TO MENDELEEV CRATER
Grant was surprised to see Nate Oberman suiting up in the locker area next to Farside’s main airlock.
“What’re you doing?” he demanded. “Where’s Harvey?”
“Hung over,” Oberman said, smirking. “He and Josie had a big night, celebrating his return to … uh, active duty.”
Before Grant could respond, Oberman added, “Harvey asked me to fill in for him.”
How the hell did he finagle his way into this assignment? Grant wondered. And why? All the way out to Mendeleev and back with this clown, Grant fumed. It’d be easier to do the job alone.
But Oberman’s long-jawed face grew serious. “Hey, Grant, I know you don’t like me—”
“We’ve had our differences, that’s sure enough.”
“Yep.”
“Nate, I never tried to take your job away from you. When Uhlrich bounced you I was just as surprised as you were.”
“I know,” Oberman said. “I was pretty sore about it at the time, but I know you didn’t undercut me.”
Grant didn’t see any anger in Oberman’s eyes. But there was something, some hint of knowledge that Nate was not sharing with him.
“I’ve only got ’til the end of the month and then I’m out of here,” Nate said. “I figured I’d do Harvey a favor and finish on a good note.”
Grant rubbed his beard, thinking, It’d be better if we’re at least civil to each other on this trip. No sense getting him sore at me. If we start pounding on each other out there at Mendeleev it could be big trouble.
“All right,” he said, sitting on the bench beside Oberman. “You stay focused. That’d be good.”
Oberman stuck out his hand and Grant clasped it in his.
But he couldn’t help thinking that Oberman’s real motivation was to get a decent job appraisal to show to his next prospective employer. Then he remembered that Oberman claimed he already had a job lined up at Selene, courtesy of Anita Halleck, no less.
McClintock stepped into the locker area, smiling like an insurance salesman. Grant thought he looked completely out of place. This is where the working stiffs suit up, he said to himself. What’s this playboy doing here? The man was wearing a long-sleeved white pullover and sharply creased pearl gray slacks. The shirt looked like cashmere, for cripes’ sakes, Grant thought. The space suits hanging in their lockers had been white once, but now they were gray from hard use. No matter how hard you vacuumed them after a job outside, it was impossible to get rid of all the lunar dust that clung to the suits.
“Grant, could I speak with you a moment?” McClintock asked, pointedly polite. Noblesse oblige, Grant thought.
“Go right ahead,” said Grant, as he pulled his thick-soled boots from his locker.
McClintock’s smile dimmed. “In private, if you please.”
Grant glanced at Oberman, then got to his feet. He followed McClintock to the door of the locker area and out into the low-ceilinged corridor beyond.
Lowering his voice, McClintock said, “Dr. Cardenas recommends we decontaminate the shelter at Mendeleev. So Professor Uhlrich wants you to take a couple of high-intensity ultraviolet lamps out with you and kill any nanobugs in there.”
With a nod, Grant said, “Makes sense.”
“Good. I’ve already called the storeroom. Two lamps are on their way here.”
Glancing back into the locker area, Grant asked, “What about Oberman? This’ll tip him off that we’re worried about nanos.”
McClintock’s phony smile returned. “I already thought of that. Tell him you’re sterilizing the shelter, getting rid of any bacteria in the air, biofilms on the surfaces of the equipment, that sort of thing.”
Grant said, “Yeah, he might believe that.”
“No mention of nanomachines to him,” McClintock commanded.
“He’s not altogether stupid, you know.”
“No mention of nanomachines.”
McClintock turned and headed down the corridor, looking to Grant as if he were eager to get back to his office and away from the grimy workers’ area. Can’t say I blame him, Grant thought. This place smells of sweat and machine oil and lunar dust.
As he returned to his locker Grant saw that Oberman was industriously wiping the metal neck ring of his suit with a heavy cloth.
“What’re you doing?” Grant asked.
“Cleaning my suit,” said Oberman without looking up from his work. “I want to do this job perfectly, Grant. I want to show you I can do things right.”
Grant sat on the bench beside Oberman, impressed with the man’s eagerness.
“Great,” he said.
By the time Grant was about to lift the hard-shell torso of his space suit over his head, two clerks from the storeroom arrived, pushing a cart that carried a pair of ultraviolet lamps. Grant signed for them and they left the cart and departed.
“What’s that for?” Oberman asked. He was almost fully suited up, only his gloves and helmet remained to be put on.
“Routine health procedure,” Grant lied. “We’re going to disinfect the shelter while we’re out at Mendeleev. UV kills bugs in the air, biofilms, stuff like that.”
“Huh,” said Oberman.
Grant let it go at that and picked up his suit’s torso.
Oberman eyed him intently as Grant lifted the hard shell over his head and wormed his arms through the fabric sleeves. When his head popped through the neck ring, he saw that Oberman was grinning at him.
“What’s funny?”
“Your beard. I was wondering how you’d keep it inside the collar.”
Grant said, “I keep it trimmed short enough so it’s not a problem.”
“So I see,” said Oberman, still grinning. “So I see.”
They checked each other’s suit connections and seals, Grant hoping that Oberman was as conscientious and thorough as he should be. My life is in his hands, he thought.
Satisfied that the suits were in working order, Grant flicked the comm frequency and announced, “We’re ready to go outside.”
“You’re cleared for outside,” came the voice of the excursion controller.
Grant recognized the voice. “Harvey? Is that you?”
“Yup.”
“I thought you were too hung over to work.”
A moment’s hesitation, then Henderson answered, “I don’t feel all that great, to tell you the truth. And Nate offered to fill in for me, so we switched assignments.”
“Without asking me.” Grant felt nettled.
“Hope you don’t mind, boss.”
Harvey only called Grant “boss” when he wanted to divert Grant’s displeasure.
Grant glanced at Oberman. He could see enough through Nate’s bubble helmet to recognize that the technician looked worried, apprehensive. What the hell, he thought. Nate wants to make a good impression on me, and Harvey’s helping him along.
“Okay,” he said. “We’re entering the airlock.”
“Copy entering airlock.”
To Oberman, Grant said, “You pick up one of the UV lamps and I’ll pick up the other. No sense trying to push that dumb cart across the regolith to the hopper.”