to read the name stenciled on the torso, you couldn’t recognize who was inside the suit.
She checked you out in your suit, for chrissakes, Grant berated himself. Are you getting early onset Alzheimer’s? Then he remembered: Josie Rivera. Smokey Jo. Good-looking Latina, sharp engineer, bosomy and friendly, especially after a couple of drinks. With a pang, Grant realized that it had been months since he’d gotten laid. He hadn’t even thought much about sex lately. A side effect of his medications? he wondered.
“It doesn’t go back into the lab,” Grant replied. “Not yet. Not until we finish the mirror we’re working on now.”
“So we just leave it out here?”
Shaking his head inside the helmet, Grant said, “We build a roof over it, protect it from temperature swings and micrometeorite abrasion. I’ll have to requisition the honeycomb sheets, then you and Harvey Henderson’s gang can put ’em up.”
“Hurry-up Harvey.” Josie sounded a little resentful, Grant thought. Nobody likes working outside unless they really have to. He knew what was going through her mind: The damned mirror’s ruined; what’s the sense of putting up a protective roof when we’re just going to melt the thing down and start all over again with it?
He said to her, “The Ulcer’s thinking about using nanomachines to build a new mirror.”
“Nanos? Really?”
“That administrator of his—McClintock—he’s talking about it with Dr. Cardenas back at Selene.”
“Could it work?” Josie asked.
Grant knew better than to try to shrug inside the bulky suit. “Cardenas seems to think so.”
“Well, she would, wouldn’t she?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Grant started pacing around the mirror’s edge. It was still mounted on the transporter, clamped rigidly in place. Not rigidly enough, he told himself. Otherwise it wouldn’t have cracked.
To Josie, he said, “I want you to take snaps of the ground along the perimeter of the mirror, so Henderson and his guys have a full picture of the ground out here. They’ll need to build a foundation for the roof.”
“I’ll have to go in and get a camera,” she said.
Shaking his head, Grant said, “I’ll tell the controller to get somebody to put a camera in the airlock. All you’ll have to do is step in and pick it up.”
“Okay.”
Still pacing along the edges of the mirror, Grant called in to the controller for a camera. Once the controller told him that the camera had been placed on the airlock’s floor, he told Josie to pop in and get it.
She came back with the credit-card-sized camera engulfed in one gloved hand. “You want me to take your picture, boss?” Before Grant could reply, Josie added, “Give the guys inside an idea of the scale.”
“Sure,” he said. “Why the hell not?”
So he stood beside the mirror while Josie snapped several images of him.
“Better take shots of the transporter’s wheels, too,” he suggested. “Get close enough to see if any of ’em cracked or bent.”
Josie got busy and Grant felt unneeded, but he hesitated to go inside and leave her alone. He knew that subatomic particles from the distant stars were machine-gunning him. His suit protected him from most of them, but there were always some extra-energetic ones that got through and burrowed into the atoms of his body, killing cells or mutating them. He started to feel almost naked beneath their constant, deadly, invisible rain.
“Whattaya think of the Ulcer’s assistant?” Josie asked as she made her way slowly around the mirror’s perimeter.
“You mean McClintock?”
“Yeah. He’s good-looking, don’t you think?”
Sourly, Grant answered, “Another layer of management. The Ulcer’s enlarging his domain.”
“He’s supposed to be some kind of efficiency expert, isn’t he?”
“Management specialist, I think. He’s like a consultant. You know, a guy who doesn’t know anything more than you do, but he comes from more than fifty klicks away and
She checked you out in your suit, for chrissakes, Grant berated himself. Are you getting early onset Alzheimer’s? Then he remembered: Josie Rivera. Smokey Jo. Good-looking Latina, sharp engineer, bosomy and friendly, especially after a couple of drinks. With a pang, Grant realized that it had been months since he’d gotten laid. He hadn’t even thought much about sex lately. A side effect of his medications? he wondered.
“It doesn’t go back into the lab,” Grant replied. “Not yet. Not until we finish the mirror we’re working on now.”
“So we just leave it out here?”
Shaking his head inside the helmet, Grant said, “We build a roof over it, protect it from temperature swings and micrometeorite abrasion. I’ll have to requisition the honeycomb sheets, then you and Harvey Henderson’s gang can put ’em up.”
“Hurry-up Harvey.” Josie sounded a little resentful, Grant thought. Nobody likes working outside unless they really have to. He knew what was going through her mind: The damned mirror’s ruined; what’s the sense of putting up a protective roof when we’re just going to melt the thing down and start all over again with it?
He said to her, “The Ulcer’s thinking about using nanomachines to build a new mirror.”
“Nanos? Really?”
“That administrator of his—McClintock—he’s talking about it with Dr. Cardenas back at Selene.”
“Could it work?” Josie asked.
Grant knew better than to try to shrug inside the bulky suit. “Cardenas seems to think so.”
“Well, she would, wouldn’t she?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Grant started pacing around the mirror’s edge. It was still mounted on the transporter, clamped rigidly in place. Not rigidly enough, he told himself. Otherwise it wouldn’t have cracked.
To Josie, he said, “I want you to take snaps of the ground along the perimeter of the mirror, so Henderson and his guys have a full picture of the ground out here. They’ll need to build a foundation for the roof.”
“I’ll have to go in and get a camera,” she said.
Shaking his head, Grant said, “I’ll tell the controller to get somebody to put a camera in the airlock. All you’ll have to do is step in and pick it up.”
“Okay.”
Still pacing along the edges of the mirror, Grant called in to the controller for a camera. Once the controller told him that the camera had been placed on the airlock’s floor, he told Josie to pop in and get it.
She came back with the credit-card-sized camera engulfed in one gloved hand. “You want me to take your picture, boss?” Before Grant could reply, Josie added, “Give the guys inside an idea of the scale.”
“Sure,” he said. “Why the hell not?”
So he stood beside the mirror while Josie snapped several images of him.
“Better take shots of the transporter’s wheels, too,” he suggested. “Get close enough to see if any of ’em cracked or bent.”
Josie got busy and Grant felt unneeded, but he hesitated to go inside and leave her alone. He knew that subatomic particles from the distant stars were machine-gunning him. His suit protected him from most of them, but there were always some extra-energetic ones that got through and burrowed into the atoms of his body, killing cells or mutating them. He started to feel almost naked beneath their constant, deadly, invisible rain.
“Whattaya think of the Ulcer’s assistant?” Josie asked as she made her way slowly around the mirror’s perimeter.
“You mean McClintock?”
“Yeah. He’s good-looking, don’t you think?”
Sourly, Grant answered, “Another layer of management. The Ulcer’s enlarging his domain.”
“He’s supposed to be some kind of efficiency expert, isn’t he?”
“Management specialist, I think. He’s like a consultant. You know, a guy who doesn’t know anything more than you do, but he comes from more than fifty klicks away and
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