launch capsule, central computer commanded. Ignite main propulsion drive.

Faraday launched the data capsule and milliseconds later lit up its main drive. Superheated steam drove the spherical submersible upward like a pellet fired from a rifle while the predators tore at the lone leviathan and the rest of the herd of gigantic creatures moved steadily away from the scene of the carnage.

MAIN CONFERENCE ROOM

Grant Archer stood at the head of the conference table and looked at the various department heads arrayed along its length, chatting in muted tones with one another. Down at the foot of the table sat Max Yeager, looking wary, almost suspiciously, at the scientists flanking him on either side. At least Yeager looked presentable; he had shaved and put on some fresh clothes.

Katherine Westfall sat at Archer’s right; she seemed mildly bored. Three of her aides were seated along the wall behind her.

“Let’s come to order, please,” Archer said, tapping the tabletop with a fingernail. The various conversations stopped; all heads turned toward him.

“We’re here to review the results of Faraday’s mission,” Archer said. Making a slight bow toward Westfall, he added, “And we’re honored by the presence of a member of the International Astronautical Authority’s governing council.”

One of the scientists clapped her hands lightly and immediately the rest of them joined in. Westfall smiled demurely and raised her hands in a modest signal to silence them.

“Faraday returned three days ago,” Archer resumed, “apparently undamaged. We’ll review the significance of the data it carried back with it, but first I want to ask Dr. Yeager how his examination of the vessel’s systems has gone.”

Yeager had indeed shaved and scrubbed for this meeting. His long hair glistened as if he’d just stepped out of a shower. He was wearing a spanking new tunic and slacks of a golden brown sandy hue, yet they somehow looked wrinkled and baggy on him as he got up from his chair.

Pointing a palm-sized remote at the wall screen to his right, Yeager said, “I could spend a few hours going over all the details.” The screen showed schematics of Faraday’s layout. “But the long and the short of it is that the ship performed well within specifications. All systems worked as designed; even though she took a bit of a battering from the sharks, there was no significant damage.”

“Significant damage?” Westfall picked up on the word.

Yeager forced a smile for her. “By that I mean there wasn’t any damage at all. All systems worked fine. She went down to her design limit depth—”

“How deep is that?” Westfall asked.

“One thousand kilometers below the surface,” Yeager replied. A little sheepishly, he added, “Actually, she bottomed out at nine hundred and fourteen klicks.”

“The vessel worked as designed,” Archer said, cutting off any further dialogue. “Thank you, Dr. Yeager. Your ship performed beautifully.”

Max grinned even more widely and sat down.

“However,” Archer went on, his expression turning more serious, “we have less than satisfactory results from the mission.”

Before Yeager could react Archer explained, “I mean that Faraday spent most of its time in the ocean searching for the leviathans, and almost as soon as it found them, the ship left and returned here.”

“It followed mission protocol!” Yeager objected. “She was programmed to return at a specific time and that’s just what she did.”

“Precisely,” said Archer.

Michael Johansen raised a long-fingered hand and said, “It’s no reflection on you, Max. The bird left just as things were getting interesting.”

Yeager muttered something too low for the rest of them to hear.

Westfall asked, in her soft little-girl voice, “What do you mean, just as things were getting interesting?”

Johansen turned to her. “Let me show you.” He clicked his own remote and the wall screen darkened.

“More contrast,” Johansen murmured. The screen brightened somewhat, showing the shadowy figures of leviathans gliding easily through the depths.

“The leviathans weren’t in their usual feeding location,” said the lanky Johansen, getting up from his chair like a giraffe climbing to its feet. “Most of the time Faraday was down there was spent searching for the creatures.”

“And being attacked by the sharks,” Yeager added.

With a nod toward the engineer, Johansen said, “Yes, but the primary objective of the mission was to observe the leviathans. By the time Faraday found them it had to leave the scene and return here.”

“As it was programmed to do,” Yeager insisted.

Archer stepped in. “As it was indeed programmed to do. No one’s faulting the vehicle or its performance, Dr. Yeager.”

“Yeah, but I see a lot of unhappy faces along this table,” Max grumbled.

“That’s not your fault,” Archer soothed. “The problem is that the vessel was following the program we wrote for it, without the capability to change that programming in the face of unexpected events.”

Yeager nodded, but still looked unhappy.

“We did learn quite a bit,” Archer continued. “The leviathans have left the feeding area where we’ve always found them before.”

Johansen interjected, “The stream of organics flowing in from the clouds above the ocean has been interrupted, probably by the impact of Comet McDaniel-Lloyd last month.”

One of the biologists, a blocky-sized woman with a military buzz cut, said, “So they went searching for another stream to feed on.”

“Exactly,” said Johansen.

Archer pointed out, “Faraday found a larger grouping of sharks than we’ve ever seen before.”

“And they attacked the vessel,” said Johansen.

“No damage,” Yeager said.

The buzz-cut biologist pointed out, “The sharks seemed to be exhibiting territorial behavior. Once the ship moved away from them they stopped attacking it.”

“So what have we got here?” Archer mused aloud. “The comet impact disturbs the stream of organics falling into the ocean. The leviathan herd moves off to find a new feeding area. And the sharks come together in the biggest grouping we’ve ever observed.”

“And drive away our vessel,” the biologist added. “Territorial behavior, pure and simple.”

“I don’t know if it’s pure or simple,” Archer countered, with a placating smile, “but it’s definitely behavior we’ve never observed before.”

“The leviathans also exhibited new behavior,” Johansen pointed out. The screen showed one of the gigantic creatures swimming away from the rest of the herd, going off alone. The sharks immediately darted after it.

Then the screen went blank.

“What happened?” Westfall asked. “What did they do?”

“We don’t know,” said Archer. “That’s the point where Faraday left the area and returned here.”

“As programmed,” Yeager said.

“It’s too bad the ship was programmed to leave when it did,” Johansen said, looking at Archer rather than Max. “Just when things were getting interesting.”

Archer nodded. Glancing at Westfall, he said, “This clearly shows the limit of robotic missions. If there had been a crew aboard the ship they would have stayed to observe these new behaviors. They wouldn’t have left because of a preprogrammed schedule.”

“If they had enough supplies on board to remain,” Westfall countered.

“Yes, of course,” Archer agreed. “But the point is, there’s a limit to what we can accomplish with robotic missions. We need to get people down into that ocean again. We need crewed missions.”

Everyone around the table looked toward Westfall. She sat in silence for several long moments, apparently deep in thought. Archer saw the tip of her tongue peek out from between her barely parted lips.

Calmly, deliberately, Archer said to her, “If we’re going to learn more about the leviathans, if we’re ever going to find out if they’re intelligent and perhaps make meaningful contact with them, we’ve got to send crewed missions down there.”

“In spite of the dangers,” Westfall murmured.

“In spite of the dangers,” Archer confirmed. “The crews will be volunteers, of course. They’ll all know the risks they’re running.”

Yeager spoke up again. “I think this mission proved that Faraday is a tough bird. A crew will be safe with her.”

“As safe as possible,” one of the scientists muttered.

“Safe,” Yeager said flatly.

Westfall heaved an almost theatrical sigh. “I see,” she said. “I understand.”

“Then you won’t oppose a crewed mission?” Archer asked, his face alight with hope.

With some reluctance, Westfall said softly, “No, I won’t oppose a crewed mission. I still think it’s terribly risky, but I suppose I’ll have to stand aside and let you try it.”

A burst of grateful relief gusted from the scientists around the table. Westfall smiled at them, thinking, Give them enough rope and they’ll hang themselves.

GRANT ARCHER’S OFFICE

Deirdre felt a jumble of emotions as she entered Dr. Archer’s office. She had deliberately come ten minutes early for the meeting, hoping to have some time to speak with the station director alone, but Archer was already deep in earnest conversation with a dark-skinned, very serious-looking man whose image was displayed on one of the office’s wall screens. The data bar beneath his image read: DR. ZAREB MUZOREWA, UNIVERSITY OF SELENE.

Muzorewa had been director of the station before Dr. Archer, Deirdre knew.

Archer noticed her as Deirdre slid his office door back and waved her to a chair while the man on the wall screen was saying:

“It’s true, Grant, she told the chairman of the council that she’s withdrawing her objection to a crewed mission.”

As she silently took a seat next to Archer, Deirdre could see that the station director was practically glowing with satisfaction. “That’s great, Zeb,” he said to the screen. “It’s a big load off my mind. We can go ahead now without any worries.”

Muzorewa’s expression remained stony. “Don’t get too happy about it, my friend. She repeated her concerns about the safety risks of the mission, but said you assured her the vehicle was safe and the crew would be volunteers.”

“That’s right,” said Archer. “It’s true.”

“And the way she worded her message, she’s withdrawing her objection—reluctantly—only for this one mission.”

Archer waved a hand in the air. “That’s good enough, Zeb. Once we get a crewed mission in and back safely we’ll have proved that crews can go down again.”

“On the other hand,” Muzorewa said slowly, choosing his words with obvious care, “if anything goes wrong with your crewed mission, it could spell the end of everything.”

“Then we’ll have to make certain that nothing goes wrong,” Archer said.

Muzorewa’s flinty expression eased slightly into a tentative smile. “If you can do that, you should be running the universe. Something will go wrong, Grant. It always does. You know that.”

Archer admitted it with a nod. “I meant that we’ll have to make sure that nothing major goes wrong.”

Muzorewa nodded back. “Perhaps you should try the power of prayer.”

“Prayer never hurts.”

“Put your trust in the Lord. And keep your powder dry.”

Deirdre recognized the quote: Oliver Cromwell, from seventeenth-century England.

Archer laughed. “Good advice.”

“Good luck, then,” said Muzorewa.

“Thanks, Zeb.”

The wall screen went blank.

Turning to Deirdre, Archer explained, “Zeb was my mentor when I first came to this station. He’s been a good and firm friend all these years.”

“I see,” Deirdre said. Suddenly she realized, “But how can you talk with him in real time if he’s in Selene? The Moon’s at least half an hour away, in light time.”

“He’s not in Selene,” Archer explained. “Zeb’s right here at the station, down in the third wheel. He just arrived less than an hour ago. He’s carrying your nanomachines.”

Still bewildered, she asked, “He got here from Selene in a week?”

“High-g boost. We know you need the nanotherapy as quickly as possible, so Zeb volunteered to zip out here with your nanos.”

“You asked him to?”

“I didn’t have to,” Archer replied. “I simply explained the problem to him and he volunteered. Brought a couple of nanotechs with him. They developed your therapeutic nanos on the way here.”

Deirdre felt overwhelmed. “They did this for me?”

His smile widening, Archer said, “Frankly, I think Zeb was happy to have an excuse to get back here. He’s as curious about the leviathans as I am. He’s the one who turned Dr. Corvus on to the problem of communicating with them.”

“I’d like to thank him,” Deirdre said.

“Tomorrow. Right now Zeb and his two technicians are in the infirmary in the third wheel, being checked out after their high-g trip: hernias, heart arrhythmias, that sort of thing. Also, I’m not sure that I want Mrs. Westfall to know that they’re here.”

“My goodness,” said Deirdre. But she wondered if Grant Archer or anyone else could prevent Katherine Westfall from learning about Muzorewa’s arrival.

“I know that you’re supposed to report everything you learn to her, but I hope we can keep this from her, at least for a little while.”

Deirdre saw the earnestness in his expression, heard the unvoiced question he was asking her.

“I…” She hesitated, wondering what she should do, then heard herself say, “I won’t volunteer any information about Dr. Muzorewa and the nanotech specialists.”

“Thank you,” Archer said. “That could be very helpful.” Then, leaning back slightly in his recliner, Archer said, “I notice that you’re early for our little conference.”

Feeling almost embarrassed, Deirdre said in a lowered voice, “I wanted to ask you…”

“Yes?”

“Andy—Dr. Corvus—he wants me to go on the mission with him.”

“I know. He’s very pleased with the ease with which you make contact with the dolphins.”

Deirdre realized she was wringing her hands and purposely pressed them flat on the thighs of her creased slacks. “I … I’m not sure that I want to go down there.”

Archer sat up a little straighter. “You did fine in the immersion tank.”

“I suppose so,” Deirdre said, suppressing a shudder, “but I really didn’t like it. I don’t know if I could stand being in that slimy stuff for days on end.”

“I know how you feel. I understand. I didn’t like it much myself when I was in the soup.”

“What will happen if I don’t go?”

With a shrug, Archer said, “It just makes Corvus’s job that much more difficult. Not that establishing communications with the leviathans will be easy, under any circumstances.” He hesitated a heartbeat, then added, “And, of course, I was hoping that you might be able to make some sense out of the visual imagery the leviathans use to communicate.”

“I just…” Deirdre faltered, then admitted, “I’m afraid!”

Strangely, Archer smiled at her. “You have every right to be. I’d wonder about your sanity if you weren’t.”

CLINIC

Katherine Westfall found Dr. Mandrill in the middle of his morning rounds, accompanied by two women in white while moving slowly through the clinic’s sole ward. Only three of the ten beds were occupied.

With a polite little cough she caught the portly doctor’s attention as she stood by the ward’s main door. He frowned at first, but immediately smoothed his expression into a forced smile. After whispering a few words to his aides he waddled up the aisle between the rows of beds to her.

“This is a surprise,” said the doctor, in a low tone. “I didn’t expect you—”

Westfall cut him off. “My time is important, Doctor. I need some information from you. Quickly.”

“As soon as I finish—”

“Now,” she snapped.

Barely suppressing his anger, Dr. Mandrill dipped his double chin and acceded, “Now.”

He led her out of the ward and down the short passageway to his office. Once the door was closed, Mrs. Westfall said, “My informants tell me that a Dr. Muzorewa has arrived here from Selene.”

“Muzorewa? Himself?” The doctor’s brows hiked up. “He was director of this station, before Dr. Archer.”

“He came with two nanotechnicians.”

“Indeed?”

“That’s what I’ve been told.”

“What would bring the respected Zareb Muzorewa back to station Gold?” Dr. Mandrill mused. “And with a pair of nanotechs?”

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

Mandrill went to his desk and slid heavily into its swivel chair. “Selene is a center for nanotechnology research and development,” he said. “But Muzorewa was a fluid dynamicist, not a nanotech man.”

Still standing, Westfall asked, “Could nanotechnology be used to kill the rabies virus?”

The doctor blinked his red-rimmed eyes once, twice.

“Well?” she demanded.

“I suppose it’s possible … if one engineers nanomachine disassemblers specifically to attack that particular virus.”

“They’d need samples of the virus, wouldn’t they?”

With a heavy-shouldered shrug Dr. Mandrill replied, “Perhaps not actual samples. Three-dimensional imagery would do, most likely.”

Westfall leaned both hands on the back of the chair in front of the doctor’s desk. “So they could produce therapeutic nanomachines and use them to kill her virus.”

“Her?” Understanding dawned on Mandrill’s dark face. “Ah! You’re talking about Ms. Ambrose.”

“Nanomachines could wipe out her specific type of rabies virus?”

Mandrill nodded warily. “If the nanos were specially designed to attack that variety of virus. It all works by shapes, you know. Like keys and locks.”

“They could cure her,” Westfall muttered.

“But nanomachines can be dangerous,” the doctor pointed out. “The type of nano you’re talking about might be able to disassemble other types of organic molecules, as well.”

Westfall’s eyes brightened.

“In street slang they’re called gobblers. The great fear has always been that gobblers would get loose and tear apart everything they come into contact with. It’s been called ‘the gray goo problem.’ That’s why nanotechnology is forbidden on Earth. They could reduce everything they touch into a slime of broken molecules.”

“Gray goo. Yes, I’ve heard of that.”

“But of course in Selene the nanomachines are handled with great care. Tremendous care. The same would apply here, naturally. Dr. Archer wouldn’t allow—”

“He already has,” Westfall snapped, with a hint of triumph in her voice.

As Deirdre opened the door to Grant Archer’s office, she saw he was deep in conversation with a tall, handsome black man. He looked like a statue carved in ebony: very grave, very powerful. Then he turned toward her and smiled, and his face became delightfully human. She recognized him as Zareb Muzorewa.

“You must be Ms. Ambrose,” he said in a deeply resonant voice as he rose to his feet.

“Deirdre Ambrose,” said Archer, waving Deirdre to a chair beside the black man. “Meet Dr. Muzorewa.”

Archer was smiling broadly. He seemed wonderfully pleased to have Muzorewa in the room with him. “This is the first time Dr. Muzorewa’s been out here in … what is it, Zeb, ten years?”

Muzorewa’s brows knit in thought. “Closer to twelve. I must say that you’ve enlarged the station far more than I ever could, Grant.”

Archer shrugged modestly as Deirdre took the chair beside Muzorewa.

“I’d like to thank you,” she said as she sat down, “for coming all this way to help me.”

Quite seriously, Muzorewa replied, “I must confess that it wasn’t only to help you. I want to disabuse my idealistic friend here of his notion that the leviathans are intelligent.”

“You’re wrong, Zeb,” Archer said gently. “They are intelligent.”

“Without tools?” Muzorewa scoffed. “How could a species develop a high order of intelligence without tools? Tool-making is a hallmark of intelligence.”

Archer countered, “A hallmark of our intelligence. Other species follow different paths. The dolphins, for instance.”

“Now you’re saying that dolphins are intelligent?”

“They pass knowledge on from one generation to another,” Archer said. “Deirdre made that discovery just recently.”

Muzorewa looked unconvinced. “Tool-making was a key to our developing intelligence. My anthropologist friends tell me that making tools made us intelligent. Dolphins, whales, the leviathans—they live in an environment where tool-making is impossible. They’ll never utilize fire. They have no energy source available to them outside of their own bodies.”

“But they tell stories to each other, Zeb. The dolphins do that. And the leviathans flash pictures to one another. They’re conversing, exchanging information. That takes intelligence.”

As Deirdre wondered how long this argument would go on, the office door slid open and two people—a man and a woman—stepped in.

“Dr. Archer,” said the man. “Are we interrupting? You did ask us to come to your office.”

Muzorewa got to his feet again. “Grant, Ms. Ambrose, I’d like you to meet Franklin and Janet Torre, nanotechnicians from Selene.”

Deirdre nodded toward them. Siblings? she wondered. Maybe twins. Both of the Torres were short, delicately built, with round faces that had a sprinkling of freckles across their snub noses. Both wore identical pale blue one-piece coveralls.

As they pulled up chairs, Muzorewa said, “Back at Selene they’re called the Terrific Torre Twins. They’re the best nanotechs in the solar system.”

Janet Torre started to object, but her brother grinned jovially and said, “I’ve got to admit that they’re right, since I’m not afflicted with false modesty.”

“Or true modesty, either,” his sister wisecracked.

Everyone laughed, and Deirdre felt at ease.

“Now then,” said Muzorewa, getting serious, “we are here to get this modified rabies virus out of your body.”

“Are you a nanotech specialist, too?” Deirdre asked.

Muzorewa shook his head slightly. “No, no. I’m here strictly as an observer.” He turned back toward Archer. “To tell the truth, I welcomed this opportunity to see what Grant has accomplished with this old station.”

Archer looked pleased.

Leaning forward, his childlike face utterly serious, Franklin Torre said to Deirdre, “We’ve ’ginned up a nanomachine that disassembles the virus analogs we built in our lab back at Selene.”

His sister took up, “But we’ve only worked on analogs, based on the three-dimensional imagery that Dr. Archer sent to us.”

“So we need to get a sample of the real virus from you,” Franklin resumed, “and see if our nanobugs will chew it up.”

“And if they don’t?” Deirdre asked.

He looked surprised at the question. “We’ll modify the nanos so that they work right. No sweat.”

His sister nodded her agreement.

“You’ll be working down in the third wheel,” Archer said. “My people are setting up an isolation area for the nanotech lab.”

Janet Torre said, “Can you rig the passageways leading in and out of the area with high-frequency ultraviolet lamps? We engineer our nanomachines to be deactivated by hard UV.”

Archer said, “I meant to ask you about that. Wouldn’t it be dangerous for people?”

“Not really,” said Janet. “You just need a few meters to be exposed to the UV. People can get through it without harm, as long as they don’t linger in the area.”

“I wouldn’t want to go sunbathing out there,” Franklin quipped.

“It’s just insurance that no active nanomachines will get out of the lab,” Janet added.

“People worry about nanos,” Franklin Torre said lightly. “It’s pretty silly, really. A machine that’s specifically engineered to destroy one certain type of molecule isn’t going to develop a taste for other molecules.”

“Tell that to the crazies back on Earth,” Archer muttered. “Nanoluddites.”

Muzorewa held up a finger. “Be fair, Grant. With twenty billion people on Earth there are plenty of fanatics and madmen who would happily develop nanomachines into terror weapons.”

“I suppose,” Archer admitted.

“A disassembler developed to take apart one kind of molecule,” said Janet Torre, “could be modified to attack a wider range of molecules.”

“Only by somebody who knows what he’s doing,” said her brother. “And is nuts.”

“That’s what they call gobblers,” Muzorewa said, his red-rimmed eyes looking sad, wary.

Deirdre asked, “Can the nanomachines actually cure me of rabies? How fast will they work?”

“I’ll explain all that over dinner,” said Franklin Torre.

The room fell silent. Deirdre heard in her mind her father’s warning about smooth-talking blokes. But Franklin Torre didn’t look like a smooth-talking bloke to her. He seemed more like a smiling little leprechaun.

“Dinner?” she replied, pleased and a little alarmed at the same time. “With both of you?”

Franklin glanced at his sister and said, “Oh, Jan-Jan’s going to be too busy. It’ll be just you and me, Deirdre.”

MAIN GALLEY

Deirdre looked over the galley but could not see Franklin Torre. She had agreed to meet him at the galley’s entrance at 1900 hours. She had purposely arrived ten minutes late, to make certain he’d be there waiting for her. But he was nowhere in sight.

She had put on a modest pair of forest green slacks with an overblouse of lace-decorated pale lemon. As she stood at the galley’s entrance she saw several people, mostly men, turning to stare at her.

“Don’t tell me a beauty like you is all alone.”

Startled, she turned to see Rodney Devlin grinning at her. He was in his usual white chef’s jacket, spotless for a change. His brick red hair was shaved close, as usual, while his mustache was thickly luxuriant.

“I’m waiting for someone, Mr. Devlin.”

“Red. Call me Red. Everybody does.”

Deirdre nodded and made a smile for him.

“Well,” said Devlin, pointing, “you won’t have to wait long.”

Andy Corvus came ambling through the galley doors.

“Hi, Dee,” he said, with a lopsided grin. “Going in to dinner?”

“I … um, I’m waiting for somebody, Andy,” Deirdre said, feeling uneasy that Devlin was still close enough to hear everything they said.

“Not Max, I hope.”

“No, not Max. And not Dorn, either. Somebody you haven’t met yet.”

Corvus looked puzzled. Deirdre thought he was about to scratch his head as he stood there frowning slightly.

“Hello, there!”

Franklin Torre came striding up to them, a happy wide smile on his round, snub-nosed face. Deirdre realized for the first time that Torre barely reached her chin.

Feeling slightly awkward, she introduced the two men to each other. Torre shook hands with Corvus, who looked as suspicious as a policeman.

“Franklin’s one of the nanotech specialists,” Deirdre tried to explain. “From Selene.”

“Oh,” said Corvus.

Torre’s expression suddenly went solemn. Almost whispering, he said to Corvus, “You’re infected with nanomachines, aren’t you?”

“Me?” Andy yelped. “No!”

“Yes, you are,” Torre insisted. “Don’t try to hide it.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not—”

Torre suddenly broke into a wide grin. “Viruses, man. Viruses. They’re natural nanomachines and you’re full of ’em!”

“Huh?”

Laughing, Torre tapped Corvus on the shoulder and said gleefully, “Gotcha! You should see the expression on your face!”

With that, he took Deirdre by the arm and led her grandly into the galley, leaving Andy standing at the entrance, looking befuddled. Deirdre looked back at him over her shoulder, trying to apologize with her eyes. Andy just stood there, obviously hurt.

Deirdre said to Torre, “That wasn’t nice, Franklin.”

Torre shrugged. “I couldn’t help it. Nobody realizes that our bodies are filled with natural nanomachines.”

“It still wasn’t nice to trick him like that,” she insisted.

With a sigh, Torre said, “He’ll get over it.”

Glancing back at Andy again, Deirdre saw that Devlin had disappeared. Back into the kitchen, she surmised. Andy was standing at the galley’s entrance alone now.

Torre showed her to a table for two. As they sat, Max Yeager and Dorn joined Corvus, who was still staring in her direction. The expression on Andy’s face worried Deirdre. He seemed … she groped for a word. Hurt. That’s how Andy looks: wounded, as if I’ve hurt him.

Torre paid no attention to Deirdre’s distress; he talked all through dinner about his nanotech work and how the disassemblers he and his sister had designed would destroy any rabies virus in her body.

“You ought to come out to Selene one of these days,” Torre said cheerfully, “and see our lab. Finest in the solar system. It was started by Professor Zimmerman himself, one of the real pioneers in the field.”

Deirdre listened with only half an ear. She couldn’t help watching Andy, across the room, picking listlessly at his dinner.

“Selene’s a terrific place,” Torre was going on, oblivious to her inattention. “You’d love it there. I could get you a reservation in the best suite in the Hotel Luna.”

“That would be nice,” Deirdre said absently.

Once they finished dinner they had to walk past the table where Corvus, Yeager, and Dorn were still sitting over coffee and dessert. Andy followed Deirdre with his eyes. She could feel him staring at her back as she left, her arm firmly in Torre’s grip.

As they neared Deirdre’s door, Torre said, “They’ve got Jan and me quartered down in the third wheel.”

“Not up here, with everybody else?” Deidre asked, stopping in front of her door.

“No,” he said, with a theatrical sigh. “I’ve got to go all the way down there.” Then his face brightened impishly. “Unless you let me stay in your place!”

Deirdre shook her head. “I don’t think so, Franklin.”

“Frankie,” he said softly, reaching for her.

Deirdre fended off his grasping hands. “Frankie, I think you ought to go back to your own place now.”

He raised both hands in mock surrender. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Dee.”

Thinking that she knew exactly what she was rejecting, Deirdre said, “You’re rushing too fast, Frank.”

He took the rebuff easily enough. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow down in the lab we’ve rigged in the third wheel, then.”

“That’s fine, Frankie,” said Deirdre. “I’ve got to go down there anyway to work with the dolphins.”

Grinning at her, he said, “See you tomorrow, then.”

Deirdre felt grateful that he wasn’t more aggressive. He could use his nanotech work to pressure me, she thought. But he didn’t. Maybe he will later, but for now he’s being pretty reasonable. For now.

That night she dreamed of dolphins. And Andy Corvus watching her swimming with a sad, betrayed expression on his slightly misshapen face.

The day was long and difficult. After giving a blood sample to Janet Torre, Deirdre spent the morning in the dolphin tank, swimming with Baby and learning more of her vocabulary. Baby chattered and clicked away, usually faster than the translator built into Deirdre’s swim mask could follow. But one thing came through clearly: Baby’s parents had told the young dolphin the tales that they had heard about the open sea, the endless water that was too deep to reach the bottom, where tasty squid darted in numbers too big to count and the upper layers were warm with sunlight and wave-tossed.

“They’re not happy here, Andy,” she told Corvus once she had climbed out of the tank. “They want to be in the ocean, free.”

Corvus shook his head. “Baby’s never been in the open ocean, Dee. Her parents were scooped out of the sea when they were practically newborns, younger than Baby is now.”

“But they remember the ocean,” Deirdre said as she toweled off. “At least, they remember tales they’ve been told about it.”

She thought that this sign of intelligence would please Andy. But he merely shook his head and replied, “I suppose we ought to write a paper about it.”

“We certainly should,” said Deirdre.

Corvus chewed his lip for a moment, then said, “Looked like you and that new guy had a good time at dinner last night.”

“Frankie?” Deirdre blurted. “He’s one of the nanotechnicians from Selene.”

“I know.”

“They’re going to get rid of the viruses in my body.”

Corvus said forlornly, “That’s more than I can do for you.”

NANOTECH LABORATORY

For three days Deirdre spent her time mostly in the third wheel, giving blood samples to the Torres and then swimming with the dolphins while Corvus watched her, glum and sad-eyed. Each evening she had dinner with Franklin Torre, fearing that it would be terribly ungrateful of her to refuse him. After all, Deirdre told herself, he’s come all the way from Selene to help me. The least I can do is be sociable.

Torre always made halfhearted passes at her after dinner and always took her rebuffs with rueful good grace. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” he said each time. Deirdre simply smiled and said good night.

Once alone in her quarters, she began to study the files of the leviathans’ imagery. Sitting at her little desk, staring intently at the display screen on the wall, Deirdre tried her best to make some sense of the aliens’ images. But the images were incomprehensible to her. They didn’t seem to represent anything visually. They’re abstracts, she thought, nothing but splashes of color that flash on and off so fast I can barely make out their shapes. I haven’t a clue to what they could possibly mean.

When she entered the makeshift nanotech lab on the fourth morning Franklin Torre announced, “Our little bugs are starting to work.”

“They are?”

Pointing elatedly to a graph on the rollup display screen taped to the bulkhead, Torre said, “Look at the red curve. It’s definitely taken a downward trend.”

Janet, smiling just like her brother, said, “By the time you go down to the ocean your system will be rid of the virus completely.”

“That’s wonderful!” Deirdre said.

“I think we ought to celebrate,” said Franklin. “How about dinner tonight?”

“Again? We’ve had dinner together every night since you arrived here,” Deirdre said.

“Yeah, but tonight should be special,” Torre countered. “Tonight we can toast to victory over the rabies virus.”

Deirdre nodded, but in her mind’s eye she saw Andy’s disconsolate face. “Dinner,” she murmured, feeling that she was doing the wrong thing.

“Are you all right?” Janet asked.

“Yes,” said Deirdre. “Fine.”

“No puncturing today,” Franklin said happily. “We won’t need any more blood samples.”

“That’s good.”

Janet handed her a plastic cup of orange juice. “Your morning cocktail,” she said. “Chock-full of nanobugs.”

Deirdre accepted the cup from her and sipped at it.

Glancing at her brother, who was intently peering at a laptop display, Janet asked softly, “Are you really okay? You look a little … unsettled.”

“I’m worried about Andy … Dr. Corvus.”

“Oh?” Her hazel eyes widened.

“It’s … personal,” said Deirdre.

With a nod, Janet called to her brother, “Frankie, I’m going to walk Deirdre over to the dolphin tank. You don’t need me for anything important this morning, do you?”

Without taking his eyes from the screen, Franklin answered absently, “Everything’s under control here. Take the day off if you want to.”

Janet grinned at her brother’s back, then said to Deirdre, “Come on, let’s talk.”

Katherine Westfall was far from happy as she sat in her comfortable lounge watching the report from the head of the IAA’s legal department. The man’s image filled her wall screen. He was wearing a somber dark jacket, the expression on his once-handsome face set in a grim scowl, as if he knew the news he was bringing would not be welcomed.

“The long and the short of it,” he said, in a bleak, droning voice, “is that while nanotechnology has been banned in all its aspects everywhere on Earth by the Nanotech Treaty of 2039, human communities off Earth are not bound by the treaty’s provisions. In fact, the nation of Selene fought its war of independence mainly to be free from restrictions on nanotechnology.”

The lawyer’s office was in the IAA headquarters complex in Amsterdam, on Earth. Westfall could see palm trees outside his window, and the sea glittering beneath a bright sun. Much of Amsterdam and the rest of the Netherlands had been flooded by the greenhouse warming and then painfully regained from the encroaching waters by a generation of hard, ceaseless labor.

She started to interrupt the man’s sermon, then realized that the distance between Earth and Jupiter meant that he wouldn’t hear her words for a quarter of an hour, at least. So she bit her tongue and continued to listen to his dreary monologue.

“The upshot is,” the lawyer continued, “that the scientists on station Gold are free to engage in nanotechnology research and use nanomachines as they see fit.” His dark brows rose slightly as he added, “So long as they follow standard operating procedures and take all the necessary safety precautions. These include—”

Westfall angrily snapped her fingers and the lawyer’s image winked out.

I’ll get no help from the lawyers, she told herself. Archer and his minions can play with their nanomachines and cure the Ambrose girl of her rabies. That will break my control over her completely.

Closing her eyes briefly, Westfall wondered what her next move should be. It’s obvious, she told herself. You’ve got to make those nanobugs into a dangerous threat, something that will attack the station and the people in it.

Then she smiled. No, she realized. Not attack the station. I need nanobugs that will attack that ship Archer’s sending into the ocean. Destroy the ship and the people in it.

I need a nanotech specialist, she realized. And quickly.

SACRIFICE

“So what about Dr. Corvus?” Janet asked as she walked with Deirdre down the third wheel’s main passageway toward the dolphin tank.

Deirdre glanced down at Janet, hesitating. She looked so much like her brother: short, slightly built, her light brown hair in bangs that framed her round face. Her eyes were light, too, a bluish brown hazel color. They looked bright, honest, trustworthy.

“I think I’ve hurt him,” Deirdre said at last.

“Hurt him? How?”

“I’ve been going to dinner with your brother every night since you two arrived here. I think Andy feels hurt over that. He sure acts unhappy.”

“Has Frankie come on to you? Is he making a pest of himself?”

Deirdre said, “Nothing I can’t handle. He’s actually a lot of fun to be with.”

“My brother?”

“Yes,” Deirdre said. “Of course, he can be … very attentive.”

“He can be an insensitive jerk about women,” Janet grumbled.

“Not just about women,” Deirdre said. “He made something of a fool of Andy that first night. Made him look kind of stupid.”

With a sigh, Janet said, “Frankie’s a jokester. He likes to think he’s a comedian.”

When Deirdre didn’t respond, Janet asked, “Were you and this Corvus guy involved before we came here?”

“No, not really. We were just friends. Along with Max Yeager and Dorn.”

“Dorn?”

“The cyborg,” Deirdre explained. “The four of us rode out here on the same torch ship and we sort of became buddies.”

“And now Corvus feels hurt because you’re having dinners with my brother.”

“There’s nothing going on between us,” Deirdre said.

For several paces neither woman said anything. Deirdre saw the doors to the dolphin tank area up the passageway ahead of them.

“There’s something more,” she admitted. “Andy—Dr. Corvus—he wants me to go with him on the mission into the ocean. He says I’d be better able to make contact with the leviathans than he would.”

“And you don’t want to go?”

“I’m scared! Living in that perfluorocarbon liquid for days and days. Hundreds of kilometers deep in the ocean. People have been killed on missions like that!”

They reached the double doors and stopped.

Very businesslike, Janet summed up, “So you think that Corvus is jealous of my brother and he’ll be hurt even more if you refuse to go on the mission with him.”

Deirdre nodded. “That’s about it.”

“Okay.” Janet grinned as she slid the doors open. “Let’s have dinner together, all four of us.”

“All four of us?”

“You, me, my brother, and Dr. Corvus.”

“Dinner,” Deirdre murmured.

“Let’s see how much of this we can thrash out over a decent meal,” Janet said cheerfully.

Deirdre didn’t know how Janet arranged it, but when she came down to the galley for dinner that evening, Andy was already sitting at a table with the Torre twins. Both men jumped to their feet when they spotted Deirdre and waved her over to the table.

Feeling tense, Deirdre sat between Corvus and Franklin, opposite Janet. Automatically she scanned the busy, noisy galley for Dorn and Max, but neither of them was in sight.

“Dee and I have been talking,” Janet said, without preamble, “about this mission into the ocean that you’re planning, Andy.”

Deirdre blinked with surprise. Janet was already on a first-name basis with Andy, and calling her Dee. She doesn’t waste any time, Deirdre thought.

“That’s the reason we’re here,” Corvus said, his eyes focused on Deirdre. “To get down there and make contact with the leviathans.”

“I don’t know if I can do it, Andy,” Deirdre blurted.

He looked surprised. “But you’re working fine with Baby and the other dolphins. You went through the perfluorocarbon immersion with no trouble.”

“Andy,” said Janet, in an almost motherly tone, “what Dee’s trying to tell you is that she’s frightened of the prospect. She didn’t come here to take a cruise in the Jovian ocean.”

Corvus’s brows shot up. “You don’t want to go?” he asked, in a little boy’s disappointed whimper.

Forcing herself to keep her hands in her lap, Deirdre replied, “It’s not that I don’t want to, Andy. I’m afraid to. I’m scared.”

He blinked, digesting the information. Then Corvus shook his head as if he were arguing with himself. At last he said, “Dee, I don’t blame you for being scared. This is all new to you.”

Franklin Torre muttered, “I’d sure be scared.”

Ignoring him, Corvus went on, “If you’re scared, Dee, you shouldn’t go. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy.”

“Even if it means your mission might not succeed?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Corvus said softly. “That’s not your problem.”

“But it means so much to you,” Deirdre blurted.

“Not as much as you mean to me, Dee. You mean a lot more.”

NANOTECH LABORATORY

Katherine Westfall rode down the elevator to the third wheel, escorted by two of her personal assistants, both tall, well-built young men in dark tunics and slacks, hired for their physical strength and agility rather than their intelligence. They thought of themselves as hired muscle, she knew; she thought of them as boy toys.

Archer thinks he can keep this nanotech business secret from me, she was telling herself. The fool. I know everything that happens in this station. Everything, thanks to that lowly cook.

She had heard about Rodney Devlin before she ever left Earth: the so-called Red Devil was a major source of information about the goings-on of the station. Nothing happened, it seemed, without Devlin knowing about it. And Westfall was making sure that Devlin reported everything he knew to her. Not in person, of course; she didn’t want to be seen in the presence of this menial. But her staff stayed in contact with Devlin and kept her informed daily. What the Red Devil knew, Katherine Westfall soon learned.

One of her female aides had called ahead to inform the chief nanotechnician that the IAA councilwoman was coming to visit his lab. “Don’t ask permission,” Westfall had told her aide. “Simply tell him I’ll be there.”

Following the directions displayed on her pocketphone, Westfall strode two paces ahead of her strapping assistants until she reached the section of the third wheel’s main passageway where the makeshift nanotech laboratory was housed. Flashing displays on screens on both sides of the passageway’s bulkheads warned: DANGER—HIGH INTENSITY ULTRAVIOLET RADIATION. She ignored the displays and strode up to the door that bore NANOTECHNOLOGY LABORATORY on its identification screen.

As she reached for the door’s handle it slid back before she could touch it, revealing a slightly built young man with a round, freckled face and sparkling hazel eyes.

He smiled broadly and made a courtly little bow. “Mrs. Westfall, I presume.”

Katherine Westfall nodded graciously and stepped into the lab area. Turning, she told her assistants, “Wait outside, please.”

Franklin Torre’s grin morphed into open-mouthed alarm. “Uh, Mrs. Westfall, you don’t want them to stay out there. The UV isn’t good for them, not for long exposures.”

Feeling nettled, Westfall gestured abruptly to her assistants. “Come inside, then. Stay here by the door.”

She looked around. The laboratory area was small, scarcely as large as her own sitting room, up in the top wheel.

“You don’t seem to need much space, do you?” she said to Torre.

With a good-natured shrug, Torre replied, “Nanomachines are teeny little things. About the size of viruses. We don’t need that much room.”

“I see. And you are…?”

“My name’s Franklin Torre. I’m the director of the Zimmerman Nanotechnology Lab, at Selene.”

“Ah. Dr. Torre.”

“Mr. Torre,” Franklin corrected. “I never finished my doctorate. Got too busy doing real work.”

“I understand your sister is here with you,” Westfall said.

With a bouncy nod, Torre replied, “Yes, she is. You have good sources of information.”

Westfall looked around the smallish room again and saw that no one else was present.

Torre said, “Jan-Jan’s not here at the moment.”

“So I see.”

Smiling pleasantly, Torre asked, “So what would you like to know about nanomachines?”

“Everything.”

“Okay. Here’s the fifty-dollar tour.”

Torre walked her along the workbench that ran the length of the room and began to explain each and every piece of equipment on it: the electron microscope and its display screen, the stainless steel vat in which the nanomachines were built, the double-sealed domed chamber in which the devices were tested.

“Isn’t all this dangerous?” she asked.

“Not really,” Torre replied easily. “We take all the necessary precautions.” Pointing to the gleaming vat in the middle of the workbench, “That’s the only really hazardous area. When the disassemblers are first built they’re nonspecific; they could attack a fairly wide variety of molecules. Over here in the dome we fine-tune them exclusively for particular molecules. They won’t touch anything but those molecules once we’ve specialized them.”

“I understand that you’re producing nanomachines that will destroy a particular type of virus,” she said.

“Rabies virus,” Torre answered, looking impressed at her depth of information. “We’re using blood samples from one of the scientists on the staff here. The virus seems to be different from the standard forms in the medical files. It must’ve been genetically engineered.”

“Who would deliberately alter a rabies virus?” Westfall asked rhetorically.

Torre shrugged. “Not my end of the game. It doesn’t make any difference to me who tinkered with the virus or how she got it into her bloodstream. My job is to wipe it out.”

They were at the end of the workbench, on the far side of the room. Westfall leaned a narrow hip against the edge of the bench. Her two assistants still stood by the door like statues or well-drilled soldiers, arms folded across their chests.

“I must say that your laboratory isn’t very imposing.”

Torre chuckled. “Like I told you, nanos don’t need much room. But they can accomplish tremendous things. Back at Selene we use nanomachines to build spacecraft of pure diamond. The nanobugs manufacture the diamond out of piles of soot, ordinary carbon. They turn individual atoms of carbon into sheets of structural diamond.”

“That type of nano is called an assembler, isn’t it?”

“Right!” Torre seemed delighted that she knew the term.

“But what you’re producing here is a different type of thing altogether, isn’t it?”

Nodding again, Torre said, “Yep. We’re making disassemblers. Their job isn’t to build up new molecules out of individual atoms. Their job is to take apart certain specific molecules, break ’em up into individual atoms.”

“And the molecules they attack are the rabies viruses.”

“Right again.”

“Once you’ve programmed them.”

“Programming isn’t the right term to use, really,” Torre admitted. “It’s not like programming a computer. It’s more like reshaping a machine tool. Mechanical, not electronic.”

Just then the door to the laboratory slid open and Grant Archer stepped in, nearly bumping into Westfall’s two guards.

“It’s all right,” she called to her men. “Let him through.”

Archer clearly looked flustered as he approached Westfall and Torre. But he managed to put a smile on his bearded face and said, “I hope Mr. Torre here is showing you everything you want to see, Mrs. Westfall.”

“He certainly is,” Westfall replied, making her tone sound languid, almost bored.

“We’re very lucky to have him here,” Archer said. “He’s helping Deirdre Ambrose recover from her viral infection.”

Westfall straightened up and started walking slowly along the workbench, back toward the front of the room and the two dark-suited men waiting by the door. She lingered by the chamber where the unprogrammed nanomachines were created.

Her brows knit slightly and she asked, “But aren’t nanomachines dangerous? Couldn’t these things you’re putting into Ms. Ambrose’s blood destroy more than just her rabies virus?”

“No,” Torre and Archer said in unison.

“But you told me—”

“Maybe I gave you the wrong impression,” Torre said. “Nanomachines are machines. They’re designed to do a specific job and that’s all they can do. Once they’re specialized they don’t change or mutate on their own. They’re not dangerous.”

Tapping a lacquered fingernail on the stainless steel vat, Westfall insisted, “But you said the ones in here aren’t specialized. They could eat up a large variety of materials.”

“They never get out of this laboratory,” Torre explained, with some impatience showing in his reddening face. “Not until they’re fine-tuned for a specific type of molecule.”

“Aren’t they called gobblers?” Westfall asked in her hushed, little-girl voice. “Haven’t they been used to kill people?”

Torre’s face was flushed. But before he could reply, Archer said, “Yes, nanos have been used to murder people. They were deliberately designed to attack any carbon-based molecules they encountered. They were designed and used by madmen.”

“That’s why they’re banned on Earth,” Torre said, controlling himself with obvious effort. “Plenty of madmen back there.”

“Yes, of course,” Westfall murmured. Then, “So the gobblers you’re building here can only attack rabies viruses.”

“The specific type of virus that’s infecting Deirdre Ambrose,” Torre said.

“And it couldn’t get loose and attack anything else?”

“No, it couldn’t,” Torre said firmly.

“Besides,” Archer put in, “the nanobugs couldn’t survive outside this laboratory environment. The passageway outside is drenched in high-intensity ultraviolet light that will deactivate the nanos on contact.”

“Ultraviolet light,” Westfall murmured.

“We design the nanos to be deactivated by UV,” Torre said. “It’s a standard safety precaution.”

Westfall nodded, apparently satisfied. “Thank you for a very enlightening tour, Mr. Torre,” she said.

His composure recovered, Torre extended his hand as he said, “If there’s anything else you want to know, just give me a holler.”

“Yes. I’ll do that.” As she approached the door, one of her guards opened it for her and she swept regally out of the lab.

Archer puffed out a breath of air. “I wonder how she found out that you were here,” he muttered.

Torre waggled a hand in the air. “Well, she seems satisfied that we’re not going to destroy everything in sight.”

Archer looked at the still-open door. “I hope so.”

But as she stepped into the elevator with her two assistants, Katherine Westfall was thinking, There’s no security at that lab at all! Anyone could walk right in and take a sample of their nanomachines. They must lock the door at night, but we could get through without any real trouble.

Then she asked herself, How can I get a sample of the gobblers that haven’t been specifically programmed yet? I’ll need some nanos that can attack a wide variety of things.

MISSION CONTROL CENTER

Max Yeager was surprised to see Linda Vishnevskaya sitting at the central console in the otherwise empty control center. All the other consoles were dead and quiet, the big wall screens also blank, except for the one at the front of the chamber that showed Faraday hanging in orbit outside the station.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, almost in a growl.

She turned, her violet eyes wide with surprise.

“What are you doing here, Max?” she countered.

He sagged into the chair of the console closest to her. Jabbing a thumb toward the image on the wall screen, he explained, “Big meeting tomorrow morning to decide the date for launching her back into the ocean.”

Vishnevskaya’s face relaxed into a warm smile. “So the little father has come to check out his baby one more time.”

Yeager made a sour face. “I’m an engineer, not a sentimental old fart.”

“No, not sentimental,” she said, straining to keep her face serious. “Not at all.”

“I’m trying to work out a defense system for her. Something that’ll keep those damned sharks off her.”

“You want to protect your baby,” said Vishnevskaya, with an impish gleam in her eye.

“She’s a machine, a ship,” Yeager protested. “I’ve got a couple of daughters, you know. I can tell the difference between a machine and a human being.”

“You are married,” Vishnevskaya said.

“Divorced. Almost twenty years ago.” Yeager looked uncomfortable, but he added in a near-whisper, “Who could put up with an engineer for a husband?”

Vishnevskaya lapsed into silence.

“I was figuring,” Yeager said, getting back to business, “that we could rig the outer shell with a high-potential electric field. Shock anything that comes within a dozen meters of her skin.”

“A dozen meters?” Vishnevskaya shook her head slightly. “Electric fields dissipate rapidly in water, don’t they?”

“The water’s slightly conducting. It’s laced with ammonia and other ions. Acidic.”

Arching her brows, Vishnevskaya admitted, “It might work, then.”

“I think I can make it work. Just enough to keep those damned sharks off her.”

“Could you use the light panels on the outer hull?” she suggested.

“The light panels?” Yeager thought about it for all of a second. “Nah. Archer and the science guys wanted them so they could flash pictures at the leviathans. Try to communicate with them visually.”

“Yes, but—”

“No, I need something more than a bunch of blinking lights to defend her,” Yeager said.

“You’re going with her, aren’t you?”

Yeager flinched with surprise. “Going with her? What do you mean?”

Smiling almost sadly, Vishnevskaya said, “You’re going to insist that you be one of the crew. You can’t let her go down there without you.”

He tried to frown, but instead his expression melted into an admission of defeat. “Yeah, I want to go with her. I don’t know if Archer and the other paper pushers will let me, though.”

Vishnevskaya gave a little sigh, then said, “It would help if you volunteered to be immersed in the perfluorocarbon. You could show Archer and the others that you can stand the physical pressure.”

Yeager brightened slightly. “You’re right. I ought to get some time in at the immersion center.”

He got to his feet and headed for the door, leaving Vishnevskaya sitting in the emptied control center, wishing she had kept her mouth shut.

Red Devlin was startled when Katherine Westfall suddenly showed up in his kitchen.

It was well after midnight. The rest of the kitchen crew had gone to their beds, but not Devlin. This was his domain and he worked his own hours. He had been tinkering with one of the serving robots, replacing the LED display screen that covered its flat top.

“Mr. Devlin?”

He jerked erect, dropping the pliers he’d been holding; they clattered onto the tiled floor. The kitchen was in its off-hours lighting, pools of brightness separated by swaths of dark shadow. The woman stood in shadow, silhouetted against a cone of light.

“What’re you doing here?” he snapped, annoyed at this intrusion into his domain.

“I’m Katherine Westfall,” she said, stepping closer to him. “I need to talk with you.”

Devlin wiped his hands on his grimy apron. “Mrs. Westfall?”

It was her, all right. He recognized her from the images he’d seen on the nets. Small, slightly built, her face sculpted in planes and hollows like a statue out of ancient Egypt. She wore a one-piece coverall of coral pink that fitted her like a second skin. Jewelry glittered at her wrists, her throat, her earlobes.

“You are Rodney Devlin, aren’t you?” she asked, in a voice that was almost a whisper.

“Yes’m,” he replied, wiping his hands again before extending his right toward her.

Westfall barely touched his hand. “I understand that you are quite good at getting things done.”

For one of the few times in his long life, Devlin felt embarrassed. Here was this elegant lady and he was in his grease monkey’s apron, his wiry red hair uncombed, his bushy mustache straggling. She was inspecting him, eying him up and down, as if he were a horse or a pet that she was considering buying.

“I do my best, Mrs. Westfall,” he said.

“How long have you been here at station Gold?” she asked.

“Long as the station’s been open, ma’am. More’n twenty years.”

Westfall nodded. “You’re older than you look,” she said absently. “You ought to get the gray streaks out of your hair, though.”

He didn’t know what to say.

“You’ve been getting away with a lot of illegal activities over all those years, haven’t you?”

Devlin’s mouth dropped open.

“Drug manufacturing, smuggling equipment, brewing liquor, VR sex simulations … it’s quite a list.”

“Uh, ma’am, I may have done a few things in my time that’re outside the rules, but nothing that was illegal.”

“Extralegal,” Westfall said, the hint of a smile at the corners of her lips.

Devlin shrugged. “Can’t run an operation like this station by staying inside the rule book every step o’ the way. People need things that the rules don’t cover, y’know.”

“Perhaps,” Westfall conceded.

Sensing that she was after something, Devlin asked, “So what is it I can do for you, ma’am?”

She hesitated. After a couple of heartbeats she said, “You understand that my people have uncovered enough evidence against you to put you away for the rest of your natural life.”

“Now wait—”

“Don’t bother to deny it. I can produce witnesses that will swear to your illegal activities.”

“Extralegal,” Devlin amended. But his palms were starting to sweat.

“Whatever,” said Westfall. “As a member of the IAA’s governing council, it’s my duty to see that the laws are obeyed and the regulations enforced.”

Devlin’s tension eased. She’s after something, he realized.

“Mrs. Westfall,” he said, lowering his head slightly to indicate some contrition, “whatever I’ve done, I’ve never harmed anybody. I’ve helped this place to function better, more smoothly.”

“Have you?”

“I have, ma’am. And I’m ready to help you, if you need something that’s, ah … stretching the rules.”

“Do you know those two nanotech people who came here from Selene?” she asked, her tone suddenly sharp, brittle.

Devlin nodded. “I run meals down to ’em every day.”

“Then you know their nanotechnology laboratory.”

“I know where it is.”

“Good,” Westfall said. “I need a sample of nanomachines. And I need it without anyone knowing about it, except the two of us.”

Devlin ran a hand over his close-cropped brush of red hair.

“Can you do it?” she demanded.

He tugged at his mustache momentarily, then replied, “Sure.” To himself he added silently, I’d rather steal nanobugs than go to jail.

DORN’S QUARTERS

“I’m sorry to intrude on your privacy like this,” Deirdre said as she stood in the doorway of Dorn’s compartment.

“It’s not a problem,” the cyborg said, gesturing her into the room with his human hand.

“I should have called first,” she said, stepping past him.

“It’s not that late,” he said as he slid the door shut. “I just got back from dinner.”

“Yes, I know. I saw you leave the galley.”

Looking around, Deirdre saw that Dorn’s quarters were the same sized room as she had, a few dozen meters down the passageway. But somehow it looked austere, barren. The bed was made with military precision. The display screen above the desk was blank. The desk itself was completely bare. No decorations of any kind. It’s as if no one really lives in here, she thought.

“I saw you in the galley, as well,” said Dorn. “With the Torre woman. I thought about asking to join you…” He left the thought unfinished.

Deirdre said, “We would have welcomed your company.”

For an awkward moment neither of them said a word. Then Dorn broke the silence. “Won’t you sit down? Would you like something to drink? I can make coffee for us.”

Moving to the armchair in the corner of the room, Deirdre replied, “Coffee would be fine.”

Dorn stepped to the minuscule kitchenette on the other side of the room. Deirdre noticed all over again how lightly he moved, how lithe he was despite half of his body being metal.

“May I ask why you’ve come to visit me?” he asked, his back to her as he poured ground coffee into the machine.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“No, no, it’s all right. I’m simply curious. Something’s bothering you, that much is clear.”

“Dorn, are you really a priest?”

He half turned to look at her over his shoulder. Deirdre could see only the metal half of his face, unreadable.

“I thought of myself as a priest for many years. Not of any organized religion. I was on a mission to find the dead who’d been abandoned to drift in space after the Asteroid Wars. I considered it my sacred duty to find them and give them proper funeral rites.”

“That … that was a very holy thing to do. More than any other priest did.”

The coffeemaker chugged and spewed steam. Dorn turned to face her. “Like many priests,” he said gravely, “I am celibate. I have no option.”

“Oh!” Deirdre felt awful, as if she were prying where she had no right to.

“The surgery,” Dorn explained.

“That must be … difficult for you,” she limped.

The human half of his face tried to smile. “It’s not that bad. I have no physical urges. Only memories.”

How terrible, Dierdre thought. But she couldn’t find any words to speak aloud.

The coffee machine pinged and Dorn turned back to it. He poured two cups of steaming black brew and brought them to the tiny round table beside Deirdre’s chair. Then he pulled up the desk chair and sat facing her.

“So,” he said. “I am not really a priest. But you need someone to talk to and I am willing to listen.” Before Deirdre could say anything, Dorn added, “And, like a priest, I will treat your words as private and entirely confidential.”

“It’s about Andy.” Deirdre surprised herself by blurting it out.

“The mission into the ocean.”

With a slight shake of her head, Deirdre said, “It’s more than just the mission. It’s about Andy and me … our relationship.”

Dorn asked, “Do you have a relationship?”

“We’re friends. I like Andy a lot. And I know he likes me.”

“Enough to be jealous of Franklin Torre.”

“You know about that?”

Dorn half smiled. “I’d have to be totally blind not to recognize it. While you’ve been having dinner with Torre these past few nights, I’ve been eating with Andy. Not that he’s done much eating.”

“Oh dear.”

Noticing that she hadn’t touched her coffee, Dorn asked, “Would you like a sweetener? Some cold soymilk, perhaps?”

Deirdre glanced down at the steaming cups. “No, black is fine.” She picked up her cup and sipped at it. The coffee was strong and hot.

Dorn took a swallow from his cup, then told Deirdre, “For what it’s worth, I think Andy likes you very much. I don’t know much about love, but he might very well be in love with you.”

“When I told him I was frightened of the ocean mission he said I shouldn’t go. He said I meant more to him than making contact with the leviathans.”

Dorn said nothing.

“I mean, he’s willing to throw away the whole reason why he came here to Jupiter, his chance for a breakthrough, his chance for success as a scientist. For me!”

Carefully putting his cup back on the little table, Dorn said, “You are a very beautiful woman. Andy is obviously smitten with you.”

“But don’t you see where this puts me?” Deirdre pleaded. “I like Andy, I think he’s very sweet. But if I don’t go down into the ocean with him I could be ruining his career. He’ll hate me!”

“That’s not what he’s said. He told you that you mean more to him than the mission, didn’t he?”

Impatiently, Deirdre replied, “Of course he did. And I’m sure he means it. Now. But what about after the mission? What about when he comes back without making contact with the leviathans? He’ll blame me, sooner or later. Instead of loving me he’ll start to hate me!”

Dorn leaned back in the wheeled desk chair, making it roll slightly away from Deirdre. He clasped his hands together, one flesh and one metal, and held them prayerfully before his lips.

At last he asked, “If he actually did blame you for his failure, would that bother you?”

“Of course it would!”

“Why? Because you want him to like you, or because his failure would hurt his career, his life?”

Deirdre started to answer, but clicked her teeth shut. Her thoughts were swirling too much for a quick reply. How do I feel about Andy? Am I miserable because of my own ego or because I’ll be hurting him?

Dorn sat watching her, silent as a graven image.

At last Deirdre heard herself say, “I don’t want to hurt Andy.”

“Do you love him?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I only know that I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Then you’ll have to go on the mission with him,” said Dorn.

Deirdre looked into his eyes: one gray as a stormy sea, the other a red-glowing optronic vidcam.

“Yes,” she said, in an accepting sigh. “I suppose I will.”

RODNEY DEVLIN

In his own mind, Red Devlin believed that he was the one who actually ran research station Gold. Oh, Archer and the other scientists thought that they were in charge, and on paper they were, but the old Red Devil was the bloke who really made the place hum.

He had come out to Gold when the station had first been built, more than twenty years earlier, when his youthful attempt to open a restaurant in Melbourne had ended in bankruptcy. His official job at Gold was chief cook for the station. That meant that he spent most of his time in the kitchen and galley, supervising the small staff of humans and larger contingent of robots that prepared and served food and drink for the station’s personnel.

It also meant that he was responsible for obtaining the foodstuffs and drinkables that supplied the kitchen. And other things, as well.

Very quickly, Devlin became the station’s unofficial procurer. He was able to acquire things, find things, bring people together, in a manner that was little short of Machiavellian. When a staff scientist needed a new set of sensors in too much of a hurry to go through the red tape of the station’s regular procurement department, Red got the sensors for him and let him fill out the paperwork later. When someone needed some recreational drugs for a party she was throwing, it was the Red Devil that she turned to. When a lonely administrator needed diversion, Devlin smuggled in virtual reality sex simulations. He brewed “rocket juice” in a still that was tucked away among the scoopship operators’ repair facilities. He hacked into the station’s personnel files to speed transfers and promotions.

He called himself a facilitator. Many times, over the years he had been at station Gold, he’d heard people say admiringly that the station couldn’t operate without him. Devlin knew he was the lubricating oil that made the machinery run smoothly.

Or so he thought of himself.

Now and then he considered leaving Gold and returning to Australia. He had enough money tucked away to retire in comfort. But his memories of Earth were not all that pleasant: orphaned at the age of six, a ward of the state, compulsory schooling and then training for the restaurant business that was so poor he went bankrupt right off. No, he told himself, here at Gold he was known and respected, even admired by many of the brainiest people around. It was a small, almost claustrophobic world, but Red regarded himself as a pretty big fish in this little pond, and that was the way he liked it.

But as he sat up in his narrow bed, he mulled over this latest twist in the station’s sometimes Byzantine politics. Westfall wants a sample of nanomachines. Dangerous stuff, that. But she’s powerful enough to chuck me in jail. Or at least get me thrown off Gold. What then? Where would I go, even if she doesn’t railroad me into the cooler?

His room was small, little more than a nook near the kitchen. Devlin had never been one for creature comforts. His tastes for physical well-being were little short of Spartan. What he enjoyed most was the smiling admiration of the people around him. Scientists, engineers, administrators—men and women of good families and high education. They came to him for help. They needed the old Red Devil to solve their problems for them.

Now I’m the one who needs help, he thought as he stared sleeplessly at the blank display screen on the bulkhead at the end of his bunk. Westfall can ruin my life if I don’t do what she wants. But what she wants might be dangerous, terribly dangerous.

Should I tell Archer about it? Devlin shook his head. Nah. He’s too straight-arrow. He always shied away from me when he was a punk kid, just arrived here. Devlin remembered the first time he had offered to get some VR sex sims for the young Grant Archer. The kid had looked like he’d just been offered a deal to sell his soul. Archer was a religious Believer back then. Still is, as far as Devlin knew. Married to the same woman all these years; no hint of him straying.

So what if I tell Archer about it? That’d set up a real head-to-head battle between him and Westfall. She’d wipe the floor with him. Grant could never fight the way she would. She’d have him tossed off Gold before he knew what hit him.

No, Devlin told himself, I can’t bring Archer into this. I’ve got to find a way to satisfy Westfall without running the danger of setting nanomachine gobblers loose all over the place.

But how? How can I do that?

He decided the answer was more than he could hope to achieve at the moment. But as he wriggled down into his bunk and closed his eyes for sleep, he realized he was wrong.

He knew the answer. It came from a story he’d been told at the orphanage, all those years ago. A story by somebody with three names: Hans Christian Andersen.

OBSERVATION DECK

With some misgivings, Deirdre made her way along the main passageway toward the observation deck, where Max Yeager was waiting for her.

She hadn’t seen Yeager for several days, not even in the galley at dinnertime. The station’s phone system tracked him down almost instantaneously in the mission control center. From her own compartment’s wall screen, Deirdre could see that Max looked haggard, unshaven, his thick mane disheveled, his coveralls wrinkled and baggy. Over his shoulder she could see a bright-looking golden-haired woman with violet eyes sitting at the main console.

“Dee?” Yeager said, easing into a grin as soon as he recognized who had called him. “What can I do for you, gorgeous?”

Deirdre suppressed an annoyed frown. “Max, I need to talk to you.”

“Sure.” His grin became leering. “Your place or mine?”

“Be serious!”

“What’s the trouble, Dee?”

“I need your advice. It … it’s personal. Can we meet somewhere, in private, someplace where we won’t be disturbed?”

His face totally serious now, Yeager said, “Okay, sure.” He thought a moment, then suggested, “How about the observation deck?”

Deirdre nodded. “All right.”

“I can be there in ten minutes.”

“The observation deck,” she said. “Ten minutes.”

Now, though, as she neared the doors, Deirdre recalled that the observation deck was sometimes used for lovers’ trysts. Max! she railed silently. Did I give him the impression that I’m interested in him sexually? No, she told herself. But what I said and what he heard could be two entirely different things.

So she felt distinctly nervous as she slid back the door to the observation deck and stepped inside. The door slid shut automatically and the lights inside dimmed. It was like standing out in space. Deirdre could see myriads of stars spread across the infinite black, the beauty of the universe stretching before her eyes.

But she had no time for the glory of the heavens.

“Max?” she called. “Max, are you here?”

Silence. Then the door slid open again, spilling light from the passageway into the compartment. Max Yeager’s burly form was silhouetted briefly as he stepped through and the door shut once more, automatically dimming the lights.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, his tone apologetic. “I had to get loose from Linda; she wanted to come here with me.”

Deirdre assumed Linda was the woman she had glimpsed in the phone screen.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I just got here myself.”

“So here we are, beautiful, in this romantic spot, just you and me and a few zillion stars.”

Deirdre said, “Behave yourself, Max.”

“Do I hafta?” he said, in an imitation of a little boy’s whine.

“Max, I need your advice.”

“About what?”

Deirdre bit her lip, trying to frame her words. Max loomed before her in the shadows, a big shaggy presence.

“How dangerous will the mission be?” she asked.

In the dim light it was difficult to see his face, but his voice sounded surprised. “Dangerous? Like any flight mission, Dee. There’s always the element of risk.”

“But … going down into the ocean. Living in that liquid, breathing it.”

“You’re not going, are you?”

“Andy wants me to. He needs me to.”

For a couple of heartbeats Yeager said nothing. Then, “You’re scared, eh?”

“Terrified,” she admitted.

“Then don’t go.”

“But Andy … he wants to make contact with the leviathans and he thinks I can be a big help to him.”

“Then go.”

“You’re not helping me!”

Yeager stepped closer to her, so close she could smell the acrid tang of his unwashed coveralls. “Dee, honey, what do you want from me? I can’t make up your mind for you.”

“I need to know if your ship is safe,” she replied. “I need to know if we can get through the mission without harm.”

Yeager fell silent again.

“Will I be safe?” she asked, pleadingly.

“Faraday is as safe as I can make her. She’s gone down into that ocean and come back again in tip-top condition. All systems performed as designed. She even took a battering from the sharks and survived virtually unscathed.”

“Virtually?”

Yeager shrugged and gave out a low chuckle. “A couple of minor subsystems went off-line from the shock for a few seconds. They came back on-line, just as they were designed to do.”

“So the ship is safe.”

She sensed him nodding. “As safe as I know how to make her, Dee.”

“Would you ride in it?”

“Sure. In a hot second.”

It was Deirdre’s turn to fall silent.

“I don’t mean that there aren’t risks involved,” Yeager amended. “There’re risks with any mission. But Faraday’s a hundred times safer than the tin cans they sent out on crewed missions twenty years ago. A thousand times safer.”

“Really?”

Placing his hand over his heart, Yeager said, “On my honor as an engineer and a gentleman.”

Deirdre smiled at him. “You are a gentleman, Max.”

“Yeah, dammit.”

The glassteel-walled deck suddenly began to flood with light. Deirdre could see Max clearly: He looked solemn, pensive.

“Jupiter’s rising,” she said.

The giant planet climbed into view, a huge overwhelming curve of glowing clouds, swirling and churning in multihued splendor.

“I’ll be going into that world,” Deirdre said, still more than a little frightened, but totally determined now.

“And I’m going with you,” said Max Yeager.

“You? But—”

“I won’t let you go without me, Dee. If anything happened to you I’d never forgive myself. But if I’m on board with you, if anything unforeseen happens, maybe I’ll be able to fix it.”

“But Max, you’re not a scientist. Dr. Archer won’t allow you to go.”

“Yes he will,” Yeager said, his tone as flat and final as a judge pronouncing sentence. “I’ll make him allow me.”

DOLPHIN TANK

Andy Corvus sat glumly on his equipment box and watched the dolphins gliding sleekly through the water all around him.

That’s the life, he thought. Just swim around and eat fish. No worries. No dangers. No fears about the future or regrets about the past. Nothing but the here and now.

The dolphins were talking to each other, ignoring his presence. Andy understood part of their chatter through the translator and the DBS probe in the circlet he had placed on his head. They were talking about food, which fish were the tastiest, how the squid tried to hide among the rocks on the bottom of the tank.

Baby was growing bigger by the day. Sleek and strong, she slid past Andy’s watching eyes, propelled by thrusts of her powerful tail flukes.

“Hello, Andy,” his translator crackled.

Surprised and pleased, Corvus replied, “Hello, Baby.”

“Where’s Dee?” Baby asked.

Andy’s breath caught in his throat. Deirdre hadn’t been down to the tank for days, yet Baby missed her.

“Dee’s not here,” Corvus said morosely. And, he thought, she probably never will come down here again.

“I’m right here, Andy.”

He whirled, almost falling off the equipment box. And there she was, in a knee-length robe that covered her swimsuit, looking as beautiful as a woman could possibly look.

“Hi!” he said, bouncing to his feet.

“I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you and Baby,” Deirdre said. “What with the nanomachine therapy and working on the Volvox and then Dr. Archer wants me to study the leviathans’ pictures…”

“I understand,” Corvus said, his spirits sinking again. “After all, if you’re not going on the mission there’s not much sense working with the dolphins.”

“But I am going on the mission, Andy.”

For a heartbeat or two Corvus couldn’t believe what he’d heard. “You’re going?”

“I talked it over with Dorn and Max. We’re all going, the four of us together.”

Corvus shook his head. “No, Dee, you’re not going.”

“Yes I am.”

“But I thought … I mean, you told me you were scared.”

“I still am.”

“So why would you change your mind if you’re still frightened?” Before Deirdre could reply Corvus thought he knew the answer. “You’re doing this for me?”

“Partly,” she said, with a bright smile. “And partly to help Dr. Archer. I mean, he’s set up a scholarship for me at the Sorbonne. I owe him something, don’t you think?”

Feeling confused, Corvus stuttered, “But … the risks … the danger.”

“I’m scared, for sure,” Deirdre admitted, “but I’m not going to let that stop me.”

“No! I won’t let you.”

“Andy, it’s not your decision to make.”

He stared at her: so beautiful, so sweet. She’s willing to do what she’s scared of, Corvus told himself, because she knows it will help me.

“I can’t let you do it, Dee,” he said. “It really is dangerous. If anything happened to you—”

“It would happen to you, too, wouldn’t it? I mean, we’ll be in the ship together, you, me, Max, and Dorn.”

He sagged down onto the equipment box again, his thoughts whirling. “What made you change your mind?” he asked.

Sitting beside him, Deirdre replied very seriously, “I decided that it was very selfish of me to refuse. This mission is important. Not just to you, Andy. It’s important to Dr. Archer. It’s important to our understanding of the leviathans. If we can make contact with an intelligent alien species … that’s mind-blowing!”

“We might get killed,” he said in a whisper.

“Max says the ship is safe. He’s willing to go along with us, just in case anything goes wrong, but he says it’s as safe as any ship can be.”

“Down in that ocean,” Corvus muttered. “Living in that perfluorocarbon gunk. With those sharks and the leviathans, totally cut off from the rest of the human race, cut off from any possibility of help.”

“It’s like the old-time explorers,” Deirdre said gently. “Columbus was on his own once he sailed into the Atlantic. Peary and those other Arctic explorers were on their own, totally cut off from any possibility of help.”

“A lot of those guys died.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Corvus said. He grasped both Deirdre’s hands. “I don’t want you to die!”

She smiled again and leaned her forehead against his. “Andy, I don’t want to die. But I couldn’t stand staying here and watching you leave to go down into the ocean. I couldn’t stand it if I stayed safe here and you got killed.”

“But that doesn’t mean you should get killed, too!”

“None of us are going to get killed,” she insisted. “Max gave me his word. But if anything bad happens, it’ll happen to all four of us.”

He shook his head. “That’s a weird way to make a decision.”

“Remember what you said to Mrs. Westfall, the first night we were here on the station?”

“At Archer’s dinner.”

“You said that if you were prevented from trying to contact the leviathans it would be like chopping off your hands.”

He grunted. “Your memory’s too good. Besides, if you don’t go with me, I’ll still go down there. You won’t be chopping off my hands.” Then he grinned. “Maybe it’d be like chopping off a finger or two.”

Deirdre looked down at their hands. “Not a finger. Not a little pinkie, even. I’m going with you.”

Suddenly it hit him and he felt overwhelmed. She means it! She’s going to risk her life because of me.

“Dee … I … I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say a word, Andy. It’s all settled.”

“But it’s so damned risky!”

“Max says it isn’t,” she repeated. “Besides, there’s an old adage: ‘Behold the lowly turtle. He only makes progress when he sticks his neck out.’ ”

LEVIATHAN

Deeper than normal in the all-encompassing sea, the Elders found a new flow of food and the Kin sated their hunger. Leviathan’s mouth parts took in the particles greedily as the giant Jovian creature glided along the down-welling current.

Messages of joy and relief were flashing from one member of the Kin to another, bright yellows and greens. Still stationed on the Kin’s outer perimeter, Leviathan’s sensor parts searched the dark water for signs of the darters. None down at this depth, not within detection range, at least.

But that didn’t mean that darters were not out there, farther off. They had feasted on the Eldest when it had sacrificed itself for the good of the Kin. Soon enough they would grow hungry again and seek more prey.

Leviathan remembered its own encounter with a pack of darters back when it had gone off alone, away from the Kin. The ravening beasts had torn at Leviathan’s hide, ripping and slashing to get at the inner organs. If that strange alien creature hadn’t helped Leviathan, the darters would have won the struggle.

The aliens puzzled Leviathan. Who were they? Why had they intruded into the Symmetry? The Elders chose to ignore them, insisting that since they were not truly a part of the Symmetry they had no part to play in the life of the Kin. Leviathan thought otherwise.

Perhaps the aliens have come to destroy the Symmetry. Or perhaps—Leviathan goggled at the thought—perhaps they have come to enlarge the Symmetry. Are the aliens a sign that not even the Elders understand the Symmetry in all its fullness?

These were the thoughts that occupied Leviathan’s mind as it grazed placidly on the food sifting down from the cold abyss above.

But then a new sensation shuddered through Leviathan’s immense bulk. It felt different, strangely insistent. For some time Leviathan pondered over this odd, demanding, prickly feeling surging through its members. At last it realized what the sensation was: Leviathan was about to undergo a budding. It was time to swim away from the Kin and dissociate into its member parts, so that they could bud and then rejoin to form two leviathans where there had been only one before.

Leviathan realized that its budding would replace the number lost when the Eldest sacrificed itself. And it also realized that the darters would be out there waiting, when Leviathan was alone and terribly vulnerable.

GRANT ARCHER’S OFFICE

“All four of you?” Archer looked at them wide-eyed, startled.

Deirdre, Corvus, Yeager, and Dorn were sitting in a rough semicircle facing the station director, who was in his favorite recliner. But Archer snapped the chair straight up, suddenly intent with surprise.

“All four of us,” Max Yeager replied.

Shaking his head, Archer pointed at Corvus. “You, Andy, yes, of course. This whole mission is aimed at your trying to make meaningful contact with the leviathans. And Dorn, to pilot the ship. But Ms. Ambrose? And you, Max?”

Corvus spoke up. “Deirdre is much better at linking with the dolphins than I am, Dr. Archer. She’s a natural. Very empathic. If any of us has a chance at making a meaningful contact with the leviathans, it’s Dee.”

Archer turned his gaze toward Deirdre. “Are you willing to go on the mission?”

She lifted her chin a notch as she replied, “Yes, sir, I am. I’ve been in the immersion tank, so I know what that’s like. I don’t enjoy it, but I can put up with it.”

“And the surgery?” Archer asked.

“Surgery?” Deirdre and Yeager yelped in unison.

“They’ll have to implant a feeding port into your neck,” Archer explained. “You can’t eat normally in the perfluorocarbon, so you feed yourself through the port. It’s implanted in your neck, connected to one of your carotid arteries. Like an intravenous drip.”

“It’s removable,” Corvus added. “After the mission they can take it out.”

“Unless you’ll be going back in the near future,” Archer said.

“I didn’t know about that,” Deirdre said, glancing at Corvus.

“It’s minor surgery, really,” Archer reassured her. “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

Deirdre nodded, a little uncertainly, but said, “It’s all right. I’ll go through with it.”

Archer smiled at her, then turned to Yeager. “Max, I don’t think we’ll have room for you in the ship. You know better than anyone how precious space is aboard Faraday.”

“I have to go,” Yeager said flatly.

“But to take you aboard I’d have to bump one of the scientists who’s been training for this mission for months. It’s bad enough to bounce a scooter to accommodate Ms. Ambrose: At least she has Dr. Corvus’s approval. But you…” Archer put up his hands, palms outward, in a what can I do gesture.

Yeager looked the station director squarely in the eye. “I know. I’m just an engineer. I’m just the man who designed that bird and made it work. Well, if anything goes wrong with any of her systems, who do you think would be better able to take care of it than I?”

“All the systems worked fine when Faraday went into the ocean by herself,” Archer said.

“But suppose something goes wrong?” Yeager challenged. “Down there in that ocean, cut off from communication with the station, what good would I be up here when the ship’s out of contact?”

“But the ship worked fine,” Archer repeated.

“Ever hear of Murphy’s Law?”

Archer bowed his head slightly as he muttered, “If anything can go wrong, it will.”

“So you’ll need somebody who can fix it, whatever it is,” said Yeager.

Archer puffed out a heartfelt sigh. “This is going to raise merry hell with the science staff. Johansen has his teams picked and ready to go.”

Corvus said, “Look, sir, if this mission goes well there’ll be others. The science staff will have plenty of opportunities.”

“And if it doesn’t go well?” Archer riposted.

“Then the scooters who had to stay behind will still be alive,” Corvus said, with a sidelong glance at Deirdre.

When handed a lemon, make lemonade. Grant Archer remembered his father telling him that time and again when he’d been a child, living in genteel poverty back in Oregon. His father, a soft-spoken Methodist minister who was liked but not respected by their neighbors, had offered that bit of advice to young Grant on many bitter occasions.

“When handed a lemon, make lemonade,” he repeated aloud to his wife. They were getting undressed, preparing for bed after a long day.

Marjorie gave him a puzzled look. “What brought that up?”

Sitting on the edge of the bed as he took off his softboots, Archer said, “Corvus and his Gang of Four. They all want to go on the mission.”

“Deirdre, too?”

“Yes. Even Max Yeager.”

Sitting beside him, Marjorie said, “But if you let them go, you’ll have to bump a couple of the scooters, won’t you?”

Archer nodded. “Yep.”

“How are you going to deal with that?”

With a grin that was almost sly, Archer tapped the tip of his wife’s nose and replied, “Make lemonade.”

She said, “You look positively happy about it.”

“I’m happy about my solution. I’m going to tell Johansen and the scientific staff that this mission is a full-system test. We’re sending four volunteers into the ocean as a final test of the ship.”

“They’ll see through that,” Marjorie objected. “They all know that Corvus is here to try his DBS system.”

Nodding, Archer said, “That’s right. The DBS experiment will be piggybacked on this test mission. That will be my official position.” His grin widened. “I might even get Westfall to bless the idea of proceeding so cautiously.”

Understanding blossomed on Marjorie’s face. “Then the scientists who don’t go on this mission can go on the next one.”

Archer said, “Right. Nobody gets bumped. We’re just adding a test mission to the schedule, for the sake of safety. Everybody gets what they want … more or less.”

“You’re getting to be a devious manipulator.”

He put on a haughty expression. “No, I am utilizing my twenty years of experience as a capable administrator to make a fair, efficient, and productive decision.”

Marjorie laughed.

He reached out and clasped her to him. “But I can be a devious manipulator when I—”

The phone buzzed.

“Drat!” Archer snapped.

“Let it go,” Marjorie said, still in his arms.

But he turned enough to see the data bar on the bottom of the phone screen: Rodney Devlin was calling.

“Red?” Archer muttered. “What’s he want at this time of night?”

Marjorie pulled back slightly and murmured, “There’s only one way to find out.”

KITCHEN

“Sorry to drag you down here at this time o’ night,” Rodney Devlin said.

Looking at the man, Archer realized that the old Red Devil was aging. Gray streaks in his hair. His luxuriant mustache was turning thin and gray, too. Time for rejuvenation therapy, Archer thought. Maybe he doesn’t realize it yet. Or doesn’t want to admit it to himself.

“I imagine it’s something important, Red,” Archer said.

Devlin was standing behind a long table, a row of ovens behind him. Archer thought of the table as Red’s version of a desk, a piece of furniture that established his status. A wooden block on Red’s left held an array of knives. A heavy cleaver lay on the tabletop at his left.

The kitchen was eerily quiet. Archer rarely saw the galley when it wasn’t filled with people, buzzing and reverberating with a hundred conversations, plates and silverware clattering, squat little serving robots trundling everywhere. Now it was dark and quiet, everything at a standstill, a few pools of light scattered through the shadows like lonely islands in a wide, engulfing sea.

“It’s important, all right,” Devlin said. His usual lighthearted toothy grin was gone: He looked deadly serious.

“You’ve decided to leave the station?” Archer guessed.

Devlin’s eyes went wide with surprise. “Leave? Why would I leave?”

Archer shrugged. “Why not? You must have tucked away a considerable nest egg after all these years. Don’t you want to go back Earthside and retire in ease?”

Devlin’s lean face twisted into a scowl. “Earthside? Back to that zoo?”

“It’s home, isn’t it?”

“Do you think of it as your home?” Devlin asked, some of his old smirk returning.

That stopped Archer. He hadn’t been back to Earth for nearly ten years, he realized, and that was just for a brief scientific conference. Both his children lived in Selene; when he and Marjorie visited them they never even thought about hopping across to Earth.

“This is home,” Devlin said, tapping a fingertip on the stainless steel–topped table. “Crikey, the last I saw of Melbourne, the city was half underwater from the bloody greenhouse flooding.”

“But…”

“Grant, I don’t remember much of what they pushed down my throat in school, but I remember one line from some long poem they made me read: ‘Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.’ This ain’t hell, o’course. But Earth ain’t heaven, either.”

He’s right, Archer admitted to himself. This is home. Puzzled, he asked, “Then just what do you want to see me about?”

“You don’t approve of me, do you? Never did.”

Archer hesitated before replying, “If you mean the extracurricular things you do—”

Devlin laughed. “Extracurricular. Westfall calls it illegal.”

“Mrs. Westfall?”

“She said she could chuck me in jail if she took a notion to.”

“Katherine Westfall threatened you?”

All traces of a smile gone from his face, Devlin replied, “Why d’you think I asked you t’meet me here in the kitchen after midnight? Instead of in your office durin’ regular hours?”

Archer immediately understood. “So she won’t know that we’ve talked together.”

Devlin gave him a sly grin. “Right. That lady’s got spies all over this station. She knows just about everything that goes on around here.”

Archer realized that he had suspected something like that, but apparently Westfall’s tentacles were more deeply entwined in the station’s operations than he had thought.

“And she’s putting pressure on you?” he asked.

Devlin said, “She’s squeezin’ me, Grant. Squeezin’ me hard.”

“What does she want?”

“Nanomachines.”

Archer felt as if an electric shock jolted through him. “What on Earth does she want nanomachines for? What type of nanos?”

With a shrug, Devlin said, “Gobblers, I think you call ’em.”

“Good Lord!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. They’re dangerous, ain’t they?”

“They could be. Extremely dangerous.”

Very calmly, Devlin said, “If I don’t give ’er what she wants she’ll yank me outta here and send me back Earthside to face a judge and jury.”

“I won’t permit it,” Archer said. “I’ll protect you, Red.”

His knowing smirk returned. “Protect me? How? I’m guilty. You know that, Grant. I’m a smuggler. A drug dealer. A sex procurer.”

“VR sims,” Archer said, weakly.

“She could pile up enough evidence to land me in jail for lots o’ years.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Devlin said flatly. “She’s got me by the short hairs.”

“Then … what do you want to do?”

“That’s my business, Grant. You don’t want t’know and I don’t aim to tell you. I’ve got it figured out, but I don’t want you gettin’ in my way.”

Archer felt his brows knitting in perplexity. “I don’t understand, Red.”

“I’ll do what I’ve got to do,” Devlin said. “I’m tellin’ you now, man to man, that I won’t do anything to put this station in danger. This is my home, y’know. I’m not goin’ to let gobblers loose and turn the whole place into a gray goo.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“Like I said, you don’t want t’know. I just want you to rest easy that I don’t aim to hurt this station or anybody in it.”

Archer couldn’t think of anything to say. Devlin’s been on station Gold longer than I have, for the Lord’s sake. He knows the ins and outs better than anybody, knows the people here. But can I trust him? Can I let him deal with nanomachines? Gobblers?

Looking at Devlin’s taut, rebellious expression, Archer asked himself, Can I stop him? Short of locking him up and tipping off Westfall that I know she’s trying to use him, can I prevent the Red Devil from doing what he thinks he has to do?

Archer knew the answer. No, I can’t.

Devlin saw the fear and distrust in Archer’s face.

Okay, he said to himself, I know you don’t trust me, Grant. I know you never approved of the things I do. For more’n twenty years you’ve looked down your snoot at me. Now you’re goin’ to learn different. Now the shoe’s on the other bloody foot.

NANOTECHNOLOGY LABORATORY

Franklin Torre’s normally genial expression was lost in a puzzled, almost suspicious stare.

“And just what is it you want down here?” he asked Rodney Devlin.

Devlin was wearing his usual white cook’s T-shirt and baggy pants, immaculately clean this early in the morning. He grinned as he looked from Torre to his sister, standing next to him, and then took a quick scan of the nanotech lab. Small, he thought. More like a kid’s playroom than a proper laboratory. The two people facing him were both in white lab smocks. They looked enough alike to be twins. Or clones.

Janet Torre mistook Red’s silence. “You do realize this is a nanotechnology lab, don’t you?”

Devlin nodded briskly. “That’s what they told me.”

“So why are you here?” Franklin asked again.

With a careless shrug, Devlin said, “Well, you’re new here. I’m sort of like the station’s unofficial meeter and greeter. I’m sorry I haven’t come down to say hello earlier. Been kinda busy, dontcha know.”

“I don’t understand,” said Franklin.

“Have the folks here been takin’ good care of you? Is there anything you need?”

“Such as?” Janet demanded.

Devlin kept his sunny smile in place, although he was thinking that this would be much easier with the guy by himself instead of the two of them together.

Shrugging again, Devlin replied, “Oh, stuff the paper pushers can’t supply for ya. Entertainment vids, maybe. Or certain foods—”

“Lobster,” Franklin Torre exclaimed.

Devlin blinked. “Lobster?”

“At Selene we can have a lobster dinner anytime we want,” Torre said.

“Aquaculture,” Janet explained. “They have big fish farms at Selene. Shellfish, too. More protein per watt of energy input than meat animals.”

Scratching his head, Devlin said, “Well, I can requisition some from Selene. Might take a while, though.”

“I like lobster,” Torre said.

“Anything else?” asked Devlin. “Technical supplies, personal items…” He hesitated, then in a slightly lower voice went on, “You’re a long way from all your friends. Maybe you need some VR simulations.”

Janet arched a brow at him. “You mean sex?”

Trying to look innocent, Devlin said, “Well, yeah, if that’s what you have in mind.”

Torre glanced at his sister. The two of them were grinning slyly. “No,” he said to Devlin. “We don’t need sex sims.”

For once in his life Devlin felt embarrassed. “Well … if there’s anything you do need, anything at all, you just call on ol’ Red. I can cut through all the regulations the paper shufflers put on ya.”

“Thank you, Red,” said Janet.

Changing the subject to what he really came for, Devlin said, “So this is a nanotech lab, eh?”

“It’s sort of rough and ready,” said Torre, “but, yes, this is our nanotechnology laboratory.”

“We never had one here before,” Devlin said, taking in every detail of the room. “You must be here for something special.”

“That’s right,” Janet said. And nothing more.

“Aren’t nanomachines dangerous?” Devlin asked, all innocent curiosity. “I mean, I’ve heard stories…”

“Everything’s perfectly secure here,” Torre assured him. “We have all the necessary safeguards in place.”

Devlin said, “Sign out in the hall said something about UV lights.”

“That’s to protect against any nanos that might get out of the lab,” Torre explained. “Ultraviolet light kills them.”

“Deactivates them,” Janet corrected. “They’re machines, not organisms.”

Torre nodded at his sister.

“So there’s nothing at all dangerous in here?”

Torre stepped over to a domed stainless steel chamber sitting on the lab bench. “The only dangerous thing is in here,” he said. “When we first construct the nanomachines they’re undifferentiated, not yet specialized for a specific task.”

“If they got loose at that stage there could be trouble,” Janet added. “We’d have to flood this area with high-intensity UV.” She pointed to the lights hanging from the ceiling.

Gobblers, Devlin thought. They’re talking about gobblers. But he didn’t mention the word to them, didn’t want them to get the slightest bit suspicious.

“So what happens to ’em?”

Tracing a finger along the pipe leading from the domed chamber to a smaller, square container, Torre said, “The undifferentiated nanos are fed in here, where we reshape them and program them for the specific task they’re designed to perform.”

Janet pointed to the display screen at the end of the workbench. “You can see them here.”

Devlin followed the pair of them to the screen. It showed a half-dozen shapes that looked to Devlin like little mechanical toys, each with two grasping arms attached to its main body.

“That’s them, huh?”

“That’s them,” said Torre, with some pride in his voice. “They’ll seek out molecules of a specific shape and take them apart into their constituent atoms.”

“Atoms! They must be pretty small.”

“The size of viruses. A couple of nanometers across.”

“Wow!”

Janet Torre looked at her wristwatch, then said, “Actually, we do have a lot of work to do.…”

“Oh! Sure!” Devlin backed away from the display screen. “I’m sorry for gettin’ in your way.”

Torre walked him toward the door; his sister sat on a stool by the display screen and turned it on.

“I appreciate your takin’ the time to show me around,” Devlin said.

“That’s okay.” Then, glancing back at his sister and lowering his voice, he said, “Can you show me some of those VR sims you mentioned?”

Acting surprised, Devlin said, “The sex sims? Sure. Any time. Just come and see me in the galley. Any time.”

“Uh, can you tailor them? Put specific people into them?”

“Who’d you have in mind?”

“Well, there’s this girl from the Belt … her name’s Deirdre Ambrose…”

Devlin’s surprise was genuine now. “You know Dee?”

“We’ve dated a couple of times.”

“So you want simulations of her, do ya?”

“If you can do it.”

With a nonchalant shrug, Devlin said, “I’ll see what I can do, Frankie old boy.”

Torre grinned and ushered Devlin through the door. Once outside in the passageway, the Red Devil grinned also. I’ve got the layout now, he told himself, and there’s no real security in there. Scientists. They think everybody’s honest.

LAUNCH PARTY

The largest conference room in the station’s first wheel had been cleared of its furniture by Katherine Westfall’s assistants, except for the long conference table, which had been pushed against one wall and loaded with drinks and trays of finger foods.

Red Devlin stood at one end of the table in a spanking clean white outfit, smiling benignly at the crowd of scientists, engineers, technicians, and administrators who crowded the room. The wall screens displayed views of Jupiter as seen from the station, and scenes of the leviathans recorded by the robotic probes that had been sent into the ocean.

Katherine Westfall, the party’s hostess, stood by the door, graciously greeting each new arrival. She wore a splendid gown of shimmering blues and indigos that shifted and sparkled with each move she made. Grant Archer and his wife stood beside her, smiling and chatting amiably.

Deirdre was off in a corner, feeling self-conscious from the feeding port that had been implanted in her neck. She knew that her high-collared dress covered the site, but still felt that it bulged noticeably. She glanced at Dorn and Max Yeager, standing beside her; their shirts covered their ports completely. Andy Corvus, standing halfway across the room deep in conversation with one of the launch controllers, scratched unconsciously at his port.

Andy and Max had both been shaved bald. The mission protocol required it: Living for days on end in the perfluorocarbon meant that all excess hair had to be removed from their bodies. Andy looked like a scrawny newborn chick without his thick mop of red hair. Max somehow looked nobler, wiser, more serious, almost like a bust of some august Roman emperor. Dorn, of course, had no body hair to shave off.

Deirdre had put off her own shearing to the last possible moment. She dreaded losing her thick shoulder-length auburn locks. At least she wouldn’t have to go completely bald, Isaac Lowenstien had told her.

“You can go with a buzz cut,” the head of the station’s safety department had allowed. “That’ll be good enough.”

When he saw the unhappy expression on Deirdre’s face, he tried to console her. “Hey, you’re lucky. In the old days they depilated you completely, head to toe. Took months to grow your hair back.”

Deirdre thought that it was scant consolation.

A petite woman in a form-hugging jade green jumpsuit stepped up to Yeager, smiling brightly at him. Deirdre noticed that she had a splendid crown of radiant golden curls.

Tipping her fluted glass toward Max, she said, “To you, little father.”

Yeager looked embarrassed, but touched his glass to hers. Turning to Deirdre and Dorn he introduced, “Linda Vishnevskaya, mission control chief.”

Vishnevskaya said, “You are going on the mission with Max. Take good care of him, please.”

Deirdre thought that the woman was slightly drunk. She herself was drinking only fruit juice; she didn’t want alcohol in her bloodstream, not with the mission launch less than forty-eight hours away.

“We will take good care of each other,” Dorn replied, very seriously.

“Of course, of course,” said Vishnevskaya. Patting Max’s shoulder, she went on, “But Max is very special. He cares about his ship like a loving father.”

Yeager’s face reddened noticeably.

Standing at the end of the laden conference table, Red Devlin watched the partygoers with professional interest. Food’s holding out all right, he said to himself. Archer unbent enough to let me rustle up some faux champagne and rocket juice, but nobody seems to be getting sloshed too badly. Of course, the night is young.

He saw that Grant Archer had moved slightly away from Mrs. Westfall and was deep in conversation with Dr. Johansen, the scientist who headed the group studying Jupiter. Mrs. Archer and Westfall were yakking away at each other like old friends. Funny, Devlin thought, how two women can both talk at the same time and keep the conversation going without missing a beat.

Michael Johansen was still less than happy with Archer’s decision to send Corvus and the other three on the mission.

“That ship was built for scientists to go into the ocean,” he was telling Archer, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the chatter of the crowd.

“We’ve been through all this, Mike,” Archer said gently. “The decision has been made. And implemented.”

Shaking his head, Johansen said, “You can still add a man to the crew. One scientist. There’s room—”

“I’m sorry, Mike, but the answer is no,” said Archer. “This mission is strictly to see if Corvus can make any meaningful contact with the leviathans.” He hesitated, then added in a lowered voice, “And to see if the ship works without killing anybody.”

Johansen frowned. “You’re wasting an opportunity to acquire more scientific data, Grant. Corvus isn’t going to get bubkes, you know that.”

Archer grinned at him. “You’ve been hanging around Ike Lowenstien too long, you’re starting to speak Yiddish.”

“This isn’t a joke, Grant.”

More seriously, “Only God knows what Corvus will accomplish, Mike. I don’t know and neither do you. That’s what research is all about. If you already know the answer, you’re not doing research.”

Johansen’s long, angular face settled into a gloomy pout. Even Katherine Westfall, halfway across the crowded room, could see that the scientist was displeased.

Westfall turned back to Marjorie Archer, who was still going on about some biochemical studies she was undertaking. “Would you excuse me, Marjorie? Now that everyone is here I ought to offer a toast to the mission’s success.”

Marjorie looked more relieved than displeased. “Oh. Of course. I’ve been bending your ear long enough.”

“Not at all,” said Westfall. “Not at all.” But she stepped away gladly and headed toward Rodney Devlin, who was still standing at the far end of the table, like a sentry in a white apron.

Devlin saw her coming and recognized the little nod that Westfall gave him. He quickly poured two champagne flutes. Handing them to her one by one, he said, “This one’s for you, ma’am, and this one’s for Ms. Ambrose.”

Smiling knowingly, Westfall took the glasses and made her precarious way through the crowd toward Dierdre, Dorn, and the others. Devlin was right behind her, clutching three more of the long-stemmed glasses. Westfall handed one of the flutes to Deirdre as Devlin passed out the other three to Yeager, Dorn, and Corvus.

Then Devlin emitted an ear-piercing whistle that stopped every conversation dead in its tracks.

Into the sudden silence, Westfall said in her little-girl voice, “I want to propose a toast to the crew of the good ship Faraday: May you find what you’re looking for.”

Everyone in the crowded room raised their glasses and repeated the toast. Deirdre, Max, Andy, and Dorn smiled appreciatively and sipped.

That’s a good girl, Westfall said silently as she watched Deirdre down her faux champagne. Drink it down. The nanomachines will do the rest.