David Brin - The Heart of the Comet

Jeffers nodded.

—I wish I knew how Quiverian did it.—

They fell silent as the caravan drew past them.

On Virginia’s other side, Saul held the tactile pads of her mech, and occasionally squeezed. She felt it deep underground, lying on her web-couch.

A trio of suited shapes detached themselves from the migration and skim-floated upslope toward Carl. The one in the lead wore a tabard showing the gold splash of the Arc of the Living Sun. Joao Quiverian spoke on the preagreed channel and code.

—We will expect to continue participating in the vegetable hydro domes, and take our per capita share of power from the fusion pile.—

Carl shrugged. —If you work on the Nudge motors, as you’ve promised, we have no reason to deny you your rights. Go ahead and live at the south pole, if being near the rest of us makes you feel unclean.—

Obviously Carl felt more relieved to have Quiverian’s fanatics out of his hair than anything else.

—Unclean and dangerous.—Quiverian nodded as if he had completely missed Carl’s sarcasm. —We shall be better able to work on the Nudge Launchers, since they are to be situated at the south pole, anyway. All that is required is that we are given materials and supplies, and left alone. —

—My crews remain in charge of the launchers themselves,—Jeffers insisted. Quiverian merely shrugged.

—Just do not come into our homes.—

Virginia noted the mood of all the participants. None of them think any of it really matters, or there’d be more yelling going on.

Jeffers shrugged. —We’re all welcome to outfit our own tombs however we want.—The others all seemed to agree with his somber assessment.

Except for Saul, who suddenly barked in laughter. They all turned to look at him.

—Excuse me. Don’t mind me,—he said, waving with one hand. But everyone could see, through his faceplate, that he was fighting down a fit of hilarity.

Carl frowned until Saul’s expression had settled down to a mere controlled smirk. Then he turned back to Quiverian. —Go on, then. Go south in peace.—

The three Artists swiveled and departed. In turn, Carl and Jeffers strode off toward the nearby tunnel lock.

Saul brought the mech’s hand to his faceplate, pantomiming a kiss. —I must go too, darling. Don’t wait up for me.—

“But, but… I thought you’d come down now. We could spend some time together. Saul, you’ve been away for nearly a week.”

—Oh, now, Virginia. We talk several times a day.—

“Through one of my mechs!” A robot foot kicked up dark dust near his leg. “It’s not the same!”

He nodded, grinning infuriatingly.

—I know. I miss you too. Terribly. It’s just…—

He shook his head.

—It’s just that I have to verify something. It’s too damn important to wait. And I can’t tell anybody yet… not even you… not until I know for sure if…—

His voice trailed off as he backed away toward the airlock. Virginia knew the look on his face, that faraway, scientific look. He was already somewhere else.

“Until you know what?” she asked. “What is all this, Saul?”

He shrugged.

—Until I know for sure if I’m crazy… or if I’m…—

The last word was a mumble, something in one of Saul’s foreign languages.

“What?”

But he only blew her a kiss then, and spun about to lope toward the tunnel entrance.

The part of her that was above the surface, linked to a machine of metal and ceramic, watched him until the doors closed, leaving her locked out in the chilly night.

Deep under the ice, the rest of her was no less in darkness.

He found Lieutenant Commander Osborn up at Greenhouse 3. Carl stood before a forty-meter dome window, wearing stained, patched spacesuit without tabard. The spacer held a battered helmet in the crook of his arm and looked out onto the garbage-strewn plain of dirty ice.

What a mess, Saul thought, looking over the tattered warehouse tents, the broken mooring mast where that unlucky ship Edmund Halley had once been tethered. At last Saul realized what was bothering him most. It was too dim here in the greenhouse.

He looked up at the spider-thin towers holding one of the huge concentrator mirrors-salvaged from the space tug Delsemme’s great solar sail. Two guy wires had snapped. A whole quadrant of the big collector drooped.

Out on the surface, a single figure picked desultorily through the debris, presumably looking for material from which to make repairs. He seemed not to be in any hurry.

Within, things weren’t much better. The four men and three women on this shift tended the slowly moving belts of drip-irrigated sweet potatoes, clearing debris from the plastic tracks and cleaning the nutrient-spray jets. It was vital duty, but they moved without apparent enthusiasm.

Three of the newly reprogrammed mechs followed the workers around, but nobody seemed even interested in training them in the new hydroponics procedures. The belts ground on; plants drooped in the dim illumination.

Saul was shaken when he recognized the sigil on the workers’ clothes—the staircase and star that stood for Plateau Three.

Spacers!. They’re the last people I’d expect to give up.

Saul saw the expression on Carl Osborn’s face as the man gazedout over the icefield. Isuppose you can’t blame him if he’s lost hope, too, Saul thought. He’s obstinate, and made of strong stuff. But everyone has a limit.

He’s run the same simulations I have. He knows what’ll happen if things go on this way.

Even if everyone pitched in and cooperated, with all the mechs in the world, there would still be nowhere near enough manpower to set up the Nudge Launchers properly, let alone do all the work needed to keep things from going to hell. I’m surprised he even goes through the motions, believing that.

Saul smiled. He planned on changing Carl’s mind about the future.

This time, I swear, we won’t misunderstand each other . Saul hoped that his good news would make Carl forgive even Virginia’s poor choice in men.

I never thought of it before, but with that touch of gray at the sides, and that cool gaze, he sort of resembles Simon Percell!

“Yes?” Carl said as he approached. “You told me you were going to do a bioinventory of the colony. You’ve got a report already?”

“That’s right.” Saul nodded. “But I don’t think you’re going to be very ready to believe it.”

Carl lifted his shoulders. “Bad news doesn’t frighten me anymore.”

Saul couldn’t help letting out a short, sharp laugh. The sound was abrupt, unexpected in this solemn place. Carl’s eyes narrowed.

“You misunderstand me.” Saul grinned. “Either I have gone mad—in which case the news is neutral to good from your point of view—or I have made a discovery which bodes very well, indeed.”

Carl stood quite still. His body remained in a spacer’s crouch, arms forward, knees bent. Only a twitch of his cheek betrayed a hint of feeling, but it was enough for Saul.

Is hope, then, so very painful? He may hate me, but he knows I have pulled rabbits out of hats before.

Saul reminded himself not to be too quick to judge. To a man who has seen the face of Death, and learned resignation, hope is often the most frightening thing of all.

“Explain, please,” the younger man said softly.

“Come with me to my lab,” Saul told him “Even with graphic displays, I’m not sure I can make it clear. But I have to share this. It may be the Infinite’s ultimate joke on a man who had the unrepentant gall to try to play God.”