INVESTIGATION
“I’ve got to what?” Grant blurted.
McClintock had welcomed Grant into his office and, instead of going back to his desk, sat Grant down at the little round table in the corner of the room and pulled up a chair beside him.
“You’ve got to find out who infected the Mendeleev site with those nanomachines,” McClintock said smoothly.
Grant studied the man’s amiably smiling face.
“I’ve got to find out?” Grant asked. “Why me? I’m no detective.”
His smile fixed in place, McClintock ticked off points on his fingers as he explained, “One: the nanomachines didn’t get there by themselves. Someone planted them at Mendeleev, whether by accident or design. Two: the only people who’ve been at the site are your people, engineers and technicians. Three: you know them better than Professor Uhlrich or I do; you work with them every day.”
McClintock leaned back in his chair and spread his arms as if he’d proven his case. “That makes you the logical person to find out who brought the nanos to Mendeleev.”
Grant started to snap off a reply, but hesitated, thinking, Whenever they have a dirty job they stick me with it. He looked around the room, at the softly glowing wall screens, all of them blank except for the one behind McClintock’s desk, which displayed a pastel painting of a leafy green glen half a million kilometers away. The desk itself was a standard-issue metal one but so new there wasn’t a scuff mark on it. Its top was clear, bare. No work being done there, Grant thought.
Focusing back on McClintock, Grant countered, “One: if the person who carried the nanomachines to Mendeleev did it unknowingly, he—”
“Or she,” McClintock interjected.
“Or she,” Grant conceded. “Whoever it was, he or she won’t be able to tell us anything if he or she didn’t know he or she did it.”
Before McClintock could reply, Grant went on, “And two: if the person did it deliberately he—or she—certainly isn’t going to admit it.”
“I suppose not,” McClintock agreed.
“So how in hell am I supposed to find out anything?”
His face growing serious, McClintock said, “I’m not a detective, either, Grant. But we’ve got to find out who’s responsible for your technician’s death, and you’re the man who knows your crew best. It’s up to you.”
“Why don’t you ask Selene to send some—”
“No!” McClintock snapped. “The professor has absolutely forbidden us to ask for help from Selene. This is our problem and we’ve got to solve it for ourselves.”
“I don’t understand why.”
“Because he doesn’t want Selene shutting down Farside, that’s why.”
Grant muttered, “Better to shut down this facility than to have more people killed.”
Pointing a finger in Grant’s face, McClintock said sternly, “This is your responsibility, Grant. The fate of this facility and everybody here depends on you.”
Terrific, Grant thought. Now they want me to be Sherlock Holmes.
Aloud, though, he said to McClintock. “I’ll see what I can do. But I’m not promising anything.”
McClintock beamed at him, pleased. “Just do your best, Grant. I’m sure you’ll be able to crack this problem.”
Grant got to his feet and McClintock did likewise.
Putting out his hand, McClintock said, “We’re depending on you, Grant. All of us.”
Grant took the proffered hand reluctantly. “I’ll try,” he said.
* * *
Where to start? Grant asked himself as he headed back to the teleoperations center. Most of the Farside staff were members of his crew, forty-eight engineers and technicians, plus another dozen and a half working on Cyclops. The rest were clerks, paper shufflers, maintenance personnel, and other workmen. There was Dr. Kapstein, Farside’s one-person medical staff. And Trudy Yost, the only astronomer on-site, except for Uhlrich himself. And McClintock.
Sitting at an unused console in the dimly lit chamber, Grant scrolled through the names. Not Uhlrich and not McClintock, he said to himself. I can scratch them off right away.
Whoever did it had to have been at Mendeleev at one time or another, Grant realized. How many of my people have even been out there?
But then he thought, Suppose somebody planted the nanos on one of the guys going out to Mendeleev? It could’ve been anybody on my crew!
It could’ve been me, he thought. No matter what Kris says, I might have planted the nanos on Win when I checked out his suit.
He decided to call Kris Cardenas.
* * *
Kristine Cardenas was in her quarters, her travelbag on the bed, packed and almost ready to be zipped up for the return flight to Selene. Carter McClintock had phoned and asked to see her before she left.
As soon as McClintock stepped into her room, he took one glance at the travelbag and said, “I’ve come to ask you to stay, Kris.”
“Stay? I can’t stay, Carter,” she said.
He tried to smile but it looked forced. “We have a crisis on our hands here. A real crisis. We need your help.”
She shook her head. “I can’t stay away from my lab indefinitely. I’ve got a big design conference with Anita Halleck’s people tomorrow.”
“It won’t be indefinitely,” he countered. “Probably just a few more days.”
Cardenas started zipping up her bag. “I’ve got to be back at Selene tomorrow morning. I’ll be available on the phone and by computer link. I can answer your questions from Selene just as well as I can from here.”
McClintock frowned slightly. “Look … Kris. It’s not me. It’s Professor Uhlrich. The poor man’s in a panic. He needs you to stay here and help us find out what’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on,” she said. “You’ve decontaminated that shelter, haven’t you? That’s the end of your problem.”
“But how did the nanos get there? Who planted them there? That’s our problem.”
“What do you expect me to do about it?”
Waving a hand in the air, McClintock replied, “I don’t know. But you’re the expert on nanotech and this is a nanotech problem.”
Hefting the bag, Cardenas said, “No, Carter. It’s a human problem. Either a fool or a madman planted disassemblers in that shelter. The nanomachines were merely his weapon of choice. It’s exactly the same as if he’d planted a land mine.”
“But—”
She brushed past him, heading for the door. “I’m going back to Selene, Carter. You can talk to me anytime you want to—from there.”