Dark as Day (51 page)

“Trouble, because I ask you what you want out of life?”

“What I want is none of your business. You’re fired, Milly Wu. You’ll not set foot again on Argus Station.”

“That’s right, get rid of anybody who dares to ask you to face the truth. Do you think I care where I live, or who I work for?” Milly was becoming emotionally charged in spite of her determination not to. “It’s what we are trying to achieve, and the people we work with, that matter. I’ll miss Hannah, and I’ll miss Simon Bitters and Lota Danes and Arnold Rudolph. My God, I’ll even miss you, though don’t ask me why. But what we’ve been trying to do is more important than any of our personal feelings. And the work will go on, no matter where I am or you are. It would go on even if we were both dead.”

He stared at her. “The needs of the project transcend any single individual, that’s true.”

“Including you.”

“Including me. All right, I overreacted. You’re not fired. But you should take a few days off. You’re tired out and stressed out, and you are overreacting, too.”

Before she could curse him down to size, as he deserved, he added, “Eat a good meal and get some rest. That’s not a suggestion, Milly Wu, it’s an order. We’ll talk about all this later.”

His image vanished, leaving Milly shouting at a blank screen, “You arrogant son-of-a-bitch! It’s not your brother who’s the bastard, it’s you. And you can’t give me orders anymore. I don’t work for you.”

She looked down at her hands, resting on the desk in front of her. They were shaking. She felt that her insides were shaking, too.

Eat a good meal and get some rest? That was a joke. The way she was feeling, if she tried to eat she would choke on the first bite. Sleep was out of the question.

She was too agitated even to sit still. Her rooms, usually comfortably modest and cozy, now had walls that seemed to crowd in on her. The old Dürer and Escher prints that she had brought in from Argus Station and hung with pleasure irritated rather than satisfied. She recalled what Hannah Krauss had said, soon after Milly arrived at Jovian L-4. The occupational hazards of mathematicians, logicians, and cryptanalysts were depression, insanity, paranoia, and suicide.

Depression was something she had fought off as a teenager. The solution in those years had been not rest, but physical activity and a change of mental focus.

Milly slipped into her exercise suit and headed for the nearest free-speed access point. She walked fast, posing a practical problem for herself as she went. Last night had started in her cubicle at the Puzzle Network’s Command Center in Sector 291, deep down on Level 147. It had ended in the research quarantine facility, up close to the surface on Level 4, in Sector 82. Today’s meeting with Bat would logically be held in one of those locations. Milly wanted an exercise route that would allow her to reach either of them quickly.

Most people would have consulted a General Route Planner, providing optimal routes between any pair of Levels and Sectors within Ganymede. Milly didn’t want to do that. She needed a distraction. She entered the free-speed system and began to jog along it, passing or being passed by scores of others running for exercise or pleasure. As she went she visualized and held in her mind the intersecting network of vertical and horizontal routes to which the free-speed course had access. When the call came, she needed to be able to move from her location of the moment to wherever Bat was holding the meeting.

She ran steadily for an hour, feeling the tension inside her gradually fade. Her brain was well into the pleasant endorphin-soothed state induced by exercise when, annoyingly, her receiver buzzed for attention.

“Yes?”

The voice in her ear was not that of Bat, or Alex Ligon, or anyone else whom she recognized. It said,
“Interested parties should convene at the Ligon Industries’ Experimental Center, Level twenty-two, Sector one-one-eight.”

Milly swore to herself. The meeting was going to take place at neither of the locations for which she had planned rapid routing. She had never before been to the Ligon Industries’ Experimental Center; she had, in fact, never heard of it.

She sprinted for the next exit on the free-speed course and ran through the output chamber. You were not supposed to do that, and the output processor did not have enough time to finish its job. Milly emerged with perspiration removed from her body and clothing, but her core temperature was still well above normal. As she called on the General Route Planner and asked it to take her to Level 22, Sector 118, she could feel new sweat breaking out on her body.

When she arrived at the Experimental Center it was clear that sweat was not going to be an immediate issue. The admitting Level Two Fax was having a major fight—as much as a Fax was permitted to fight—with somebody else.

“It’s not
Ms.
Bloom, you electronic slop of Brownian motion.” The woman arguing with the Fax was thin, red-haired, and extremely angry. “I’ve told you ten times, it’s Dr. Bloom. And if Ligon Industries can invade my lab in the middle of the night, without permission, I’m damned if you’ll keep me out of theirs. Let me in.”

“I am sorry, Ms. Bloom, but there is no authorization for your admission.”

“That’s it! Go away. Get lost. I request a Level Five Fax.”

“Very well, Ms. Bloom.”

Milly stepped forward. “Dr. Bloom? My name is Milly Wu. I was one of the people who went into your facility last night.”

The woman turned to her. “Were you now? Who said you could?”

“No one. But I may be able to help.” Milly turned to the Fax, which was wavering in outline during the attempted invocation of a Level Five version. Currently it had the form of a person of uncertain age and gender. “My name is Milly Wu. I believe that I have authorization to attend this meeting.”

The image solidified. “That is correct, Ms. Wu. You may enter.” The double doors beyond the Fax were opening.

“I have with me my associate, Dr.—” Milly turned to the other woman.

“Bloom. Dr. Valnia Bloom.”

“My associate, Dr. Valnia Bloom. We are both attending this meeting. We both require admission.”

“Very good.” The Fax nodded. “I will announce your arrival and forward your names. Milly Wu and Dr. Valnia Bloom. Follow the wall indicators.”

They walked forward together. As they passed through the double doors, Valnia Bloom said, “Thank you, I suppose. But I want to know what the hell was going on last night. Upon my return to my lab I discovered that I had been accused of the unauthorized use of a Mayfly-class ship and of a Flyboy scooter. The Mayfly has been lost, and the scooter with its two passengers was picked up by a medical ship following an emergency call. The captain of the OSL
Achilles
called, asking what I had done with his first officer. I learned that there have been unauthorized entries and exits to my facility. Worst of all, a man in my care
died
—and I have yet to be offered a shred of explanation as to what was going on. It required a major effort on my part even to learn of the
existence
of this meeting.”

“Dr. Bloom, I wish I had answers, but I don’t. We were promised some today. That’s why I came here.”

“We’d better get some. Or you can look for blood on the carpet.”

There was no carpet, only the tough corrosion-resistant flooring of a scientific lab, but Milly got the message. Valnia Bloom was where Milly herself had been two hours ago, all set to blow her main circuits.

When something was ready to explode, you stayed out of the way. Milly trailed Valnia Bloom as they followed the lighted wall strips, along a corridor, through another pair of double doors, and into a long chamber filled with scientific equipment, none of which Milly recognized.

She did, however, recognize the group of people at the far end. Alex Ligon, her companion for last night’s illegal breaking and entry, was there. The woman, Magrit Knudsen, whom Alex had identified as his boss and as a very senior member of the Ganymede cabinet, was present. So was Bengt Suomi, looking like the devil with his dark eyebrows and brooding saturnine face. Finally there was the Great Bat, towering over everyone and peering at a complicated device sitting on top of a work bench.

Any concern that Milly had over personal freshness disappeared. Bat was wearing the same funereal black garb as last night, and he had clearly slept in it or worse. He turned as they approached. He gave Milly only a brief nod of recognition, but her companion received his full attention.

“Dr. Bloom?”

“Right.” Valnia Bloom was staring. “I’ve seen you before, or at least your picture. Weren’t you involved a few years ago in explorations on Europa?”

“That could be described as correct. My name is Rustum Battachariya. I owe you a sincere apology. We invaded your research facility last night, without asking.”

“Did you
try
to ask? I’m not hard to reach.”

“We did not. There were, however, extenuating circumstances. We believed at the time that rapid action was needed to forestall an unimaginable disaster. We were wrong, for reasons I still do not understand, but the basis for our concern will soon become clear to you. First, however, I would like to preface a demonstration with a statement. And if it at first appears to be a digression, please bear with me.”

“Talk. I’ll listen—for five minutes.”

“Which will prove ample. Let me begin by saying that despite what others may think, I am not perfect. I have a personal weakness. For many years, I have been an avid seeker of relict weapons left over from the Great War. Those explorations have met with some success”—Bat raised his eyebrows toward Magrit Knudsen, who hesitated, then nodded—“but there have been occasional tantalizing hints of much more than we have found. One of these is the legendary Mother Lode, a complete listing of all weapons developed by Belt forces. No trace of the Mother Lode has ever been found. Many doubt its existence, though I have hopes. Another undiscovered country has been an ‘ultimate weapon,’ a scorched-earth device intended not to win the war, but to destroy every living creature in the whole solar system—winners and losers alike.

“The reality of such a weapon was doubted, by me among others, until very recently. But then, through an indirect route, I came across evidence that a woman named Nadeen Selassie had not, as was previously believed, died before the end of the Great War. She was the genius weapons-maker of the Belt, the maker of the Seekers and the reputed designer of a doomsday device that would turn the solar system ‘dark as day.’ It became clear that Nadeen Selassie did indeed die, but not before she, and possibly her ultimate weapon, had escaped the Belt and gone to Mars and perhaps to Earth. She had with her a small girl and a small boy. The girl died, but the boy lived on. Perhaps Nadeen Selassie entrusted to him the nature of the weapon that she had devised. Perhaps she did not. At any rate, he grew up to become an unusual young man. His name was Sebastian Birch.”

Bat was interrupted by a snort of derision from Valnia Bloom. “That’s bullshit. I know—knew—Sebastian Birch. If your ridiculous accusations drove him to flee Ganymede and dive to his death on Jupiter, I’ll do my damnedest to make sure that you are charged with murder.”

“Dr. Bloom, I played no such role. All my actions last night were aimed at
preventing
Sebastian Birch from leaving Ganymede. I had, you see, become convinced that he bore with him the secret of Nadeen Selassie’s doomsday weapon. Sebastian Birch’s presence on Jupiter would, I was convinced, destroy all life throughout the solar system. I had in mind some kind of ignition mechanism, one that would turn the planet, which is largely hydrogen, into a vast bomb using hydrogen-to-helium fusion. Discussion with Dr. Suomi disabused me of that notion.”

Bat inclined his head to the Ligon Industries’ gangling scientist, who stooped over the workbench like an impatient stork. “Dr. Suomi pointed out, in the politest possible terms, that although I have my own areas of expertise, I am in some fields a scientific idiot. No method known to science could cause such a fusion reaction on Jupiter. My idea would have required that Nadeen Selassie, in the closing weeks of the Great War, develop not merely a new weapon, but a whole new physics. That was not merely improbable, it was impossible.

“Before I could relax, however, Bengt Suomi sent me the results of a later test, one which at first baffled both him and me. He is going to repeat that test now, for my benefit and yours, in a form where it is much easier to see what is happening. Dr. Suomi, if you would be so kind?”

“Indeed. Observe closely.” Suomi stepped forward and held up what appeared to be an empty glass cylinder with a metal plug at its upper end. He turned the big cylinder, half a meter long and almost as wide, with a showman’s flourish that did not at all match his mournful appearance. His arm was long and skinny, and Milly found herself thinking,
As you can see, I have nothing up my sleeves
. She tried to suppress the image. This was a life-and-death matter, no cause for joking.

“You will notice,” Suomi continued, “that the cylinder appears to be lacking in contents. That is, however, not the case. The cylinder contains two things: hydrogen, at low pressure. And, at the bottom of the cylinder, approximately a hundred small spherical nodules taken from the body of Sebastian Birch.”

“What! Let me look.” Valnia Bloom strode forward and tried to grab the cylinder from Suomi’s hands.

“Dr. Bloom, they are too small to see with the naked eye.”

“I know that, better than you—I’ve been working with Sebastian Birch for months. What I want to know is, where the hell did you get those samples?”

Bengt Suomi looked at Bat. Bat turned to Alex Ligon. Alex Ligon said—looking, Milly decided, about as guilty as a human being could look—“I’m not sure, but I think they came from a medical test lab in Earth orbit.”

“Did they now? Well, I suppose that’s remotely possible.” Valnia Bloom handed the cylinder back to Bengt Suomi. “I’ll have a few words with Christa Matloff about this.”

Alex Ligon did his best to fade into the background, as Suomi went on, “Here we have a perfectly stable situation. Hydrogen, and nodules composed of some inorganic materials, co-existing without undergoing any form of reaction.” He stepped over to the workbench. “Now I place the cylinder on the fixed stand, and allow the piston freedom to move.”