Mining the Oort (38 page)

Yet when he reached the office, Clyne and Dzhowen Wang showed no sign of tension. The two of them were placidly going over the schematics for the air-circulation system, and Clyne looked up in surprise. "Hey, DeWoe," he said amiably. "You're early."

"I thought you might need me," Dekker explained. "Because of the communications problems, I mean."

"That's the kind of spirit I like," Clyne said, approving. "Communications aren't our worry, though, are they? We'll let the comm people take care of their own headaches." He nodded at the display on the screen. "As long as you're here, you and Joe can get started on pulling down those air pumps today." He paused, then twisted around to look at Dekker again, this time more carefully. "What made you think there was an emergency situation?"

"Well, I didn't, exactly, except—do you know Shiaopin Ye? She seemed to think there was a real problem. She even—" Dekker cleared his throat, embarrassed at the fantasy of what he was saying. "—she even thought that her boss was trying to cover it up."

Clyne looked at him in astonishment. "Toby Mory? Christ, no, DeWoe! I've known Toby for eight years! Ye's just new here; she just doesn't understand everything yet. I don't suppose she has any evidence to back up that kind of remark?"

"She might be getting some, I suppose. She said she was going to check it out for herself—when Mory wasn't around, I mean."

Clyne shook his head, "Jesus. I hope neither of you guys ever thinks you have to go behind my back like that. Anyway," he said heavily, "there's no emergency involved, so it isn't our problem. You'd better get on with those air pumps before they
are
an emergency."

Dekker felt himself rebuked. All the way to the pump room Dekker was conscious of Dzhowen Wang's curious looks, but Wang said nothing until they were there. The two of them had made all their routine checks before Wang offered, "Whatever it is, the air system's still intact."

Dekker shrugged in embarrassment, and Wang nodded to show the subject was closed. He let Dekker make the call to the station chiefs office to request permission to switch to standby pumps. Then the two of them began dismantling the pump.

It was hard, hot work in the confined space of the pump room, especially with the problems of moving high-mass pieces of metal around in zero gravity; a Martian child could have pushed one across the room with one finger, but still if you got caught between one and a wall you would get hurt. Dekker was careful. He did his best to copy Joe Wang's practiced way of always having one hand or foot on a holdtight for leverage, and never letting go of a loose part of the pump until it was secured. And, actually, it was just the kind of thing he needed—real, useful, physical work, the kind he hadn't had since he left Mars.

They took time for a quick meal in the middle of the shift, but Wang was anxious to get the pump back on line. They didn't talk much, and they didn't dawdle. The suspect bearings turned out to look all right, but Wang said, "Let's put new ones in anyway." Dekker approved.

It was only at the end, when they were ready to request permission to switch back, that Dekker was reminded of the fact that there was some kind of a problem. It took a minute to get through to the station chiefs office, and then the picture was only in monochrome. The internal systems were definitely overtaxed.

As they parted, Wang looked at Dekker soberly. "You know," he said, "as long as Pelly Marine was station chief we didn't have things going out like this. Maybe he was a doper after all—but I wish we had him back."

Dekker checked his watch. He was pleased to see that he had plenty of time to get there early to see Rima Consalvo.

He wanted to do that, but he also wanted to be reassured. So he used up a little of his time to stop by his quarters in case Shiaopin Ye had left a note—to admit, he was confident, that her suspicions had been unfounded, and no doubt to apologize for worrying him.

There wasn't any note under his door, though.

When he called her room there wasn't any answer, either, and when he decided to go one step farther and call the comm center the person he got was her boss. Mory didn't seem friendly, either, when he said, "No, she's not here, and we're kind of busy."

Dekker left for the control workstation, shaking his head. The way people disappeared on this little station! Of course, it was possible that in Rima's case she had simply kept out of Dekker's way because she was making up her mind about how much she wanted to get involved with him. That was actually a fairly cheering thought . . . but Ye?

When he got to Rima's workstation he was still early and she was busy at her work. When she saw him, she turned her head to whisper to her partner, then beckoned him in.

He let himself in apologetically. "I'm sorry if I'm bothering you," he offered. He was talking to the other woman, but Rima answered for both.

"Oh, hell no, Dekker. Myra doesn't mind, and I was expecting you."

"Get comfortable and watch," the other controller said hospitably. "There's not much to see. We don't have any more burns scheduled, anyway."

"Thanks," Dekker said, hitching his belt to a hook on the wall. They were simply rechecking trajectories, comet by comet; with each one the computer digested the orbital elements, factored in the gravitational pulls that would affect its course, and then laid the golden line projecting its arrival at Mars. Dekker's attention wandered between what they were doing at the board—and his wish that he were doing it himself—and the interesting view of the back of Rima Consalvo's neck—and his competing wish to explore that more thoroughly. Dekker had heard once of some Earthie woman, a celebrity of some kind, who had claimed she had fallen in love with her husband on first sight, although all she had seen was the back of his neck. That seemed illogical to Dekker; but just at that moment it didn't seem entirely impossible.

Rima turned for a moment to look at him. "You should've been here an hour ago," she offered. "We lost our feed for five minutes. Nothing on the screens at all."

"Not even at the backup station," her partner confirmed. "Scared the shit out of us."

Dekker nodded, wondering if he should share Shiaopin Ye's suspicions with them. He contented himself with saying, "They seem to be having communications problems." Then he leaned forward, staring at the board. "Hey! Is that 67-JY?"

Rima turned to look at him. "Yes, it is. Why?"

"Because it needs a burn, doesn't it?" It looked bad to him. Its golden projection funnel spread out to Mars all right, but just barely within the error probability.

"It does need a burn," Dekker said.

"It's not critical. No," Rima said.

He squirmed around to look at her. "What do you mean, no? It's an easy burn, and, look, Rima, that trajectory brings it pretty close to Earth. I know that comet; it's little, and it's been giving trouble all along."

"I know it, too," Rima said flatly, and then Dekker remembered. Of course she knew it. She had already told him that she was the snake handler who had threaded it out in the Oort. And who was sensitive about it now.

"Oh," he said. "Right"

She thawed slightly. "It already had one burn on this shift; the other board did it. So it's really all right, Dekker. If the next shift thinks it needs a burn, they can do it." She glanced over at the clock. "They're probably waiting to get in already," she said. "Take a look outside, will you, Myra?"

The other woman nodded and pulled herself out into the corridor. A moment later she peered back in and shrugged, signaling that they weren't in sight, then pointed down the hall and pushed herself away in that direction.

Dekker assumed she was heading for a lavatory, but Rima chuckled. "She's being discreet, I bet," she said, "in case we want to be private for a minute. Dekker? Why are you questioning an operator's decision?"

He said, "Well, I guess it's just that there are more things going wrong here than I expected."

"Like the comm systems?"

"For one thing, yes," he agreed.

"And that comet for another?" she asked. "Don't you think I know how to run a board—not counting that Myra's right here with me, and there are two other controllers on the other board?"

"No, of course you do. Only—well, there are people who might like the idea of diverting a comet. You've heard the rumors, haven't you?"

She was looking at him steadily. "What rumors are those?"

He shrugged to indicate he wasn't, actually, serious. "For instance, the ones about the habitats. I've heard it said that the people who are putting the farm habitats up would like a comet of their own—"

"And you think it might be 67-JY?"

"Why not?"

She was laughing at him. "Didn't you learn anything? Look at those trajectory elements."

He said huffily, "All right, I know what you're saying. If I were going to park a comet where the habitats could mine it I wouldn't pick this one. It's got far too much velocity to park it in an orbit they could use. But why else is everybody letting it go with that kind of CEP?"

"Maybe," she said kindly, "we don't know everything yet, Dekker. We're still beginners in this business, aren't we?" And before he could admit the justice of her argument, she added, "Anyway, here come Myra and the next shift. So I'm through here; how about a cup of coffee?"

It wasn't just the back of Rima Consalvo's neck that was attractive. As he followed her along the red corridor, the two of them pulling themselves from wall hold to wall hold, he found himself also intrigued by those long and unfortunately slacks-clad legs that were waving almost in his face.

The "cup" of coffee wasn't a cup, of course; it was a bulb, and the rec room was more crowded than Dekker would have preferred. The only wall holds they could find to tie to were next to a conversation about what was going on. One of the old hands was saying, "We've lost intrastation addressing facilities, so everything comes in on a single band. It's slowing down communications a lot. They've got somebody listening in and manually redirecting the traffic on each major incoming circuit—Co-Mars One, the Martian orbiters, Earth. We're not getting anything at all from ships in transit or the Oort cloud, though, and even the solar optics are out."

"Well, we don't need any of that, do we?" somebody else said. "For a while, anyway? It's a pain in the ass, but we're still operational and Parker will get it cleared up."

Rima looked at Dekker, then leaned over to the group next to them. "What's going on?" she asked.

The man looked surprised. "You haven't used a screen in the last few minutes? It's the intrastation communications. They're down to just the voice link."

"You can't get news from Earth at all," another one said. "We were watching it on the screen here, and it just went out. Damnedest thing you ever saw."

"It must have happened while we were on our way here," Dekker said to Rima Consalvo. She nodded, looking thoughtful but unsurprised. She looked at her watch instead of replying. But as he turned back to join in the conversation with the other group, she spoke up.

"Dekker," she said, lowering her tone so that the others couldn't hear. "I don't really want any more coffee, and I don't feel like talking about the station's problems right now. It's a little early, but—well, my room's just around the next intersection. Why don't we go there?"

She caught him by surprise. "Go to your room?" he repeated, as though that notion had never crossed his mind.

She nodded. "Yes. Go to my room. If you want to, I mean."

Of that there was no question at all in Dekker's mind. What he wished was that he could do both—maybe talk to these people in the rec room, maybe even tell them about what Shiaopin Ye had said, at least find out more about what was going on and whether, really, it wasn't his duty to get in touch with Jared Clyne and find out if his services were needed . . . and, if possible, at the same time take up the invitation he had been hoping for for some time.

Since he couldn't do both, there was not, really, any doubt about which to choose.

It didn't take long to get there, even less long for them to get inside and for Rima to close the door behind her. Then she smiled at Dekker. "I'm afraid I don't have a drink to offer you," she apologized.

"I don't drink much," he said—automatically and, he thought, a little inanely.

"It's just that it's more private here," she said, looking at her wall clock. "We've got a little extra time," she added, and then smiled at him. "Dekker? What do you think? Would you like to kiss me?"

There was only one answer to that, too, and then only one way for things to go after that. Things went that way. Very satisfactorily, although the fact that Dekker had had no previous experience of making love in zero gravity made him awkward, and made Rima Consalvo giggle.

But they managed it, by judicious use of all available limbs for clamping and holding. When they were finished they hung in midair, sweaty, relaxed, and naked, floating free of the holdtights and holding each other at an odd angle by their linked hands.

It was, Dekker realized complacently, very like his dream. The only difference was that this time he knew who he was holding.

Then there was another difference. He felt Rima move in his arms, craning her neck to look at the clock. "Oh, hell," she said. "How time flies. Dekker, I think we might want to put our clothes back on."

It was not a remark he had expected. "Why?"

"Because," she said, wriggling free and pushing against him to reach the wall, "we have company coming in about five minutes. I don't mind her knowing what we've been doing—but still. You might find it a little embarrassing."

"Who's coming?" Dekker demanded, grabbing a wall hold and reaching out for his floating shorts. "Why is it embarrassing?"

Rima paused in the act of wriggling into her underwear, and answered both questions at once. "It's Ven Kupferfeld," she explained.

When Ven arrived she seemed worried, but not so worried that she didn't take in the scene at once. She gave Rima a searching look. "You just couldn't wait to try him out for yourself, could you?" she demanded.