She looked far less than pleased. “You still have to convince Wilmot to let you introduce nanotechnology into the habitat.”
Eberly stared at her for a silent moment. Then, “Yes, so I do.”
CONFIDENTIAL REPORT
EYES ONLY
TO: M. Eberly.
FROM: R. Morgenthau.
SUBJECT: Surveillance of living quarters.
Dr. Eberly:
I discussed the problem of installing surveillance cameras in every living space in the habitat with H. Jaansen, of Engineering. He informed me that microcameras, no larger than a pinhead, have been developed for the probes that the planetary scientists plan to send to Titan. Such cameras are also used by the medical department for examining patients’ innards. They can be manufactured in large numbers with existing facilities.
Jaansen suggests having the medical department initiate a program of spraying each apartment in the habitat with a broad-based disinfectant or aerosol antibiotic, under the guise of preventing the outbreak of airborne diseases. The cameras would be installed in each apartment during the spraying procedure.
This program will require the cooperation of several lower-level personnel from the medical, maintenance, engineering, and security departments. It will also require a significant amount of time to complete.
If you can recruit satisfactory personnel for this program, I suggest we begin the “spraying” effort as soon as feasible.
In addition, Vyborg has successfully tapped into the communications net and is now routinely recording phone conversations and the video programming that individuals watch in their homes. The amount of information is enormous, as you may well imagine. Vyborg will need guidelines from you as to who should be monitored on a regular basis. He will also need personnel and/or automated equipment to accomplish said monitoring.
DEPARTURE PLUS 268 DAYS
And this is where we grow most of our fruit,” Holly was saying as she and Kris Cardenas strolled leisurely through the orchard’s long straight rows of trees: oranges on their left, limes on their right. Grapefruit and lemons were behind them; they were approaching apples, pears, and peaches. The trees were lined up as precisely as marching cadets.
Cardenas had arrived aboard the habitat the day before. Now she seemed lost in wonder. “I haven’t seen a tree in so many years…” She turned and laughed, head upturned. “Not one tree since I left Selene and here you’ve got a whole orchard full of them! It’s like California, almost!”
Holly asked, “There aren’t any trees on Ceres?”
“Not a one,” replied Cardenas, a bright smile on her youthful face. “Nothing but hydroponics tanks.”
“We have hydroponics farms, too,” Holly said, “as a backup in case any troubles come up with the crops.”
“And bees!” Cardenas exclaimed. “Aren’t those bees?”
“Uh-huh. We need them for pollinating the trees. They make their hives in those white boxes over there.” Holly pointed toward a set of square white skeps sitting among the trees. Laughing, she added, “Would you believe, one of my hardest problems was finding a couple of beekeepers.”
Cardenas looked at her with those brilliant blue eyes of hers. “You know, you really don’t realize how much you miss open spaces and trees and … well, even grass, for god’s sake. Not until you see something like this again.”
They walked on through the orchard, heading for the farms out beyond the trees. Eberly had given Holly the task of showing Dr. Cardenas around the habitat. He called it orientation; Holly called it fun.
As they walked through the neatly aligned rows of trees, they heard a thin, quavering voice off to their left. Singing.
“Who’s that?” Cardenas wondered.
Holly ducked through the low branches of a young peach tree and cut toward the edge of the orchard, Cardenas close behind her.
The orchard ended in an earthen embankment that led down to the irrigation canal. Water flowed smoothly through the sloping concrete walls of the canal. Up ahead of them they saw a solitary man lugging a double armful of sticks and leafy bushes, singing in a high, scratchy voice. Spanish, Holly thought. It sounds like a Spanish folk song.
“Hello,” Cardenas called to the man.
He dropped his burden and squinted through the late afternoon sunlight at them. Holly saw he was elderly. No, he looked old. Lean body half bent with age, skinny arms, wispy white hair that floated about his head like a halo, scraggly dead white beard. She had never seen a truly old person before. He wore a droopy shirt that had once been white, sleeves rolled up above his elbows, and shapeless, baggy blue jeans.
“Hola!”he called back to them.
The two women approached him. “We heard you singing,” Holly said.
“It was very lovely,” Cardenas added.
“Thank you,” said the man. “I am Diego Alejandro Ignacio Romero. My friends call me Don Diego, because of my age. I am not truly a nobleman.”
The women introduced themselves. Then Holly asked, “You must work for the maintenance department, right?”
Don Diego smiled, revealing perfect teeth. “My occupation is in the communications department. On Earth, I taught history. Or tried to.”
“What are you doing here, then?”
“The Church was not happy with my studies of the Counterreformation and the Inquisition.”
“No, I mean, working out here by the canal.”
“Oh, this? This is my hobby. I am attempting to create a little wilderness.”
He gestured along the canal, and Holly saw that there were bushes and small trees set up haphazardly along the sloping packed-earth banks. Someone had moved a few good-sized rocks here and there, as well.
“Wilderness?”
“Yes,” said Don Diego. “This habitat is too neat, too ordered. People need something more natural than rows of trees planted precisely two point five meters apart.”
Cardenas laughed. “A nature trail.”
“Si.Yes, a nature trail. Built by hand, I’m afraid, because nature is a stranger to this place.”
“Why did you sign up for this mission?” Cardenas asked.
Don Diego pulled a checkered handkerchief from his shirt pocket and mopped his brow. “To help build a new world, of course. And perhaps to teach anyone who expressed an interest in history, if I am allowed.”
“You’d like to teach?”
“I was professor of Latin American history at the University of Mexico until I was forcibly retired.”
Without thinking, Holly asked, “How old are you?”
He eyed her for a moment, then smiled. “You don’t see many as aged as I, do you?”
Holly shook her head.
“I have ninety-seven years. Ninety-eight, in four months.”
Cardenas said, “You could take rejuvenation treatments—”
“No,” he replied amiably. “Not for me. I want to grow old gracefully, but I am unwilling to postpone death indefinitely.”
“You want to die?” Holly blurted.
“Not necessarily. I maintain my health. I have taken injections to grow my third set of teeth. Also injections to rebuild the cartilage in my joints.”
With a smile, Cardenas said, “You’re getting your rejuvenation treatment one shot at a time, instead of all at once.”
He thought about that for a moment. Then, “Perhaps. It would not be the first time I have played the fool on myself.”
Holly asked, “Does the maintenance department know what you’re doing here?”
For the first time, Don Diego looked apprehensive. “Eh … not yet,” he said slowly. Before Holly could say anything more, he added, “I have not interfered with the flow of water in the canal. If anything, I believe I have made this area more beautiful, more natural, and serene.”
Cardenas looked at the tangle of bushes and rocks, then up over the embankment’s edge at the straight rows of fruit trees. Finally she looked back into the old man’s red-rimmed eyes.