SPACE STATION MASTERSON
Like most of the major complexes in permanent Earth orbit, Masterson was a combination of several purposes: part manufacturing facility, part scientific research laboratory, part observation platform, part maintenance and repair center, and part transfer station for people and cargo heading onward to Moonbase.
Orbiting some two hundred fifty miles above the Earth, at first glance Masterson looked like a disconnected conglomeration of odds and ends, a junkyard floating in space. The modules where personnel were housed spun lazily on opposite ends of a two-mile-long carbon filament tether, like two oversized aluminum cans glinting in the sunlight, connected by a string so thin and dark it was for all practical purposes invisible. Outside the circumference of the housing modules’ arc floated the factories, labs, repair shops and transfer center, their angular utilitarian shapes dwarfed by huge wings of solar panels and radiators, massive concave solar mirrors that collected and focused the Sun’s heat for smelting and other processing work, and forests of antennas and sensors — all in zero gravity, or the nearest thing to it.
Spacesuited figures bustled from module to module, some of them jetting along in solo maneuvering units, others riding the bare-bones shuttlecraft that the station personnel called broomsticks.
Jinny Anson shook her head as she peered out the observation port. It had been almost nine months since she’d last been in zero gee, and she was testing her reactions. She felt a little woozy, but nothing she couldn’t handle.
Not so bad for an old lady, she told herself. Just don’t make any sudden moves.
There was a lunar transfer vehicle floating out there next to the repair sheds, she saw. It wasn’t the regular LTV, which wasn’t due back from its run to Moonbase for another thirty-six hours. As far as Jinny knew, the LTV had no business being there. But a maintenance crew was working on it, and she could see propellant lines feeding into its tanks.
“Are you ready for the inspection tour, Ms. Anson?”
Jinny pushed off the smooth surface of the observation port with her fingertips. The plastiglass felt cold, a reminder that there was nothing on its other side but empty infinity.
Turning toward the earnest young man who was to be her guide through the chemical processing plant, Jinny smiled and resisted the reflex to correct him. I’m still Ms. Anson on the company’s files. I’m only Mrs. Westlake in Austin.
“Let’s get it done, son,” she said.
He pushed off the handgrip projecting from the bulkhead and floated through the hatch. Jinny followed him into the access tube leading out of the observation center, saying, “Take it slow, huh? It’s been a while since I’ve been up here.”
The kid grinned over his shoulder at her.
As far as Masterson Corporation was concerned, Jinny was visiting the space station as part of her duties as quality control manager of the Houston division. The station manufactured the alloys and most of the electronics components that Houston used to build Clipperships. The station itself was now the property of the new Kiribati corporation, but its new ownership seemed to make no observable difference on the station staff or the work they did.
There had been a rumor that some day they would start using nanomachines to build the Clippers out of pure diamond, but Jinny discounted that as the usual shop-floor outgassing. If nothing else, the nanotech treaty would scuttle that idea.
Unofficially, Jinny had come to the station to hitch a ride to Moonbase. It wasn’t as simple as catching a bus, of course, but for a former director of’the base and a pretty important company official, the rules couldtbe stretched a little. She only wanted to visit Moonbase for a day or so, just long enough to talk with Joanna Stavenger face to face. Jinny was convinced that what she had to ask Joanna couldn’t be done any other way. I’ve got to see the whites of her eyes when I pop the question to her.
“What’s that LTV out there doing?” she asked as casually as she could.
The youngster turned lazily as he floated along the access tube so he could look back at her. “Special job,” he answered. “Rumble is that there are some big gasbags coming up from Savannah, on their way to Moonbase. Ultra VIP. They pooched out a backup LTV just to take them up to the base, quickie-quick.”
“How many?” Jinny asked.
“Dunno,” the kid said. “Two or three, from what I heard. Could be more, but not enough to fill a whole passenger pod.”
Jinny smiled to herself. There’s my ride. Quickie-quick.
It was startlingly easy to talk her way onto the special LTV. Most of the crew at the station knew her; most of the senior crew, at least. There was plenty of spare capacity aboard the nearly-empty LTV, and an extra body visiting Moonbase for a couple of days wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows — especially when the body was a former base director.
Jinny was supposed to get permission from the current base director, of course, but she knew how to get around that problem. She simply accessed the proper file from the station’s mainframe and okayed her own trip, using the computer codes that hadn’t been changed since she’d been running Moonbase. Easy.
I’ll say hello to Greg Masterson when I get there, she told herself. See his eyes pop.
There were only two other passengers in the LTV’s personnel pod. Jinny recognized the fat old guy as Professor Zimmerman, the nanotech whiz who had saved Doug Stavenger’s life after the big solar flare the previous year. The woman with him looked familiar, but Jinny couldn’t place her. She had ’California’ written all over her sandy-haired, tanned features. They ignored Jinny almost completely, talking to each other with deep seriousness as the LTV’s co-pilot ducked in to make sure they were buckled safely into their seats.
Silly safety regulation, Jinny thought. This bucket won’t put out enough thrust to slosh the coffee in a cup, even on a high-energy burn to Moonbase. Still, when the red light came on and the rockets lit, she felt herself squeezed back into her seat.
It was impossible to eat, sleep and go to the bathroom over the thirty-six-hour length of their flight without saying anything to the other passengers. When Jinny went past them to get to the meal dispenser, she hovered weightiessly by their seats long enough to say hello to Professor Zimmerman. The old man didn’t remember her at first, but when he started to unstrap and politely get up from his chair, his face went pale.
“Please, stay in your seat,” Jinny pleaded. “The rules of etiquette are different in zero gee.” Inwardly, she wanted to make sure that the flatlander didn’t puke all over her.
With an effort to maintain his dignity even while seated, Zimmerman introduced Professor Kristine Cardenas to Jinny.
Soon the three of them were talking together the way passengers on a trip will, strangers yet shipmates. Jinny found that Cardenas was also an expert in nanotechnology and they were both going to Moonbase at the personal request of Joanna Stavenger.
She also learned that their real reason for allowing Joanna to coax them up to Moonbase was almost exactly the same as Jinny’s own motivation.
“Perhaps we should pool our resources,” Zimmerman said. He was obviously uncomfortable in zero gee; Cardenas looked a little green, too. Jinny had gone to the meal dispenser for them and brought them prepackaged trays. And slow-release anti-nausea patches, which they both stuck behind their ears.
“What do you mean?” Jinny asked. It was impossible to eat in zero gee without spraying crumbs and droplets all around. The compartment’s air circulation sucked them up — slowly — into the ventilator grids along the ceiling.
Zimmerman started to gesture with his hands, then thought better of it. “You know the Stavenger woman much better than I or even Kristine. You could help us to convince her to allow us to remain at Moonbase indefinitely.”