When he reached mandatory retirement age, the still-youthful Berkowitz moved into academia, happily teaching a new generation of would-be journalists and public relations flacks the realities of the communications business. It was at an international conference that he met James Wilmot, the famous anthropologist; the two men became instant friends, even though they lived and taught on opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean. Years later, when Wilmot invited Berkowitz to be head of the Communications Department on the Saturn-bound space habitat, Berkowitz — recently a widower after fifty years of loving marriage — accepted the opportunity to get as far away from his memories as he could.

Now he sat back in his desk chair, handsome and suntanned, slightly chubby, a series of holograms on the wall behind him showing him at tennis tournaments and on golf courses. He smiled warmly at the dour, pinch-faced Vyborg.

“What’s the matter, Sammi?” Berkowitz asked jovially. “You look as if you swallowed something ugly.”

Taking the chair in front of Berkowitz’s desk, Vyborg began, “I don’t enjoy bringing this to your attention—”

“But you’re going to do it anyway. Must be important.”

“I think it is.”

“Okay. Out with it.”

“It’s Romero.”

“Old Don Diego? What’s he done that bothers you?”

Vyborg hesitated just long enough to show Berkowitz that what he was doing was distasteful to him. “It’s very difficult for me to say this, since he’s my direct superior, but… well, he’s simply not pulling his own weight.”

“He isn’t.”

“No, he isn’t. He spends only half a day in the office and then he’s gone. How can he do his work?”

“That’s why we’ve got you, Sammi.”

Startled, Vyborg blurted, “What?”

Berkowitz put on his most amiable grin and, clasping his hands prayerfully on the desktop, said, “Diego Romero is a wonderful old coot, a great teacher with a very distinguished career behind him.”

“Behind him,” Vyborg echoed.

“He’s in this department more or less because Wilmot wanted him aboard this habitat and had to find a place for him somewhere. So he’s working with us.”

“But he’s not working,” Vyborg snapped. “He’s hardly ever at his desk.”

“That’s okay, Sammi. I haven’t given him much to do. I rely on you to get the work done. Leave Don Diego alone. He’s going to be very valuable to this habitat — as a teacher.”

“A teacher?” Vyborg gasped. “They got rid of him in Mexico because he was teaching unauthorized garbage. Do you want him teaching his blasphemies here?”

Berkowitz’s smile diminished by less than a millimeter. “Freedom of thought is not blasphemous, Sammi. He’s a great teacher.”

Vyborg muttered, “Yes, and he’s teaching the rest of the office staff how to get by without working.”

“If you find anybody goofing off in this department, you tell me about it. Pronto. Don Diego’s a special case. Leave him alone.”

Admitting defeat, Vyborg nodded and rose from his chair. “I understand. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“No bother at all,” Berkowitz said grandly. “My office door is always open to you, Sammi.”

Vyborg looked around the director’s office. It was much more spacious than his own. It even had a window that looked out onto the park and the shimmering lake beyond. Without another word he turned and walked out, thinking, I’ll have to get rid of them both, somehow.

By the time he got back to his own office, Vyborg had brightened considerably. Berkowitz wants to allow Don Diego to teach heretical ideas, he realized. That makes Berkowitz just as guilty as the old man himself. Perhaps I can get them both in one swoop.

But as he sat at his desk again his mood darkened once more. That means I’ll have to wait until we’re established at Saturn. Much too long. I can’t wait all those months, more than a year, actually. I want to get rid of them now.

DEPARTURE PLUS 318 DAYS

When Holly got to her office the next morning there was a message on her screen:see me immediately. morgenthau.

It still bothered Holly to see Ruth Morgenthau sitting at Eberly’s desk. Even though nearly two months had passed since Eberly had left the office, Holly always expected to see Malcolm there. Instead, when she opened the director’s office door, Morgenthau was behind the desk, her fleshy face dark and ominous.

Even before Holly could sit down, Morgenthau demanded, “Where were you yesterday afternoon?”

Holly stiffened. “I took the afternoon off. I caught up on my work from my quarters, after dinner.”

Morgenthau asked, “Were you ill?”

Holly thought that a simple lie could end this conversation. Instead, she replied, “No. I — I just needed some time away from the office, that’s all.”

“Do you think you’re working too hard?”

“I enjoy my work.”

Morgenthau drummed her chubby fingers on the desktop. Despite the dress code they had agreed to, the woman’s fingers were heavy with jeweled rings, and her tunic ablaze with colors. Holly noticed that the desk was littered with papers. Malcolm had always kept it immaculately clear.

“Sit down, please, Holly,” Morgenthau said.

Holly took one of the chairs in front of the desk, feeling resentment simmering inside her. I’m entitled to take an afternoon off if I want to, she said to herself. I’m running this warping office. I’m doing all the work. I can go off and have a little fun if I want to. But she said nothing and meekly sat down.

Morgenthau stared at her for a long moment, then said, “You know, and I know, that you are really running this office. I’m just a figurehead covering for Malcolm while you do all the real work.”

Holly almost blurted out her agreement, but she managed to keep silent.

“I don’t mind that arrangement,” Morgenthau continued. “In fact, I find it quite satisfactory.”

Holly nodded warily, expecting worse to come.

“But,” Morgenthau resumed, “you don’t have to rub my face in it. You must show at least some outward respect for my position.”

“I do!”

“Yesterday you did not. It is not proper for you to take the afternoon off without informing me. Actually, you should ask my permission, but I don’t want to be a stickler. Still, how does it look when someone like Professor Wilmot asks me a question and I tell him that my assistant will look up the information and my assistant isn’t at her desk? Isn’t even in the office? And I don’t know where she is?”

“You could have called me. I always carry my comm.”

“You should keep me informed of your whereabouts at all times. I shouldn’t have to search for you.”

Holly’s temper was rising. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

For an instant Morgenthau looked surprised, almost startled. Then she admitted, “You are not a Believer. And, worse, you’re a reborn. I find that…” she struggled for a word, “…distasteful. Almost sinful.”

“It wasn’t my decision. My sister did it when I was too sick to know what was happening to me.”

“Still. You tried to avoid God’s judgment on you. You tried to cheat death.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“No! When God calls me, I’ll be happy to go.”

The sooner the better, Holly snarled silently.

“But my religious beliefs are not the subject of this conversation. I want you to keep me informed of your whereabouts at all times.”

Holding back her anger, Holly replied, “I understand.”

Breaking into a smile that looked forced to Holly, Morgenthau added, “During office hours, of course. What you do when the office is closed is on your own conscience, naturally.”

“Of course.”

“Unless it involves Dr. Eberly.”

So that’s it! Holly realized. She’s clanked up because she can see that I’m interested in Malcolm. Maybe she knows more than I do. Maybe she can see that Malcolm’s interested in me!

“Dr. Eberly is much too busy for personal involvements of any kind, Holly. You should stop trying to distract him.”