Titan

28 December 2095: Nightfall

Pancho and Wanamaker strolled slowly through the shadows along the winding path down by the lake. The habitat’s broad circle of solar windows was slowly closing for the night. The effect was like a long twilight shading off into the darkness of night. Up the gentle rise, Pancho could see the low white-walled buildings of Athens.

“Smell the flowers,” Wanamaker said, taking in a deep breath. “The air’s like perfume.” Even speaking softly, his voice had a rough, almost abrasive edge to it.

“You’re getting to be a real romantic, Jake,” she said, smiling at him.

“Always have been,” he replied. “Only, there weren’t many flowers to smell in a submarine or a spacecraft.”

Pancho nodded. “I guess.”

“Not even in Selene,” he added.

“’Cept for Martin Humphries’s mansion, down on the bottom level. But that’s gone now.”

Wanamaker nodded. Then, pointing overhead, he said, “Look at the lights up there. They look like constellations.”

They both knew the lights were from other villages and roadways. Yet in the darkness of the encroaching night Pancho had to admit they did seem to form shapes. She made out something that looked sort of like a lopsided spider. And maybe a tulip.

He slid his strong arm around her waist and she leaned against him. But then the rational side of her mind spoke up.

“The human brain wants to make patterns,” Pancho said. “Part of our makeup. I remember back when I was chairman of the board at Astro, I’d sit in meetings and see patterns in the grain of the board room’s paneling.”

“Must’ve been really interesting meetings,” Wanamaker said, chuckling softly.

“Meetings of the b-o-r-e-d,” she spelled. “Some were worse’n others.”

“You know what I wonder about,” he said, still holding her as they walked unhurriedly along the path.

“What?”

“We’re ten times farther from the Sun than the Earth is, yet when the solar windows are open the daylight in here is as bright as on Earth. The mirrors outside must be built to focus the sunlight, concentrate it.”

“You can ask Holly about that.”

“Or call up the habitat schematics when we get back to our place.”

So much for the romantic, Pancho thought.

“Whatcha you think of Holly’s boy toy?” she asked.

“Tavalera? He seems like a nice enough kid. Not much of a conversationalist, though.”

“He’s working with Kris in the nanotech lab. I’ll have to ask her about him.”

“Being the protective big sister?”

Pancho felt her face warp into a frown. “I know Holly’s all grown up and livin’ her own life, but still …”

“Still, you want to talk to Dr. Cardenas.”

“Won’t hurt.”

They walked along slowly in silence for a while, passing the lamps spaced evenly along the edge of the bricked path. Pancho stared at the lights overhead, content to let Wanamaker steer her with a gentle pressure on her waist. That’s land up there, she reminded herself. Not sky. This whole place is just a big hunk of machinery, made to look and feel and even smell like Earth. Except that we’re inside it, not on the surface.

“Pancho?” Wanamaker asked softly.

“Yeah?”

“What about your life? What are your plans?”

She knew he meant “our lives.” She knew he wanted to be with her; at least she hoped he did. She found herself wondering if she’d want to be with him on a permanent basis.

“Damfino, Jake. For the first time in my life I got no responsibilities and enough money to do whatever the hell I feel like doin’, pretty much. And for the first time in my life I really don’t know which way I want to go.”

He replied with a nod.

“One thing’s for sure, though,” Pancho heard herself say.

“What’s that?”

“Wherever I go, I want you right there with me.”

He wrapped his other arm around her and kissed her soundly on the lips, while she realized that she truly meant what she’d said. Jeeps, she thought as she kissed him back, I really love this guy.

They started climbing the easy slope of the path, the office buildings and garden apartments of Athens on either side of the bricked street. In the shadows Pancho heard Wanamaker chuckling softly.

“What’s funny?” she asked.

“Oh, I was just thinking about your staying here on a permanent basis.”

“And that’s funny?”

“Not funny, really. But I can see you taking over this habitat. By the time they hold their next elections you’ll be running for the top slot. You’ll be chief administrator in a few months.”

The idea left a sour taste in her mouth. “I’m not runnin’ for any office,” she said firmly. “I spent enough years behind a desk tellin’ people what to do.” Then she added mischievously, “The only person I want to boss around is a certain retired admiral.”

Wanamaker made a little bow. “Hearkening and obedience, O queen of my heart.”

Pancho grabbed him by both ears and kissed him again. Damn hard not to love this lug, she thought.

Timoshenko sat alone in his apartment and pondered the events of his day. Aaronson had been more than willing to hand off the responsibilities for exterior maintenance, as Timoshenko had expected. The man isn’t a drone, he told himself, not exactly. But he’s quite content to get rid of the responsibility and let it fall on my shoulders. After all, if there’s any real, physical danger to this orbiting sewer pipe it will come from outside.

He sat at the desk in his living room and called up the schematics for the superconducting radiation shield. The hair-thin wires of the superconductors carried enough electrical energy to light up St. Petersburg and Moscow combined. And maybe Minsk and Kiev, in the bargain, he told himself. A lot of energy. A lot of power.

The superconductors generated a magnetic field that enveloped the habitat’s outer shell. Just as Earth’s magnetosphere protects the planet from bombardment by energetic subatomic particles from the Sun and deep space, so did the habitat’s little magnetosphere protect the interior from the lethal levels of radiation outside. Timoshenko knew if that magnetic field failed, people inside the habitat would start dying right away. The habitat’s structure will shield us to some degree, he thought, but not enough to keep us all from frying.

As he called up numbers and traced failure-node scenarios, Timoshenko realized that if one of those slender superconducting wires was snapped by the impact of a meteor, the electrical energy it was carrying would suddenly be discharged into the habitat’s outer shell. It would be like a bomb! All that energy suddenly dumped into the metal could blow a hole right through the shell.

Of course that would be only the outer shell. There were all the habitat’s plumbing and hydraulics and electrical power systems in between the outer shell and the inner, where everyone lived. And the inner shell was landscaped with dirt and rocks formed into rolling hills and gentle swales. But, Timoshenko thought, if the outer shell is penetrated, if an explosion blasts it open, it’ll blow away some of the hydraulic systems with it. It could start a cascade of failures that will destroy the whole habitat within days, maybe hours.

The superconducting wires were armored, of course, and he saw bypass circuits in the schematics, but he wasn’t certain that they could switch the electrical current quickly enough to avoid an explosive failure.

Nodding to himself, he thought that this was his first order of business: Inspect those superconductors and their armor, then run tests to make certain that those bypass circuits could handle a sudden, catastrophic surge of energy. Otherwise, he thought, we’re all in deep shit.

He rubbed his eyes wearily and decided to start the inspection routine first thing in the morning. The habitat was equipped with camera-bearing robotic maintenance vehicles that trundled along the outer shell all the time. No need for me to go outside, he told himself. Unless the robots find a trouble spot.

As he began to prepare himself for bed, Timoshenko thought about sending another message to Katrina. Tell her the good news about my promotion. Let her know I’m doing all right.

He picked up his toothbrush and looked at himself in the mirror over the bathroom sink.

“Don’t you dare call her, you idiot,” he growled to his stubble-jawed image. “Leave her alone. Don’t give her the idea that she might come out here and join you. One of you sent into exile is enough.”

Besides, he thought, as he started brushing his teeth, if you have to do much work outside there’s a damned good chance that you’ll get yourself killed. In fact, that might be the best thing that could happen to you. And to Katrina.