Boundary 2: Threshold (3 page)

Maddie sat up. "You win, Joe. How'd you hear this before I did?"

"Because I got it from Helen just a little bit before you came in, who got it in a private message from A.J., who I guess was at the U.N. for some reason."

She laughed. "Four degrees of separation? All right, tell me, who is it? Pelletier? Markovny? Shah?"

"Nope. Nope. Nope."

Madeline raised an eyebrow. Those had been the three leading contenders. The remainder was a morass of a dozen names, none of them thought to be likely choices. "Okay, give."

"A very good friend of ours."

She felt the grin start automatically. "Not—"

"Dr. Nicholas F. Glendale, yes—and from what A.J. said, Nick was as floored as the rest of us. He was sure he was way back in the pack of also-rans. And they'll be sending him out here as soon as
Nike
can restock. He'll be here in, say, four months—and A.J. probably will be, too." Joe looked momentarily depressed. "Though it's anyone's guess as to how much longer we can stay here after that."

Maddie knew exactly how difficult things were going to get for Ares. A year, two years, but if a solution wasn't found . . . Even if one
was
found, it would likely take time to implement. They needed something that would give Ares more breathing space right now. Even just one more load, even
half
a load on
Nike
or one of the other similar vessels being constructed, and Ares could make three or four years—enough to probably get past the pinch. But half a load was over seven hundred tons, far beyond Ares' means. . . . 

Suddenly she was on her feet, bouncing across the room to grab her uniform and pull it on.

"Where are you going, Maddie?"

Madeline smiled, all her momentary uncertainty gone. Hughes' overly genial communication had sent a message as clear as if he'd recorded it straight out:
do whatever you have to
.

"Not far at all. Just got to send a few messages. But I have to look my best for the job interview."

"She can't do that!"

Director Hughes had to restrain a rather unprofessional grin. Truth be told, he had been anticipating this moment ever since the president, through Jensen, had revealed their plan to perform a genteel railroading, followed by a private tar-and-feathering, of his best and favorite agent.

"I'm afraid that's not true, Mr. Jensen. She's a free woman in a free country. There's nothing in her contract that requires that she accept a promotion to assistant director of the HIA. True, it's a hell of a career move, but if she wants to stay on that godforsaken rockball as a glorified security guard, there's nothing I can do to stop her." He was very deliberately exaggerating his sympathetic tones. Jensen was the National Security Advisor he had come to detest more than any other who'd held that post in twenty years.

George P.D. Jensen's long, narrow features were twisted with sour anger. His eyes narrowed. "Don't you get cute with me, Hughes! She knows way too much—"

"It doesn't work that way, Mr. Jensen, and you know it perfectly well. Americans don't give up their rights when they go to work on behalf of national security. They do accept certain practical limitations, but they are neither slaves nor indentured servants. Intelligence agents can quit or retire anytime. They just have to keep the secrets they've learned and return any government property they have. Which Madeline Fathom did. I have her letter of resignation, her Official Secrets certification, and all her equipment accounted for. She's now a private citizen and completely within her rights to take a job with anyone she likes."

"But for a foreign power—"

"The U.N. is not exactly a foreign power, in the normal sense of that term. Lots of Americans have worked for U.N. agencies over the decades. Besides, Nicholas Glendale is an American citizen. And he's the one who offered her the job."

Jensen practically snarled. "A
security
job—on Mars! Where she'll be on the inside of the U.N. installation and I'll bet will be doing her best to stonewall Keld—ah, our new agent."

"Keldering, eh? A better choice than I might have expected, even if he is a major-league political ass-kisser. Madeline might actually have to think around him once in a while. But that's just as well. I wouldn't want her getting too bored out there."

For a moment, as the implications sank in, Jensen just gaped at Hughes, open-mouthed. "You . . . you
told
her to do this!"

Hughes' expression became very lugubrious. "Mr. Jensen, how could you suggest such a thing? I've sent her just one message since that decision was made, and you were sitting right there with me when I sent it. In the most enthusiastic terms I could think of. Exactly, I will note, as you instructed me to."

He managed to avoid the temptation to say anything further. Easily, even. Hughes was a veteran of decades of Washington's infighting and turf wars—a veritable Achilles, one might say—and he was far too smart to say openly what he felt. Thought they could jerk him and his top agents around, did they? Damn fools. In their eagerness to get rid of Fathom, all they'd done was leave her right where they didn't want her, on Mars—and now with absolutely no control over her at all. For anyone who knew Madeline, that outcome had been a foregone conclusion.

Still, it was hard not to let any traces of his gloating show openly. He turned his chair so he faced away from the National Security Advisor, as if admiring the view of the capital through his window. It was a fairly spectacular view, actually.

Satya Gupta paused by the doors a moment, gathering his thoughts. A.J. Baker's hasty and intense conversation had indeed helped, but there was still resistance to be dealt with. He hoped that the new factors, however, would be enough to sway opinion in his favor. Then he nodded to the guards outside and strode in.

The president of India, Goutam Gaurav, rose respectfully, as did the other men and women of the Space Development Committee. "Thank you for coming, Dr. Gupta."

"The pleasure is entirely mine," Gupta said, aware of the atmosphere in the room. They were very doubtful. Yes, he had supporters, but most were afraid of the imponderables of perception as well as the practical difficulties of the project he proposed. "It has been some time since I initially made my proposal. I trust you have had the opportunity to consider it?"

"We have," the president answered. "And it is a . . . very interesting idea, Dr. Gupta. Speaking for myself, I would be inclined to follow your advice. But as you are aware, I am but one member of the committee. Many other members have questions and objections."

He nodded slowly, taking in the entire room. The president was being a bit evasive. True, looked at from one angle, Goutam Gaurav was just one member of a committee. Since the very same person was the head of the state of India, if not the head of its government, however, the difference was obvious. But he did not say anything aloud. The president was simply using the evasion to defer making a decision. Gupta had not expected anything different.

"Indeed, indeed it must seem risky, Mr. President." He let his sonorous voice roll about the room. He was aware—none better—that his voice was in some ways his most potent weapon of debate; here he must employ it to the full.

"With India being only newly come to space capability, in comparison with the United States, Russia, and even China and Europe, I can understand that it must sound strange for me to urge you to
not
develop a NERVA-style spacecraft such as
Nike
, especially when you have been given an engine and reactor capable of driving just such a vehicle. Yet I tell you that this is an opportunity—a
great
opportunity—which I can see propelling India to the very forefront of space commerce."

"That is what you said in your original proposal," Madhuri Ganeshan pointed out. The speaker for the Lok Sabha, the House of the People in the Indian parliament, was an intensely political, though scrupulously honest, member of the committee. She would be most concerned about the potential for political gain or loss from decisions made here. "We have seen the proposal. And make no mistake, sir, we do appreciate what you have done for us—advocating our side in the debates on the Mars Treaty, and in other ways showing you have not forgotten your heritage. We have read your proposal very carefully. You advocate building a so-called 'space elevator'—something no country has yet attempted—rather than build our own interplanetary vessel, when we are already being given one of the key components for nothing. I can see that such a course appeals to a gentleman such as yourself, Dr. Gupta, since you are well known as a visionary. It may be a bold and daring move to take this course, but many of us are elected to be reasonable, not risky. Convince me that it is more
reasonable
to do this, and you will have my vote." Her sharp, severe features, framed by pure white hair, were like a sword upraised in salute and challenge.

"I do indeed have additional facts to present, Madame Speaker. And I will attempt to convince you that it is reasonable. Indulge me, however, by allowing me to restate what I think are the compelling reasons why it is
not
reasonable to follow the current course."

Speaker Ganeshan glanced at the president and the other members. "I have no objection."

"In building a ship like the ships that all the other spacegoing powers either have built or are building, you are attempting to compete with them in the area where they are strong and you are weak. We all know how this reflects a lack of wisdom, if an alternate course exists. And there is such a course.

"Instead of a ship, which transfers people and materials between the planets, I say that you should instead make a better way to transfer these people and materials from Earth to space. Build an elevator to space, a tower stretching thousands,
tens
of thousands, of miles, provided with power to draw up almost limitless material for construction, and to return safely to Earth, people and goods from space. Consider that the major limitation on the construction of
Nike
according to its schedule was the severe lack of launch capability—pushed to its limit, perhaps six hundred tons per month, far less in ordinary times. With even the simple, single elevator proposed as the beginning of this project, India will immediately
double
the launch capacity of the entire Earth, and by building additional cables we can increase that capacity, almost without limit. A similar design that rotates may be used as a mighty slingshot, to cast cargoes of nearly any size across the solar system to their final destination. You will need no ships. The ships and colonies, instead, will need you."

They stared at him, caught momentarily in the spell of his voice. "But if this is so obvious and easy, why are the other countries not pursuing it?" The question came from one of the other members of the committee—Singh, from the Rajya Sabha, the Council of States, which was the upper house of the parliament of India.

"Obvious? Perhaps. Easy? I said nothing of easy. No project so grand will be easy. Yet it is within India's ability to do, with the right allies." Gupta made a wide, sweeping gesture. "There are many possible reasons they may not be following this course. Perhaps, as all the other space-capable powers are to the north, they see more of the problems of a space elevator. For example, it must be anchored to the equator if it is desired that one minimize its tendency to sway, and they have no direct access to the equator as we do."

That was fudging a little. The southernmost tip of India was eight degrees of latitude north of the equator, not directly upon it. But eight degrees was close enough, as a practical matter.

"But that is probably not the main reason," he continued. "If need be, they could certainly find an area they could lease for the purpose. To name one, the Galapagos Islands are situated directly on the equator. The government of Ecuador has made it quite clear that it would be delighted to provide any spacegoing nation which wished to use the islands as the anchor for a space elevator with a ninety-nine-year lease. Even at a reasonable price."

He shook his head. "No, I suspect the main reason is the simplest. A man with an existing skill will invariably seek to apply it to new work before he concludes that he must undertake the more difficult task of learning a new skill altogether. You, on the other hand, do not suffer from that handicap for the obvious reason that you have no significant commitment to the traditional methods of space travel. Why not take advantage of it?"

Speaker Ganeshan spoke. "You mentioned the 'right' allies, Doctor. This is also in your proposal, but you give little guidance as to who these allies are. You also mention that the ships and colonies will need us. All well and good, but before embarking on such a project I would want to see at least one specific need—a customer, in short, for what we would offer." She held up an imperious hand as a few other members began to speak. "I am not unreasonable myself, Dr. Gupta. I do not expect you to have a market which will make the project profitable in the next five years, not in an area filled with so much risk and speculation. Give me one real customer, one group which I can believe as needing our assistance in this specific way. Give me a name or two that specifies these 'right allies' that we will need to construct your space elevator. No more generalities."

Inwardly, Gupta smiled. He had left those broad statements in to allow one of the members to bring up just these points, in just this manner.

"I will answer your second point first, Madame Speaker," he said. "While we have our own space program, it is quite limited at this time. To construct the elevator, therefore, we really require two things—the materials from which it is constructed, and additional people with experience and expertise in the construction and maintenance of reasonably large space facilities who are, themselves, not already going to be devoted to their own country's spaceship projects. Now, the creation of such an immense structure can only be done through the use of carbon nanotube materials."