“What?”

The nanotechnician’s voice was flat, as unemotional as a surgeon discussing a patient who had died on the table. “Don’t you understand? The nanomachines are the size of viruses. They’re being bombarded with high-energy protons. At their scale, it’s like you or me being clobbered by an avalanche of bowling balls.”

“They’ll be deactivated,” Doug said, feeling suddenly hollow inside, as if he had scaled a rugged mountain only to find higher and steeper peaks ahead of him.

“All of them?” Brennart askett…

“All the ones we exposed on the mountaintop,” Greenberg replied calmly. “The ones still in the canister might be okay; the canister’s pretty good shielding for them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before we went up there?” Brennart demanded, his voice rising.

Without a flutter, Greenberg answered, “You wanted to get our legal claim in, didn’t you? So we got there and did it Nobody told me we were going to be hit by a radiation storm.”

“But don’t you understand? The legal claim isn’t worth a termite fart if the goddamned bugs aren’t doing anything!”

“Huh?”

Doug said, “The legal claim is based on utilization of the area. If the bugs are dead, inactive, then we’re not using the area and our claim is null and void.”

Greenberg was silent for a moment. Then he mumbled, “I’m an engineer, not a lawyer.”

“Christ on a surfboard,” Brennart growled. “We’ve got to go up there again and start the other bugs working.”

“That’s not possible,” said Greenberg. For the first time Doug detected a slight nervous waver in his voice.

“What d’you mean, not possible?”

Greenberg took a breath, then explained, “There are nine different sets of nanomachines in the mix, each programmed to do its own part of the job. We put out the first set. If they’re dead, the second set won’t have the substrate it needs to build on. And the third set, and so on.”

“You mean none of them will work?”

“Not until we get replacements for the first set.”

“We brought backups with us.”

“The backup canister was on the cargo rocket that crashed. The canister split open and the bugs spilled out I deactivated them.”

Brennart was close to exploding. “Deactivated our backup?”

“Standard operating procedure, Once they’re loose you can’t get ’em back in their containers again. And you don’t want them chewing up the equipment around them. So I sprayed the area with the UV laser. Standard procedure.”

“That’s what you were doing,” Rhee said. “I thought you were looking for something that you’d lost.”

“Nope. Killing loose bugs. You can’t see the ultraviolet light from the laser, of course.”

Rhee seemed unconvinced. “You mean the bugs can take unfiltered sunlight but a little UV laser can kill them?”

“It’s not the power of the beam, it’s the intensity. That little laser’s ten times brighter than the Sun in that one ultraviolet wavelength.”

“Douglas,” Brennart asked, “does this really nullify our legal claim?”

Doug let several heartbeats pass before he answered. “I’m afraid it does. I’ll check with the corporate legal experts in Savannah as soon as communications are restored, but from what I know of the legalities, if we’re not actively using the site we have no valid claim to it”

“Christ on a surfboard,” Brennart muttered again. Thinking hard, Doug said, “The only other way to establish a claim is for at least two Masterson employees to be actively working at the site.” ’Two?” Brennart pounced on the information. “For how long”

“Length of stay doesn’t matter, as long as they’re actively engaged in utilizing the site’s natural resources — and there’s a working device of some sort running at the site when they leave. Either that, or more human employees replace them.”

“Two of us,” Brennart muttered.

“We’ve got to be doing something that leads to useful utilization of the area,” Doug warned. “We can’t just be camping there.”

“What in the world could we be doing up there?”

Rhee blurted, “We’re not going up to the summit again?”

Two of us are,” said Brennart, with no hesitation whatsoever. “As soon as the radiation begins to the down.”

“But won’t that be risky?”

Brennart chuckled quietly, then said, “Sure it’s risky. Like the man said, working out on the frontier is nothing more than inventing new ways to get killed.”

RAYBURN HOUSE OFFICE BUILDING

Representative Ray Underwood steepled his fingers in front of his face as he studied the earnest young man sitting on the other side of his desk.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mr. Eldridge,” he said.

Eldridge smiled pleasantly. “Are we being recorded?”

Underwood feigned indignation. “Certainly not! I wouldn’t stand for that kind of thing. It’s not only illegal, it’s immoral.”

“Yes, of course,” said Eldridge. He was a bland young man, his sandy hair already receding, his eyes a pale blue. He was dressed casually: lightweight Madras jacket over an open-necked white shirt; inexpensive dark blue slacks; black athletic shoes.

Underwood was twenty years older, but still looked trim and fit in his tan sports jacket and darker brown slacks. There was a touch of gray at his temples, but otherwise his hair was dark, his face taut and tanned from ski vacations back home in Colorado.

“Our conversation will be strictly between us,” Underwood assured his visitor. “Absolutely private.”

“Good. For your sake, as well as mine.”

That took Underwood aback somewhat. “Just what is it that you’re after?” he asked. “In plain language, please.”

Eldridge hunched forward a little in his chair. “As you know, Congressman, I represent a coalition of religious organizations—”

“The Christian Brethren, I know.”

“Not merely the Brethren,” said Eldridge. “Not anymore. We have several Orthodox Jewish groups with us now. And the Muslims, as well.”

Underwood suppressed a gasp of surprise. Instead, he let himself chuckle. “Well, if you can keep those people together you’re a better politician than I am.”

“The Lord moves in mysterious ways, Congressman.”

“I suppose he does. But what is it that you want?”

“Your support on the nanotech bill.”

There. It was finally out in the open. Now I can deal with it, Underwood thought.

“What nanotech bill?” he parried. “I’m not aware of any such bill being considered—”

“There will be, in the next session. After our vice president is elected President of the United States.”

Underwood leaned back in his swivel chair and steepled his “fingers again, a tactic he used to gain time. “He’s not in my party,” he said mildly.

“But he will win the election in November,” said Eldridge flatly. “One of his campaign promises is to introduce legislation that will ban all nanotechnology. That’s one promise he will keep.”

“I’m not against nanotechnology,” Underwood said carefully. “From what my aides tell me, a lot of good can come from it.”

“I’m sure you know more than your aides tell you,” said Eldridge mildly.

Underwood smiled to cover the slight pang of alarm that tingled through him. “And what do you mean by that, Mr. Eldridge?”

“Carter. My first name is Carter.”

“Carter.”

“You’re in remarkably good health for a man who suffered a heart attack just a year ago,” said Eldridge.

Damn! Does he know or is he just fishing?

“It was only a mild cardiac arrest. And I’ve had excellent medical care.”

“The best in the world, from what I hear.”

“Those people in Bethesda…”

“Don’t you mean Basel?”

“Basel?”

“In Switzerland. And your attack was a massive infarction that would have left you a cardiac cripple.”

Forcing himself to grin, Underwood waggled a finger at the younger man. “Carter, you’ve been watching the tabloids! They exaggerate everything.”