MCCLINTOCK’S OFFICE
“How long does it take you to shower?” McClintock demanded as Grant stepped into his office.
Uhlrich had given McClintock the office next to his own. Or, Grant wondered, did McClintock arrange things this way for himself? Grant still didn’t understand what McClintock was doing at Farside, or why Uhlrich tolerated the man. He wasn’t an astronomer, wasn’t a scientist or engineer of any stripe. All he seemed to be doing was getting in the way of the real work, adding another layer of bullshit to Uhlrich’s little empire.
McClintock sat behind his standard-issue metal desk without asking Grant to take one of the curved plastic chairs in front of it.
Staying on his feet, Grant said, “I stopped off at the maintenance center to see what they’d found out about the failed dewar.”
“And?”
“Pinhole leak. The nitrogen drained out and the coil went normal.”
“Normal?”
“Lost its superconductivity. We were lucky it didn’t explode.”
McClintock leaned back in his swivel chair and fell silent. Grant thought he was a handsome guy, video-star looks, but there wasn’t much going on inside his head.
“How could the dingus get a pinhole leak?” he asked at last.
Grant shrugged. “Beats me.”
“Maybe you should check all the other dewars, make certain they haven’t developed any leaks.”
Grant’s estimation of the man went up a notch. “Good idea,” he said. “I’ll get right on it.”
“Do that,” said McClintock.
Grant turned and left the office, not bothering to tell McClintock that he already had four technicians checking out all the other dewars on the tractors and hoppers.
* * *
Two weeks later, satisfied that the robots were working as specified at Mendeleev, under the remote direction of Farside’s controllers, and the transport vehicles were all in operable condition, Grant scheduled himself for a ride back to Selene on the next resupply flight.
The cause of the dewar’s leak still bothered him; Grant did not like unsolved mysteries, especially when they involved equipment that human lives depended upon. But the press of everyday business drove the dewar mystery to the back of his mind.
Physically, he felt better than he had in months. Dr. Kapstein confirmed that his liver function seemed to be improving, which puzzled her. Grant didn’t tell her about the nanomachines he’d ingested.
“I’m tapering off on the steroids,” he lied. It actually wasn’t that much of a lie; he intended to stop using the steroids altogether if Cardenas would give him nanos that would take their place.
He had dinner with Trudy Yost a few times. She was pleasant, intelligent, good company. Much more than cute, he thought. But he told himself there was no sense getting involved emotionally with someone you work with. Farside’s way too small for that.
Still, he felt strangely disappointed whenever Trudy mentioned Carter McClintock’s name, which she did often.
“He’s really handsome, don’t you think?” she asked.
And I’m not, Grant said to himself.
Then Dr. Cardenas called from Selene to tell him that her nanomachines had finished building the sample mirror.
“You can come over and take a look any time,” she said, a bright smile on her youthful face.
“I’m already scheduled for tomorrow’s lobber,” he said.
“Fine,” said Cardenas.
“I’ll have to bring the measuring equipment,” Grant said, “to see how close to our specs your bugs have come.”
“Sure,” said Cardenas. “I’m anxious to see how well they did, too.”
“By the way,” Grant added, “my latest physical was pretty good.”
Cardenas’s expression sobered. “We’ll talk about that when you get here.”