SUMMONED
Grant had just placed his dinner tray on the cafeteria table and sat down between Harvey Henderson and Trudy Yost when the cafeteria’s overhead speakers blared, “GRANT SIMPSON, PLEASE COME TO MR. McCLINTOCK’S QUARTERS AT ONCE.”
Henderson grinned at him. “You’re being summoned to the principal’s office, buddy.”
Grant glanced at Trudy as he got up from the bench. She looked concerned. “There goes dinner,” he complained.
“I can reheat it for you,” Trudy said.
Grant realized that she meant she would take his dinner to her quarters. We have can dinner there. And then go to bed.
He made a smile for her. “I’d appreciate that, Trudy.”
But as he hurried out of the cafeteria he wondered if it was right to carry on his relationship with her. If I’m the reason why these accidents have happened, if I’m responsible … Yet he countered his own fears with the memory of making love with Trudy. I didn’t hurt her. My nanomachines didn’t have any effect on her. We had a great time together.
Conflicted, he made his way to McClintock’s quarters and rapped on his door.
McClintock slid it open and ushered him inside. Grant saw a long-legged black woman in bluish gray coveralls sitting on the armchair next to the sofa, eyeing him curiously.
“Grant, this is Dr. Latisha Luongo, head of the investigating team,” said McClintock. “Dr. Luongo, this is Grant Simpson, chief of our technical crew.”
Luongo got to her feet. She was taller than Grant by several centimeters. Her face was long and serious, but she made a polite smile and held out her hand to Grant.
“Dr. Simpson,” she murmured.
“Mr. Simpson,” McClintock corrected, before Grant could speak. He felt irked by it.
Luongo resumed her seat, and Grant sat on the recliner, facing her. McClintock went to the sofa, between them. Grant noticed that there were two glasses on the coffee table, but McClintock didn’t offer Grant anything to drink.
“Mr. McClintock tells me that you suspect nanomachines have been involved in both accidents,” Luongo said, with a slight but discernible stress on the Mister.
“Three accidents,” Grant said. “We had a superconductor coil fail when it lost its coolant due to a pinhole leak in the dewar. A leak caused by nanomachines.”
Luongo’s brows rose. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Dr. Cardenas has confirmed that the dewar failure and the failure of Winston’s suit were both caused by nanomachines,” said Grant.
Luongo glanced at McClintock.
“Dr. Cardenas is here,” he said, “if you’d like to talk with her.”
“Later,” said Luongo. Turning back to Grant, she asked, “How did the nanomachines get into these devices?”
“Now wait,” McClintock objected. “There’s no evidence that the lobber’s failure was caused by nanomachines.”
“There will be,” Grant said.
“The question remains,” Luongo insisted, “how did the nanomachines get there? Are they the same type as you have used to construct your telescope mirror?”
“No,” said Grant. “But—”
McClintock interrupted, “We really should have Dr. Cardenas in this discussion.”
Luongo nodded solemnly. “I suppose so. Can you call her, please?”
“Before you do,” Grant said, surprised at how strong and steady his voice was, “I have something to tell you. I have nanomachines in my body. Dr. Cardenas—”
“You what?” McClintock yowled.
Almost enjoying the man’s consternation, Grant told them, “Dr. Cardenas gave me a dose of therapeutic nanos several weeks ago. They’re helping me to work out on the surface without suffering a lot of radiation damage.”
“That’s illegal!” McClintock barked.
Luongo made a faint smile. “Not on the Moon, sir. Not in the nation of Selene.”
Before McClintock could think of anything to say, Grant went on, “Dr. Cardenas has assured me that the nanos in my body are not responsible for the accidents. She says it’s impossible.”
“But you come back here from Selene filled with nanobugs and we start having accidents,” McClintock said darkly.
“There is that,” Grant conceded.
Luongo turned to McClintock again. “Please call Dr. Cardenas for me. Now.”
McClintock called out, “Phone: get Dr. Cardenas.”
For a few tense moments the room was absolutely silent. Then Kris Cardenas’s youthful blond face appeared on the wall screen.
“Hello, Carter.”
“Could you come over to my quarters, Kris? Right away? The head of the accident investigating team wants to speak with you.”
Cardenas’s face tightened. “Yes, I imagine she does.”
“Could you—”
“I’ll be right there,” Cardenas said. Then she cut the phone link.
Luongo reached down to the capacious handbag that rested at her feet and pulled out a palm-sized computer.
“If you’ll excuse me for a few moments,” she murmured.
“Of course,” said McClintock.
Grant watched as she tapped on the computer’s minuscule keyboard with her long, graceful fingers.
* * *
Trudy finished her dinner, left the cafeteria, and headed to Professor Uhlrich’s quarters instead of her own.
The poor man must be feeling besieged, she thought. The facility’s locked down and even the work out at the telescope sites has been stopped.
But when Uhlrich admitted her to his room, the professor seemed to be in good spirits. He greeted Trudy with a pleasant smile and showed her to the sofa. As Trudy sat she saw that the display screen on the opposite wall was scrolling through messages almost faster than her eye could follow.
“Comments on our note to IAL,” he said happily. “Our little paper has attracted quite a bit of attention.”
“That’s good,” Trudy said, a trifle uncertainly, as she sat on the sofa.
Uhlrich sat beside her and she noticed that he had a tiny microphone wormed into his ear. He’s listening to the comments, she realized. He can’t see them, but he’s programmed his computer to make them audible for him.
“Have you drafted the full paper yet?” he asked eagerly. “About our spectroscopic results from Sirius C’s atmosphere?”
“I’m … working on it,” Trudy replied.
“Good. Good. We must get it to the journal as quickly as possible. They’ll send it out to be refereed, of course, but we can still put it out digitally and get comments from as wide an audience as possible.”
Nodding, Trudy said, “Um … we can work on it right now, Professor. If you feel up to it.”
“Of course!” Uhlrich beamed at her. “By all means!”
So Trudy called up her notes and data and the two of them plunged into writing a full-fledged research report about her work on the atmosphere of Sirius C. Within a few minutes Trudy was caught up in the professor’s excitement. It felt good to be working, to be dealing with data and rigorous logic, to forget the accidents and the investigation and personal relationships. Just the work, she thought. That’s what really counts. The work. The rest will be forgotten sooner or later, but the work will remain forever.