Gregory Benford: Jupiter Project

In the corridor I saw two women techs pulling some wiring slabs out of a circuitry conduit. Spot-checking a fault, probably. One of them was bent over and, well, let’s say my young man’s fancy was turned to matters other than electronics. She glanced up and saw me looking. And smiled. I could feel my face reddening. Well, they can’t blame you for looking.

I slid aside the door and stepped into the small alcove that led to Monitoring. For some reason my father was standing there, waiting.

“Ah, Matt. Mr. Tsulamba is pulling extra duty today, so you’ll go on an hour late.” He said this in a straight, informal way, but there was a note of strain in his voice.

“Oh, okay,” I said. “I’ll have lunch first.”

“Got a minute?” he said quickly. He waved toward his office. I nodded and followed him into the cramped little room. Somehow Dad always looks bigger in his office, even though he’s only a few centimeters taller than me. The medical people say I’ll probably dwarf him in a few more years, since the low-g environment will make all us kids taller. But Dad’s over two meters now, without an ounce of fat, and he looks like he wrestles bears for a living. He sat down and put his feet up on his desk—no small trick, in that room—and I folded a straight seat out from the wall to perch on.

“I wanted to talk before you go rushing off to Ganymede. You leave in a day or two, isn’t that right?” He frowned, as though thinking to himself.

“Yes, but I’ll only be gone a week.”

“There are a few things you ought to know before then, and I think you’d better hear them without your mother around.” He gave me a wry grin. “Sometimes she takes the edge off what I want to say.”

“Uh huh.”

He tugged at his long sideburns. “I’ve been hearing some pretty high quality scuttlebutt. Talk about cutting corners on Lab operations, minimizing expenses—but serious, this time, dead serious. I think there’s something behind it. Things are brewing back Earthside. I suspect a few insiders guessed early, several months back. That would explain some of the maneuvering going on in the higher echelons of the Lab.” He stared off into space. “In particular, the adroit sidestepping by a certain figure in Bio-Tech…”

“You’re leaving me behind. Dad. What’s happening?”

“Sorry. Let’s see—in, ummm, about six months you’ll turn eighteen. I suppose you have considered what that means?”

“Sure. I’ll be voting age. Only there’s nobody to vote for, out here.”

He smiled wryly and then frowned. “There’s more than that, I’m afraid. Below eighteen, a boy dips into the knowledge and history the human race has accumulated, even though mankind’s history is mostly a series of regrettable errors. After eighteen, you’ve earned the right to make your own mistakes.”

“Fine. I’m ready.”

“Well…” Dad looked uncomfortable. “I have been wondering if you might make your first big mistake if you elect to remain here at the Laboratory.”

“Huh? You don’t mean I should go back? ”

“A solid grounding at Caltech will stand you better in the long run than what you can pick up casually here.”

“I don’t want that. For Chrissake—”

“Calm down. Sit.” I noticed that I had gotten to my feet without being aware of it. I sat.

“I am only making a few observations,” Dad said mildly. “What you do is your business—or will be, six months from now. You are officially a minor until age eighteen. That means you are a member of our family and a student. After that, where you live and what you do is strictly between you and the Laboratory administration.”

“Yes.” I said. I value my independence as highly as anybody, but it sounded as though Dad was practically throwing me out.

“But you’ll always be my son.” He smiled. “You know you’re welcome in our home. I’m just telling you, now, that it’s time to start thinking about the future.

“I have thought about it. I’m going to stay here,” I said, setting my shoulders.

“Now, don’t go all stiff-necked on me.” He grimaced and scratched his bald spot. “Have you figured out which job slot you’re going to apply for?”

“Oh, well, probably for watch officer in Monitoring.”

Dad smiled faintly. “I am sure your mother would be happy to know you freely elect to continue working in dear-old-Dad’s section. What do you really want to do?”

“Uh, something outside, probably. Low-g work.”

“Not a bad choice. Just let me give you a little advice. Whatever you want, use the remaining six months to improve your qualifications for the job. I don’t believe staying on at the Laboratory is going to be a simple matter for you kids.”

“Why?”

“The Project can’t support a Laboratory staff that continues to grow. The Earthside administrators agreed to send complete families out here only because they are socially more stable than groups of singles. There were a lot of other arguments—and good ones—against shipping an eight-year-old kid like you off to Jupiter.”

“I pulled my weight!” I said indignantly.

“I agree. But some children have to be sent back when they come of age, or the Can will pop its seams in a few more years. And remember, appropriations for space research have leveled off. Commander Aarons is looking for ways to trim our costs.”

“ Some body will get to stay.”

“Certainly. I am merely pointing out that it might not be you.”

That worried me. Dad always says that worry is just wasted energy. It wasn’t like him to cry wolf.

I glanced at him. He was gazing distantly at a big display screen on the office wall. It showed the placement of all tugs, shuttles and general traffic around the Lab, color-coded in orange and blue according to priority.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“I guess you’re trying to tell me it’s not obvious that I’m supervaluable to the Lab.”

“Something like that.”

“There are a lot of smart kids about my age. I guess I’d better shift into high gear,” I said slowly.

Dad sat upright and looked at me steadily. “The competition is not going to be easy, and you’re all trying for the same brass ring,?” he said seriously.

“Great. I’ll give Commander Aarons a demonstration of what I can do,” I said grimly. “But what were those rumors you mentioned?”

“Forget them for now. Maybe I can tell you more later. Right now you’d better grab lunch.”

“Okay,” I said reluctantly.

Dad stood up and handed me a thick pamphlet. “When you have the time, read this.”

I looked at the cover. It showed two guys talking earnestly under a tan palm tree. It was a catalog for Caltech.

And that unnerved me more than anything he’d said.

The foldout tables in the rec room were mostly filled, but I saw Jenny Fleming and Zak Palonski at a large table in the corner.

“Can I join the great debate?” I asked Jenny. She smiled and moved over to give me room, straightening the collar on her orange blouse and fiddling with her braids. Yes, braids—pretty unfashionable, back Earthside. Makes her look younger than she is, when everybody knows a mature, mysterious look goes over better Earthside this season. But braids also keep your hair from straying inside a spacesuit helmet.

“My, you do look a little peaked, Matt.” Zak said. “I trust you trounced Yuri?” Zak has unruly black hair and is a touch fat. He was rapidly finishing off a plate of goulash.

“‘The vanquished have no tongues,’ my son,” I said, quoting a line of his own poetry at him.

“Then I must play Yuri for the championship?” I hadn’t noticed Ishi Moto was in the cafeteria line behind me; he had come over to the table just in time to hear the news.