MCCLINTOCK’S QUARTERS
“Make yourself comfortable, Dr. Cardenas,” said McClintock as he ushered her into his room. “Can I offer you some wine?”
Cardenas stood by the door and surveyed the room in a single swift glance.
“No thanks,” she said. “I’m here to work. I thought we were going to the lab where the damaged space suit was examined.”
Smoothly, McClintock replied, “Professor Uhlrich thought it would be best if you weren’t seen examining the space suit by anyone else. We have some very bright people here; if they see the nanotech expert examining the suit they might realize that we have a potential problem on our hands.”
“Nanofear,” Cardenas said.
“No sense starting rumors,” said McClintock. “This is a very small, tightly knit little community, you know.”
“I understand.”
Gesturing to the sofa, he said, “I can show you all the test results on the wall screen. Any information that you need.”
“And Professor Uhlrich?”
“He’ll meet us here shortly.”
Cardenas seemed to think it over for a moment, then she said, “All right, let’s look at the data.”
Half an hour later she was peering at a photomicrograph of the pinhole in the metal collar of Winston’s space suit.
“What do you think?” McClintock asked.
Her face set in a tight frown, Cardenas said, “Can you pull up an image of the pinhole in the superconductor’s dewar?”
McClintock ordered the computer to find the image.
Cardenas nodded, then said, “Put them side by side on the screen, please.”
She stared at the two images for a long, hard minute. McClintock noticed that the data bar running along the bottom of the screen showed both holes were exactly the same diameter.
“Identical,” Cardenas murmured at last.
“Which means?”
She turned to McClintock, her expression bleak. “Which means that both holes were drilled by nanomachines. The same batch of nanomachines.”
“How can you tell?”
“Characteristic microgrooves. Like the rifling of a bullet.” She sat in tense silence for a moment, then added, “You’re infected.”
“I am?” McClintock yelped.
Shaking her head impatiently, Cardenas said, “Not you personally. Your base is. This facility is. Or at least that spot out there where the telescope is sitting.”
“Mendeleev crater.”
“You’d better isolate the site and send a team of robots in to sweep the facility with high-intensity ultraviolet light.”
“That will kill the nanomachines?” he asked.
“It should.”
Feeling somewhat relieved, McClintock said, “I’ll tell Uhlrich. We’ll get started on this right away.”
“Where is Professor Uhlrich?” Cardenas asked. “I thought he was going to meet us here.”
* * *
Professor Uhlrich was still in his office, caught squarely between Trudy Yost and Grant Simpson, who sat on opposite sides of his conference table, obviously glaring at each other.
“I still don’t see why I can’t go out to Mendeleev,” she was insisting. “It doesn’t make any sense to try to do the installation remotely.”
Before the professor could reply, Simpson said, “There’s no need for you to go. I’ll do it, with you directing me from here.”
“That’s ridiculous!” she snapped.
“No it’s not!”
Uhlrich felt torn. On the one hand, he agreed with Simpson that allowing Dr. Yost to go to Mendeleev might be dangerous. One man’s already been killed there; why risk the life of the only astronomer on my staff? On the other hand, it is perfectly true that Dr. Yost is the only one really capable of installing the spectrometer, and I need to get spectra from Sirius C as quickly as possible.
His phone buzzed and announced that Carter McClintock was calling. He’s with Dr. Cardenas, Uhlrich knew.
Instead of putting the call on one of the wall screens, Uhlrich picked up the handset. Yost and Simpson fell silent, but Uhlrich could feel the heat of their anger toward each other.
“Yes,” he said quietly into the phone.
“Professor, I’m in my quarters with Dr. Cardenas. We were expecting you to join us.”
“In a few minutes,” said Uhlrich. “I’m tied up with something at the moment.”
“Oh.”
Lowering his voice to a whisper, Uhlrich asked, “What has she found?”
A heartbeat’s hesitation. Then McClintock said, “It’s nanomachines. The Mendeleev site is infested with them, somehow.”
The professor squeezed his sightless eyes shut. “Mendeleev, you say? Not Farside?”
“Apparently not.”
Letting out his breath in a long, weary sigh, Uhlrich said, “Very well. I will join you in a few minutes.”
He hung up the phone and sat there in silence, wondering what he should do, how he should proceed.
Simpson said impatiently, “Well, Professor? Do you agree that Dr. Yost can direct the job from here? There’s no need for her—”
“Yes, yes, I agree.”
Trudy Yost immediately began to complain. “Now wait a minute, this is my responsibility and I—”
“Dr. Yost,” said Uhlrich, with a firmness he did not really feel, “you will remain here at Farside and direct Mr. Simpson, who will install the spectrometer—under your guidance.”
“That … that’s … it’s wrong!” Yost sputtered. “It’s stupid!”
“That is my decision and you will abide by it.”
From the other side of the table, Simpson said, “Trudy, it’s for your own good. Believe me. I’ll do the job right. You tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
Uhlrich could sense the young woman sitting there, awash in anger and even shame. She thinks I don’t trust her to install the spectrometer. She thinks I’m belittling her. So be it. I can’t tell her that we have a nanomachine problem. That would start a panic here that could destroy everything I’m trying to accomplish.
Simpson can handle the job. He’s quite capable. With a pang of alarm, Uhlrich asked himself, What if the nanomachines attack him? What if he’s killed out there? It will mean the Mendeleev site is useless, I’ll be unable to get spectral data on Sirius C.
Then a new thought struck him: What if the nanomachines destroy the spectrometer? That would be a disaster! An utter disaster!