MARE MOSCOVIENSE
McClintock was on his knees—an unusual position for him—rummaging through his kitchen’s mini-sized refrigerator/freezer and the cabinets stocked with packaged foods. No liquor, he saw. Not even wine.
He’d been at Farside for nearly three weeks and he hadn’t seen a drop of liquor in all that time. Not even beer.
Straightening up, he wondered if the lack of alcohol was Uhlrich’s policy. Has the man banned alcoholic drinks from Farside? If so, McClintock thought, I’ll have to find some way around it. After all, rank hath its privileges.
Frowning unhappily, he pulled a prepackaged meal out of the low cabinet and popped it into the microwave oven. Then he returned to his desk and resumed scrolling through the Farside Observatory’s personnel files. He paid particular attention to the women: a few of them looked attractive.
“They’ll look absolutely gorgeous after a couple more weeks,” he muttered.
The microwave pinged and he took his hot meal to the room’s only table, sat down, and began to eat absently once he’d told the computer to project the personnel files onto the wall screen.
Engineers, technicians, but precious few astronomers, he saw. Well, Uhlrich’s an astronomer, and he really doesn’t need any here until the telescopes are finished.
There’s the kid I rode in the lobber with, he remembered. He told the computer to display Trudy Yost’s file. She’s going to be Uhlrich’s assistant. Not bad-looking, he thought. But you have to be careful with these young ones; they’re quick to holler about sexual harassment.
Then there’s this Grant Simpson fellow. Very earnest; apparently capable. Uhlrich’s put a lot of responsibility on his shoulders.
McClintock remembered that Simpson had left a message for him. He’s at Selene and already working with Dr. Cardenas, the nanotechnology expert. Good. Uhlrich’s wary of nanotech, McClintock understood, but he’s desperate enough to move in that direction—almost.
Your job, Carter my lad, is to soothe Uhlrich’s fears and get those telescope mirrors built with nanomachines. Then you can go back to Pennsylvania with a triumph in your hand. Then you can—
The phone sang out, “Grant Simpson calling.”
McClintock put down the forkful of in-vitro chicken he was holding. For a moment he debated refusing the call. Is Simpson going to make a pest of himself, calling at all hours of the night or day? Finally, with a resigned sigh, he ordered, “On screen, please.”
Simpson’s dark-bearded face appeared on the wall screen, his eyes sorrowful.
“Mr. McClintock,” said Grant.
“How’s everything in Selene?” McClintock asked. “How’s Dr. Cardenas?”
“She’s already working to get a complete analysis of the borosilicate glass. Should have it done by tomorrow.”
“Fine.” McClintock realized that was the first step. “What then?”
“That’s why I called. We’ll have to get the resources together to produce the raw material she’ll need to build a mirror.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem, should it?”
“I’ll work with Selene’s mining and manufacturing department,” Grant said. “But they’ll want some kind of official requisition from Professor Uhlrich.”
McClintock nodded. “They’ll get it. I’ll see to that.”
“The big problem is to get a frame for the mirror over here, so the nanobugs have a structure to work with.”
McClintock frowned slightly. “You mean like the frame of the mirror that cracked?”
“Or its duplicate.”
“Do we have a duplicate?”
“Only the one being used in the mirror lab right now, on the turntable.”
“Ah, where the second mirror’s being polished.”
“Right.”
McClintock thought for a moment. One frame sitting out in the open with the ruined mirror, the other on the turntable where the polishing job is going on.
“What do you recommend?” he asked.
“We could build a new frame here in Selene, if Uhlrich will okay the cost.”
“And the alternative?”
Grant said without hesitation, “Take the frame from the cracked mirror. It’s useless anyway; take it apart and ship the segments here to Selene. We could remelt the broken mirror and use it as raw material for a new one, if the nanos don’t work for us.”
McClintock rubbed his jaw for a moment. Decisions are what you’re here for, Carter my lad, he said to himself.
“All right. We’ll break up the cracked mirror, take apart its frame, and ship the pieces to you.” Before Grant could reply, McClintock added, “Don’t worry about Uhlrich. I’ll get his approval. No problem.”