Titan

8 January 2096: Afternoon

Holly left her office early and walked to the apartment building where Professor Wilmot resided. When this mission to Saturn had begun, Wilmot was in charge, appointed by the International Consortium of Universities to direct the habitat’s ten thousand inhabitants until they reached Saturn orbit and formulated a government of their own choosing.

Something had happened along the way, however. Eberly and the little clique of thugs surrounding him had pushed Wilmot out of power and formed the government. They allowed the people to vote for a new constitution, but the voting was little more than a popularity contest. Holly understood that now, although back then she had worked faithfully for Malcolm Eberly under the impression that he was a hero worth following. Time and events forced a painful recognition upon Holly. Eberly was little more than a tool in the hands of fundamentalist zealots.

The zealots had been banished back to Earth, but Eberly remained as the elected head of the community’s government. Holly didn’t trust him. She berated herself for ever having been so starstruck that she’d thought she was in love with the man.

She knew better now. Eberly could never love anyone except himself. He had the power of the habitat’s government in his hands and he would do anything to hold onto that power and prestige, to get himself reelected, to have the proof that the people of this habitat still admired him.

But he refused to see that no one could keep a community of ten thousand men and women from having babies. Holly was convinced it was impossible. The only reason the people had tolerated the habitat’s zero-growth regulation was that they expected the rule to be repealed sooner or later.

And then what? Holly wondered. That’s why she was seeking out Professor Wilmot. He was an anthropologist, a trained expert in human behavior, human societies. She needed his advice and the benefit of his knowledge.

It was four P.M. when she rapped on Wilmot’s apartment door, precisely the time he had agreed to see her. She remembered the last time she had run to the professor for refuge, when the animals that actually ran Eberly’s newly elected government had tried to pin a false charge of murder on her. Wilmot had been precious little help then. Holly hoped he would be stronger now.

The door slid back and Professor Wilmot greeted her with a gracious sweep of his arm. “Good afternoon, Holly. Come right in.”

He was a big man, tall and broad-shouldered, although his midsection was thickening. His face was tanned and weather-seamed from years of work in the field; his hands big and still callused. His hair was iron gray, as was his thick moustache. Holly thought he looked like a child’s idea of a grandfather or beloved uncle.

“I’ve prepared tea,” Wilmot said, gesturing toward the chinaware tea set that was laid out on the low table in front of the sofa. “I hope you like the scones I’ve baked. I’m afraid I’m not much of a baker, but they seem to have come out rather well, if I say so myself.”

Holly sat at one end of the sofa. “Everything looks terrif,” she said appreciatively.

Wilmot took the upholstered chair next to the sofa and began to pour tea. Once they had both sipped from the dainty cups, he leaned back and said, “So now, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I need your advice, Professor,” said Holly, replacing her cup in its saucer with a delicate clink.

“It’s always easy to get advice.”

“I s’pose.” Holly couldn’t quite figure out how to broach the subject, so she blurted, “It’s about the ZPG rule. It’s going to cause a megaton of trouble.”

Wilmot’s shaggy brows rose but he said nothing as Holly explained her worries. “We just can’t keep the rule in place. It’ll tear this community apart.”

“But everyone signed an agreement, didn’t they?”

Shaking her head, Holly answered, “Doesn’t mean spit. They signed because they were told the ZPG rule would be lifted once we were at Saturn. Eberly says it’s too soon to lift it; he says we can’t allow people to have babies because we’ll get a population explosion that’ll ruin the habitat.”

Stroking his chin thoughtfully, Wilmot murmured, “He just might be right about that. Uncontrolled population growth could eat up all our resources.”

“I know, but how can we control it? Women are going to start having babies and there’s nothing anybody can do to stop them.”

“The ZPG regulation must be enforced, Holly. Once you allow people to ignore one law they’ll soon be ignoring all laws.”

“Is that really true? I mean, you know a lot about the way human societies work. If women start making babies, is that going to mean total chaos?”

Wilmot didn’t answer right away. He reached for his teacup and took a healthy sip. Then, “Holly, to keep this habitat ecologically stable, our birthrate must be kept on a par with our death rate. And with modern medical capabilities and aging therapies—”

“I know. People live forever, just about.”

“How many deaths have we had since we left Earth?”

“Two. One murder and one execution.”

“You see? We could allow two births, but no more.”

Holly shook her head again, more vigorously. “It’s not going to work, Professor. We’ve got to find another way.”

“Until you do, I’m afraid that we’ll all have to follow the habitat’s laws, including ZPG.”

“But we have room for three, four times our current population! Jeeps, this habitat could hold a million people if it had to!”

“Living cheek by jowl in poverty,” Wilmot replied sternly. “With all the crime and perversion that goes with intense population density.”

“I guess,” Holly agreed reluctantly. Then her chin came up. “But I don’t see how we can expect the women of this community to give up having babies.”

“You’ll have to convince them of the necessity,” said Wilmot. “You’ll have to produce a formula for planned population growth and convince the inhabitants to agree to it.”

Glumly, Holly replied, “I wish I could. Trouble is, Eberly’s just going to ignore the problem, shove it under the rug. As long as he’s running for reelection he won’t bring up any issues that could cost him votes.”

“But you said that he can’t ignore it.”

“Not in the long run, no. But he won’t mention it while he’s campaigning for reelection, that’s f’sure.”

“Then his opponent must bring it to the voters’ attention,” said Wilmot.

“He doesn’t have an opponent,” Holly said. “He’s running unopposed.”

“So far. The deadline for registering as a candidate is still a week away. The fifteenth, isn’t it?”

“The fifteenth falls on a Sunday,” Holly said, “so the registration date’s actually the sixteenth.”

“Ah, yes.”

“But who’s going to run against him? Nobody. We’ll have to draft somebody from a computer lottery.”

Wilmot brushed his moustache with one finger and said, “I should think that someone who feels strongly about this community would step into the election race, if for no other reason than to force Eberly to face up to the issues.”

“You know somebody who’d do that?” Holly asked eagerly. “Would you?”

“Oh, heavens, not me.”

“Then who?”

“You, my dear girl. You’ve got to run against Malcolm Eberly.”