Gregory Benford - Jupiter Project

We followed the Moto family to their home and spoke for a long while. We were served green tea. We smiled, nodded. We went home.

I found the experience strangely satisfying. The Moto family maintained its serenity; it even buoyed up the friends who came to call. I promised myself that I would not let the Moto family slip out of contact; I could learn much from them.

I moped around the apartment for half an hour and then went to class. I was having trouble with calculus and needed a session with the teaching machines. Our machines are better than the run-of-the-mill ones used in classrooms Earthside—they’re linked to the Lab computer, which can do two dozen different jobs at once and still fool you into thinking it’s as smart as a human being, even though the computer is only using a fraction of its capacity.

If you can justify the expense, you can get a big slice of the computer’s capability assigned to you. Then “David”—that’s what the computer techs call it (or rather, him)—sounds like a genius. You can discuss quantum mechanics, economic theory, stellar exploration, or theology with David and he will give solid, well-researched answers as fast as you can read them. (I tried theology; he said God was one of man’s better ideas.) He’s a gift from heaven when you’re doing a term paper. On the other hand, David has a weak personality and never makes a joke. Machines do have their limitations. But one of these days some engineer will give David a sense of humor and overnight he’ll become a television personality. Until then, though, I find him a bit dull.

I spent two hours with David, wading knee-deep through calculus exercises. David pounds away at a point until you feel as though you’ve been sandbagged. Then, just when you’re sure you are a mental defective, you understand—usually because David has finally found the way to present an idea so that it fits your particular bias.

David isn’t just a storage bank for a lot of information. He is a psychologist, a judge, and a coach; just like a human teacher, only many times faster.

This time he gave me a real workout. I left the booth feeling groggy. Zak was outside, looking the other way down a corridor.

“Directing traffic?” I said.

“No, just wondering why Yuri beat it.”

“He was out here?”

“Until a second ago, yes. I was going to ask him something and he ducked away.”

“That was just when I came out?”

“I guess so. What’s up?”

“Let’s go have some coffee. I’ll bring you up to date.”

After I had told him Zak whistled and rocked back in his chair. “A clever boy, that Yuri. No mouth breather, he. Who would have suspected he was such a snake?”

“You. Me.”

“We were prejudiced from the start. The question of the hour is, now that you are in the soup, how do we get you out?”

“My father will talk to the Commander.”

“And our good Commander, with contradicting testimony and all the evidence on one side—”

“Will believe Yuri’s story.”

“True. The man has his limitations.”

“I’m going to forget the whole thing.” I shrugged. “Yuri has me boxed in.”

“The Bohles I know doesn’t give up.”

“The Bohles you know is no fool, either. Commander Aarons can’t do anything, officially, without evidence. His hands are tied. There’s no use in my whining to him about it.”

“A point, a definite point.”

Then I told Zak what Dad had said about Yuri’s father. I expected him to react immediately; instead, he sat and pondered, eyes narrowed, for a long moment.

“You realize the implications, of course?” he said.

“Such as—?”

“Yuri’s father heard a cutback is coming. He guessed—or learned—that only one or two of us kids would stay. Then he told Yuri—”

“—who put two and two together—”

“—and got the square root of sixteen, after double-checking it with the computer. He figured you were prime competition, Matt. So he set out to be conspicuous—good at chess, a winner in squash, a hard worker for Atmospheric Studies, helping with the Walker on Ganymede.”

“And he got me so frapping mad I took a risk on Ganymede. Then he took credit for it, and threw mud all over me in Commander Aarons’ eyes. Damn !”

“Neat. Very, very neat. The hell of it is, you’ve got no comeback.”

“I suppose not.” I sighed. “I’d rather not think about it anyway, not right now. This little scramble is pretty small stuff compared to Ishi.”

Zak’s face clouded over. “Yeah.” He hunched over the rec room table. Neither of us said anything. Zak spilled some of his coffee and instead of sponging it up he stared down at it, distracted. He poked a finger into the brown stain and began tracing a watery design on the smooth, shiny surface. I felt like hell.

“Look, I think I’ll go put in some time in Monitoring,” I said, getting up. “My watch comes up in an hour and I might as well try being early once, just as an experiment. Take—”

“Matt Bohles?” A secretary from down the hall stuck his head in the door.

“Yes?”

“There is a call for you. You can take it on the student recreation center telephone.”

“Oh, okay.” I hoisted aboard my notes, waved to Zak and jogged down the hall. The corridor curved up, giving the familiar illusion that I was running uphill. In a sense I was, because trotting in this direction I was moving counter to the Can’s rotation, which is harder than going the opposite way. For short distances the effect is unnoticeable; only when you’re going nearly halfway around the rim of the Can does it pay to stop and think about the fastest way to travel. But today I had other things to think about.

I found the rec center phone and picked it up.

“Matt?” my father’s voice said.

“What’s up? I was headed toward Monitoring—”

“Never mind that. I have been speaking to Commander Aarons. He wishes to talk to you. In his office.”

When I got there Jenny was seated quietly on a couch. That surprised me more than anything else; what could she be doing here?

Dad was sitting in a chair, holding a sheaf of papers. The Commander looked up when I came in, said hello and motioned me to a popout seat.

“Your father brought to my attention a somewhat different version of the events on Ganymede,” Commander Aarons said, leaning forward and resting his folded hands on his desk top. “I do not mind saying that I am in something of a quandary. I must take a judicial position, since there exists conflicting testimony. At the same time there is no way to determine the truth; there were no other witnesses.”

He stopped and grimaced. The movement tilted his moustache at an angle and gave him a red nose. “Therefore, young Mister Bohles, I shall drop the matter. No action will be taken. Both your and Yuri Sagdaeff’s stories are now known to me; I may or may not consider them in future evaluations of your performance.”

The Commander stopped and let out a breath. “And that is that.” He reached out and flipped off a switch set into the top of his desk. “That’s the official recording for ship’s log. As far as regulations go the matter is now dead.” He looked at me and smiled. “But that is not the reason I had your father call you.”

“Sir?”

“I was wondering if you would be interested in changing jobs. You would work with Miss Fleming, here.”

“Huh? Outside?”

“Operating a shuttle,” my father said, “and making satellite repairs. The job Ishi had.”

Now I understood why Jenny was here. “Who recommended me?”

The Commander tapped a fingernail on the display screen mounted flat into his desk top. I could see some typed entries in what looked like a personnel form. “Your record,” he said. “You know electronics. You have maneuvered one-man shuttlecraft into parking stations.”