Titan

13 April 2096: The morning after

Nadia Wunderly had not slept at all. She spent the entire night alone in the biology laboratory, studying the samples of ice particles Gaeta had brought back to her. For weeks she had annoyed the biologists by borrowing, cadging, jury-rigging equipment from them to build a completely self-contained cryogenic analysis apparatus. About the size of a tabletop microwave oven, it was physically separated from the rest of the lab by miniature airlocks and biohazard screens to prevent contamination of the return samples; the gleaming white apparatus was also thickly insulated to keep the ice particles at nearly the same temperature they existed at in the rings themselves. Most of the work she had done herself; only rarely could she cajole a technician to help her. Even then they joked about “Wunderly’s icebox.”

Now she sat in front of a display screen that showed one of her precious ice particles. Her tests had proven that the six-centimeter-wide chip consisted of amorphous ice: not the crystalline type of ice that was normal on Earth, but a form that was structurally more like a fluid in which molecules could flow and interact. Like glass, she told herself. Glass is liquid in structure, it just happens to be solid at normal terrestrial temperatures. Amorphous ice is solid at nearly two hundred below zero, but its structure isn’t rigid; the molecules aren’t locked in place, they can move around and combine with one another. Chemistry can take place inside amorphous ice.

Wearily, Nadia rubbed at her eyes. It’s amorphous ice, all right. And there are microbe-sized particles inside it. But are they alive? They’re not doing anything. They’re just sitting inside the ice chip, as inert as specks of dust.

She pushed herself up from her chair, every muscle in her body complaining. I need a biologist, Wunderly said to herself. Who can I recruit from the staff to help me?

“It was terrible, Panch,” Holly was saying to her sister over morning coffee. “He wiped the floor with me.”

“It couldn’t’ve been that bad,” Pancho said soothingly.

“Worse.”

Pancho had come to her sister’s apartment for breakfast after Holly had called her in the middle of a strenuous bout of morning lovemaking with Wanamaker. “Let it ring,” Wanamaker had puffed. Once he’d gone in for a shower Pancho had checked the phone’s messages, then called Holly to tell her she’d be over in an hour or less.

Pancho had never seen her sister look so glum. This election means a lot to her, she realized. Holly’s found something that’s important to her.

“Look,” she said to Holly. “First thing to do is call Nadia and see if she’s really found living critters in the samples. Everything hangs on that.”

Wunderly was neither in her home, her office nor her laboratory. She was in the cafeteria having breakfast with Da’ud Habib and Yolonda Negroponte. Wunderly had called Habib the night before, once she realized she needed a biologist to help her analyze the ring particles.

“Yolanda is the best on our biology team,” Habib had said by way of introduction.

But Wunderly was getting distinctly hostile vibrations from Negroponte. The woman was much taller than she, full-figured with long blonde hair and a face that wasn’t beautiful, exactly, but very attractive. Full lips, strong cheekbones and jaw, eyes brimming with suspicion.

Habib must have felt the tension between the two women, too, because he excused himself after taking hardly a bite from his breakfast muffin and a sip of black coffee.

“I have a meeting with the chief of the maintenance department,” he said, almost apologetically. As he got up from the table and picked up his barely touched tray he added, “I seem to be a popular fellow this morning.”

And he scuttled away. Wunderly thought he looked relieved to be rid of the two of them.

Negroponte watched him for a moment, then turned back to Wunderly, her eyes focusing like x-ray lasers.

“You’re the one Da’ud took to the New Year’s Eve party,” she said, almost accusingly.

“That’s right,” said Wunderly. “Who did you go with?”

The biologist almost smiled. “I was interested in Da’ud, but he was too concentrated on Urbain’s lost little tractor to catch my signals.”

“Oh. I see.” Wunderly decided to be straightforward. She needed this woman’s help, not her animosity. “I didn’t send any signals. I just asked him if he’d like to go to the party with me.”

Negroponte’s ashen eyebrows rose in surprise. “Just like that?”

“Just like that. I’ve never learned how to be subtle, how to send out signals.”

“Really?”

“With your looks, it must come pretty naturally. I mean, men must chase after you all the time.”

“Well … not chase, exactly.”

“I’ve always been kind of dumpy and mousy,” Wunderly confessed. “Nobody’s ever come panting after me.”

Negroponte’s expression softened a bit. “I was always taller than most of the boys in school. But worse, they get frightened when they realize you’re smarter than they are. Men want to be dominant, even the weak ones.” Before Wunderly could think of what to answer, she added, “Especially the weak ones.”

“I don’t think Da’ud’s weak, do you?”

“No, not weak, exactly. But you have to do the leading with him.”

“Maybe,” Wunderly conceded. “But maybe you scare him off if you come across too strong.”

Negroponte seemed to consider that for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know. Da’ud’s good-looking but his work is more important to him than women.”

“Really? You think so?”

“Isn’t your work more important to you than men?”

Wunderly shook her head. “I don’t see a conflict between the two. Do you?”

The two women sat together in the noisy, busy cafeteria for more than an hour, heads together, talking about men and the problems they cause. Sometimes they laughed together; often they giggled. People passing them carrying their trays thought they were two old friends who had just been reunited after a long absence.

It was only as they left the table, cleared their trays and stacked them, and finally headed toward the bio lab that they started talking about biology and the ice samples.

Habib felt relieved to be away from the two women as he tapped politely on the office door of the chief of maintenance. They think they own you, he said to himself. And each of them wants you exclusively to herself.

“Come in,” came Timoshenko’s voice from the other side of the door.

Habib slid it back and entered the office. It was a spacious room, with a large desk and smart walls filled with data displays. Timoshenko sat behind a small mountain range of papers, which Habib thought strange. Why use paper when you can store information electronically? Not that the sheets were actually paper made from trees. Aboard habitat Goddard “paper” was actually thin sheets of reprocessed plastic.

“You wanted to see me?” Habib said from the doorway.

“You’re the computer genius?” Timoshenko asked, getting to his feet.

Habib smiled minimally. “I am the head of the science staff’s computer section. But I am not a genius, no, not at all.”

Waving him to the only chair in front of his desk, Timoshenko said, “Pardon my inimitable way of expressing myself. It’s a bad habit.”

“What can I do for you?” Habib asked as he sat down. “You realize, of course, that I am responsible to Dr. Urbain and if you need my time or the time of any of his other people he will have to approve of it.”

Timoshenko grunted and sank back into his chair. “I have a problem that involves the safety of this entire habitat.”

Habib felt his brows rise.

Pointing to the graph displayed on one of the smart walls, Timoshenko said, “We’ve been having power outages. I’ve determined that they’re caused by surges in the electromagnetic field surrounding Saturn.”

“Surges in Saturn’s magnetic field?”

Nodding, Timoshenko replied, “You scientists have known for years that there are electrical surges coming from the planet—”

“Electromagnetic.”

“Yes, of course. That’s what I meant.”

“And they apparently originate in the rings, somehow.”

“Whatever,” said Timoshenko, with some impatience. “The surges overload our power circuitry and cause outages.”

“I don’t understand,” said Habib. “We generate electricity from solar cells, do we not?”

“That’s our main source, yes. But the current generated by the solarvoltaics must be converted to frequencies that electrical equipment can use. It’s not a direct line between the solar cells and your coffeepot, you know.”

“Ah. Of course.”

“Those surges overload the inverters. It’s my job to correct the situation.”

Habib almost laughed. “I hope you don’t believe you can stop Saturn’s natural processes.”

“No, but if I know when the surges can be expected I can protect my power systems from them. I think.”

“You need to be able to predict when the surges will come?”

“Yes. That’s the first step toward ending these confounding outages.”

“They seem to be random in their timing?”

“Not exactly random,” said Timoshenko. “They seem to come every few weeks, in clusters.”

Habib stroked his beard absently. “Every few weeks?”

“More or less.” Timoshenko said, growing irritated at Habib’s echoing everything he said. He waited for another question. When Habib remained silent the engineer added, “If I knew when to expect the surges I could at least shut down nonessential electrical equipment so we wouldn’t overload the system and get outages.”

“I see.”

“I can’t shut down equipment for days at a time, you understand. A few hours, yes, maybe. So I need to know when the surges are coming.”

“Is shutting down equipment the best thing to do?”

“No. Shielding the inverters and the main power lines is what we have to do, but that takes time and materials and labor. In the meanwhile, either I shut down nonessentials when a surge is coming or we keep on having these damned outages.”

“I see,” Habib repeated.

“You scientists have the data on the surges. That’s where I got it from.”

“And you want me to analyze the data so that you can predict when surges will occur?”

“Yes!” Timoshenko said fervently.

“I’ll have to get Dr. Urbain’s permission to work on the problem. I don’t know if he’ll agree. He—”

“Tell Urbain that either we solve this problem or the entire habitat might go dark.”

Habib’s eyes widened. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“Can you assure me that it won’t get that bad? Suppose a really big surge knocks out our inverters completely? What then?”

“I understand,” said Habib. Rising from his chair, he added, “I’ll speak to Dr. Urbain about this immediately.”

“Good,” Timoshenko said, getting up from his chair and reaching across the desk for Habib’s hand.

But the computer scientist went on, “But I doubt that he will allow me to work for you. He won’t want to let me go.”

“He’ll have to,” Timoshenko insisted. “You’ll have to convince him.”

Looking thoroughly unhappy, Habib murmured, “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Timoshenko repeated, and thrust his hand across the desk again. Habib hesitated a moment, then took it in his own. The man’s grip was gentle, almost weak, Timoshenko thought.

“Thank you.”

Once Habib had left his office, Timoshenko plopped down in his oversize swivel chair again, thinking, If Urbain doesn’t give permission for Habib to work on this, I’ll go to Eberly and get him to draft the man. This is more important than trying to find some lost toy on Titan. This is vital!