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  "Well," Holly said, "you don't have to take the job if you don't want to. We're not going to force you. You can always stay with Maintenance."

  "Thanks a bunch," he groused.

  He was still wary about the idea when Cardenas arrived. She seemed uncertain about him, as well.

  "Mr. Tavalera, I can't work with somebody who's frightened to be around nanomachines."

  "I'm not scared of 'em. I'm just scared they won't let me go back home if anybody finds out I've been workin' with you."

  "You can demand a complete physical," Cardenas said. "Then they'll see you're not harboring any nanobugs in your body."

  "Yeah," he reluctantly admitted. "Maybe."

  Holly suggested, "We can keep your employment with Dr. Cardenas completely off the record. As far as the authorities Earthside will know, you worked in Maintenance all the time you were aboard this habitat."

  "You can do that?" Even Cardenas looked incredulous.

  "I can do it for special cases," Holly said, thinking about how she would have to keep Morgenthau from poking her fat face into Tavalera's official dossier.

  "You'd do it for me?" Tavalera asked.

  "Sure I would," said Holly.

  He looked unconvinced, but he abruptly turned to Cardenas and said, "Well, I guess if you screw up and let killer bugs loose, everybody in this tin can is gonna get wiped out anyway. I might as well work with you. Beats overhauling farm tractors."

  Cardenas glanced at Holly, then started laughing. "You certainly are enthusiastic, Mr. Tavalera!"

  His long, horsy face broke into an awkward grin. "That's me, all right: Mr. Enthusiasm."

  "Seriously," Holly said to him, "do you want to work with Dr. Cardenas or not?"

  "I'll do it. Why not? What have I got to lose?"

  Turning to Cardenas, Holly asked, "Are you satisfied with him?"

  Still smiling at her new assistant, Cardenas said, "Not yet, but I think we can work it out."

  She got to her feet and Tavalera stood up beside her, smiling shyly. Holly thought, He looks so much better when he smiles.

  Cardenas put out her right hand. "Welcome to the nanolab, Mr. Tavalera."

  His long-fingered hand engulfed hers. "Raoul," he said. "My name's Raoul."

  "I'll see you at the nanolab at eight a.m. sharp," Cardenas said.

  "Eight hundred. Right. I'll be there."

  Cardenas left. Tavalera stood uncertainly before Holly's desk for a moment, then said, "Thanks."

  "De nada," said Holly.

  "You meant it, about keeping this out of my dossier?"

  "Certainly."

  He fidgeted for a few heartbeats more, then said, "Uh ... would you like to have dinner with me tonight? I mean, I 'predate what you did for me—"

  Holly cut him off before he spoiled it. "I'd be happy to have dinner with you, Raoul."

  Two weeks later, Cardenas invited Edouard Urbain to her laboratory, to show him what progress she had achieved in decontaminating Gaeta's suit. Tavalera sat at the master console, set against the wall opposite the door to the corridor.

  "Remember, Raoul," Cardenas said, "we want to be completely honest with Dr. Urbain. We have nothing to hide."

  He nodded, and a small grin played across his face. "I got nothing to hide because I don't know anything."

  Cardenas smiled back at him. "You're learning fast, Raoul. I'm very impressed with you." To herself, Cardenas thought, He's been a lot brighter than I thought he'd be. Maybe having a couple of dates with Holly has helped him to cheer up about being stuck here.

  When the chief scientist stepped through the door, more than ten minutes late, he looked as tense and guarded as a man walking into a minefield. Cardenas tried to put him at his ease by showing him through her small, immaculately neat laboratory.

  "This is the assembly area," she said, pointing to a pair of stainless steel boxlike structures resting atop a lab bench. Gauges and control knobs ran across the face of each. "The nanomachine prototypes are assembled in this one," she patted one of the breadbox-sized enclosures, "and then the prototype reproduces itself in here."

  Urbain kept a conspicuous arm's length from the apparatus. When Cardenas lifted the lid on one of the devices, he actually flinched.

  Cardenas tried not to frown at the man. "Dr. Urbain, there is nothing here that can harm you or anyone else."

  Urbain was clearly not reassured. "I understand, in my head. Still... I am nervous. I'm sorry, but I can't help it."

  She smiled patiently. "I understand. Here, come over to the main console."

  For more than an hour Cardenas showed Urbain how the nanomachines were designed and built. How they reproduced strictly according to preset instructions.

  "They're machines," she stressed, over and over. "They do not mutate. They do not grow wildly. And they are deactivated by a dose of soft ultraviolet light. They're really quite fragile."

  With Tavalera running the scanning microscope from the main console, Cardenas showed how the nanomachines she had designed broke up the contaminating molecules on the exterior of Gaeta's suit into harmless carbon dioxide, water vapor, and nitrogen oxides.

  "The suit is perfectly clean within five minutes," she said, pointing to the image from the console. "The residues outgas and waft away."

  Urbain appeared to be intrigued as he leaned over Tavalera's shoulder and peered intently at the data and imagery. "All the organics are removed?"

  Nodding, Cardenas said, "Down to the molecular level there's not a trace of them remaining."

  "And the nanobugs themselves?"

  "We deactivate them with a shot of UV."

  "But they are still on the surface of the suit? Can they reactivate themselves?"

  "No," said Cardenas. "Once they're deactivated they're finished. They physically break down."

  Urbain straightened up slowly.

  "As you can see, we can decontaminate the suit," Cardenas said.

  "Not merely the suit," Urbain said, his eyes looking past her. "This process could be used to decontaminate every piece of equipment we send to Titan's surface."

  "Yes it could," Cardenas agreed.

  For the first time since entering the nanotechnology laboratory, Urbain smiled.

  SATURN ARRIVAL Minus 273 Days

  "This man Berkowitz has got to go!" Eberly insisted.

  Wilmot sank back in his comfortable desk chair, surprised at the vehemence of his human resources director's demand.

  Softly, he asked, "And what gives you the right to interfere with the working of the Communications Department?"

  Eberly had stoked himself up to a fever pitch. For weeks Vyborg had been pressuring him, threatening to act on his own if Eberly could not or would not get rid of Berkowitz. Vyborg wanted to be head of communications, and his scant patience had reached its end. "Either you get him removed or I will remove him myself," the grim little man said. "In a few months we'll be entering Saturn orbit. I want Berkowitz out of the way before then. Long before then!"

  Eberly knew this was a test of his power. Vyborg would never challenge him so unless he felt that Eberly was deliberately procrastinating. Now, Eberly knew, if I don't deliver Berkowitz's head, Vyborg will stop believing in me, stop obeying me. So, like it or not, he had to confront Wilmot.

  Morgenthau hadn't come up with a thing that he could use against Wilmot. Although she swore that she spent every night faithfully plowing through his phone conversations and his computer files, she had found nothing useful, so far.

  I can do it without her help, Eberly told himself as he arranged to meet the chief administrator. A man can do anything, if he has the unbreakable will to succeed.

  Yet now, as he sat before Wilmot's desk and saw the professor's steel-gray eyes assessing him coolly, Eberly wondered which of them had the stronger will.

  "After all," Wilmot said, "your position as head of Human Resources doesn't give you the right to meddle in other departments, does it."

  "This is not meddling," Eber
ly snapped. "It's a matter of some urgency."

  Wilmot thought, He had a big success with the naming contest and the voting connected with it. That rally he held out in the park was a rather rousing event. It's gone to his head. He thinks he's already in charge of every department. He thinks he's going to replace me as chief of the entire habitat. Well, my lad, you have another think coming.

  "Urgency?" he asked, deliberately calm and methodical. "How so?"

  "Berkowitz is incompetent. We both know that."

  "Do we? I thought the Communications Department was running rather smoothly."

  "Because Dr. Vyborg is doing all the work," Eberly said.

  "Vyborg. That little reptilian fellow."

  Eberly stifled an angry reply. He's deliberately trying to goad me, he realized. This old man is trying to make me angry enough to make a mistake.

  He took in a breath, then said more calmly, "Vyborg is a very capable man. He is actually running the Communications Department while Berkowitz sits on his laurels and does nothing."

  "Much as Ms. Morgenthau is running your office, I should imagine," said Wilmot, with the trace of a smile.

  Eberly smiled back at the older man. You're not going to make me lose my temper, he said silently. I'm not going to fall into your trap.

  "Vyborg is ambitious," he said aloud. "He's come to me to ask my help. He feels frustrated, unappreciated."

  "Why doesn't he come to me? You can't help him."

  "I agreed to speak to you about the situation," Eberly said. "Vyborg feels he shouldn't go over Berkowitz's head and speak directly to you. He's afraid that Berkowitz will hold it against him."

  "Really?"

  "Berkowitz is a drone, and we both know it. Vyborg does all the work for him."

  "As long as the Communications Department runs well, I have no reason for removing Berkowitz from his position. This discussion is actually over the man's management method. To his underlings he may seem like a drone, but as long as the department hums along, he's doing his job effectively, as far as I'm concerned."

  Eberly sat back, thinking furiously. This is a test, he realized. Wilmot is testing me. Toying with me. How should I answer him? How can I get him to do what I want?

  Wilmot, meanwhile, studied Eberly's face carefully. Why is he so worked up about the Communications Department? Does he have some personal grudge against Berkowitz? Or some personal relationship with Vyborg? I wish old Diego Romero were still with us; he kept the department's different factions working together smoothly enough, before he died.

  Eberly finally hit upon a new ploy. "If you find it impossible to remove Berkowitz, perhaps you could promote him."

  Wilmot felt his brows rise. "Promote him?"

  Hunching forward on his chair, Eberly said, "Apparently this man Gaeta is going to be allowed to go to the surface of Titan after all."

  "That stuntman?"

  "Yes. Dr. Cardenas has convinced Urbain that she can decontaminate Gaeta's suit so well that the man can go to Titan's surface without harming the life-forms there."

  "Urbain hasn't told me of this," Wilmot said sharply.

  Eberly held back a snicker of triumph. You sit in your office and expect everyone to come to you, he sneered inwardly at Wilmot. The real life of this habitat swirls around you and you know almost nothing of it.

  "You're certain that Urbain has approved of this... this stunt?" Wilmot asked.

  "The approval isn't official yet, but Cardenas has worked out an understanding with him."

  Wilmot nodded. "Urbain will notify me when he makes his approval official."

  "Why not ask Berkowitz to join Gaeta's team, as their full-time publicity manager?"

  "Ahh. I see."

  Eberly went on, "Berkowitz would enjoy that, I think."

  "And while he's enjoying his special assignment, your friend Vyborg can run the Communications Department."

  "He can be given the title of acting director," said Eberly.

  "Very neat. And what happens when Gaeta has performed his stunt and it's all finished?"

  Eberly shrugged, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." To himself, though, he said, By the time Gaeta's done his stunt we'll have the new constitution in effect and I'll be the elected leader of this habitat. Berkowitz, Vyborg—even you, old man—will have to bow to my wishes.

  But as he left Wilmot's office, his satisfaction melted away. He was playing with me, Eberly realized, like a cat plays with a mouse. Like a puppeteer pulling my strings. He let me have my way with Berkowitz because he intended to do it all along; he was just waiting to see how I jumped. Berkowitz doesn't mean a thing to him. It's all a game he's playing.

  I've got to get control over him, Eberly told himself. I've got to find some way to bend the high and mighty Professor Wilmot to my will. Make him jump through my hoops.

  When is Morgenthau going to find something I can use? There must be something in Wilmot's life that I can use for leverage. Some weakness. I've got to get Morgenthau to work harder, concentrate on his files, his phone conversations, everything he says or does, every breath he draws. I want him in my grasp. That's vital. If I'm to be the master here, Wilmot's got to bow down to me, one way or the other.

  Holly saw Raoul Tavalera sitting alone in the cafeteria, bent over a sizable lunch. She carried her tray to his table.

  "Want some company?" she asked.

  He looked up at her and smiled.

  "Sure," he said. "Sit right down."

  Tavalera had invited her to dinner at least once a week since starting work at the nanotechnology lab. Holly enjoyed his company, although he could get moody, morose. She tried to keep their dates as bright and easy as possible. So far, he'd worked up the nerve to kiss her goodnight. She wondered when he would try to go farther. And what she would do when he did.

  "How's it going in the nanolab?" Holly asked as she removed her salad and iced tea from her tray.

  "Okay, I guess."

  "Dr. Cardenas treating you well?"

  He nodded enthusiastically. "She's easy to work with. I'm learnin' a lot."

  "That's good."

  "None of it'll be any use when I go back to Earth, though."

  For a moment, Holly didn't know why he would say that. Then she remembered, "Ohh, nanotech's banned on Earth, isn't it?"

  Tavalera nodded. "They'll probably quarantine me until they're certain I don't have any nanobugs in my body."

  "There's a nanotech lab in Selene."

  "I'm not gonna live underground on the Moon. I'm goin' back home."

  They talked about home: Holly about Selene and Tavalera about the New Jersey hills where he had grown up.

  "A lotta the state got flooded out when the greenhouse cliff hit. All the beachfront resorts ... people go scuba diving through the condo towers."

  "That's something you don't have to worry about in Selene," Holly pointed out.

  Tavalera grinned at her. "Yeah. The nearest pond is four hundred thousand kilometers away."

  "We have a swimming pool in the Grand Plaza!"

  "Big fr—uh, big deal."

  Ignoring his near lapse, Holly went on, "It's Olympic-sized. And the diving platforms go up to thirty meters."

  With a shake of his head, Tavalera said, "You wouldn't get me up there, low gravity or no low gravity."

  He just wants to go home, Holly saw. He wants to get back home. It made her sad to realize that she had no home to go back to. This is my home, she told herself. This habitat. Forever.

  SATURN ARRIVAL Minus 266 Days

  If it must be done, Wilmot said to himself, 'twere best done quickly.

  It was a dictum that had served him well all during his long career in academia. He often coupled it with Churchill's old aphorism: If you're going to kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite about it.

  So he invited Gaeta and Zeke Berkowitz to dine with him, in the privacy of his own apartment. Berkowitz was an old friend, of course, and Wilmot was delighted when he showed up precisely
on time, before the stuntman.

  As Wilmot poured a stiff whisky for the news director, Berkowitz grinned amiably and said, "Must be pretty bad news, to make the first drink so tall."

  Wilmot smiled, a little sheepishly, and handed the glass to Berkowitz. "You still have your nose in the wind, don't you, Zeke?"

  Berkowitz shrugged. "I'd be a lousy newsman if I didn't know what was going on."

  Wilmot poured an even stiffer belt for himself.

  "Rumor is," Berkowitz said, still standing by the apartment's compact little bar, "that you're going to kick me upstairs."

  With a slight nod, Wilmot admitted, "I'm afraid so."

  Before Berkowitz could ask another question, they heard a rap at the door. "That will be Gaeta," said Wilmot, heading for the door.

  Gaeta wore a denim work shirt and jeans, about as formal an outfit as he possessed. He looked serious, almost somber as Wilmot introduced him to Berkowitz and asked the stuntman what he wanted to drink.

  "Beer, if you have it," said Gaeta, still unsmiling.

  "Would Bass ale do?" Wilmot asked.

  Gaeta broke into a grin. "It'll do very well, thanks."

  Wilmot steered his two guests to the sitting room chairs. Once they were comfortably settled, he said to Gaeta, "I've asked you here because I want to assign Zeke to be your full-time publicity man."

  Berkowitz nodded knowingly. The stuntman looked surprised.

  By the time Wilmot carried the dinner tray to the table, though, the two men seemed to be getting along well enough.

  "So if Urbain or the IAA or whoever prevents me from going down to Titan, I'll take a spin through the rings," Gaeta was saying.

  Berkowitz twirled his fork in the air. "Through the rings? Wow. That'd be spectacular."

  "You think you could get me some coverage, huh?"

  "A brain-dead librarian could get you coverage for that. I mean, everybody's seen footage from the automated probes they've sent to Titan's surface. Fascinating stuff, yeah, but it's been done. Nobody's been to the rings."