Leaving Holly sitting in her bed, suddenly wretched that she had made love with another man, and terrified that Malcolm might find out.

When Ruth Morgenthau arrived at her office that morning, she found Sammi Vyborg already sitting in front of her desk, waiting for her.

“I thought you’d be watching the Jupiter flyby,” she said, sweeping around her desk and settling heavily in its padded chair.

Vyborg hunched forward in his chair. “That stuntman’s heroics have made the flyby seem tame, by comparison. Every network is carrying the video.”

“So?” Morgenthau asked. “Then why are you here? If it’s about the refugee,” she said airily, “I’ve already spoken with Eberly about it. He wants Holly to—”

“It’s not about the refugee,” Vyborg snapped.

She looked at him carefully. His narrow death’s head of a face was even grimmer than usual, tense with repressed anger.

“What is it, then?”

“Eberly promised to make me head of the Communications Department. But he’s done nothing to make that happen.”

Morgenthau temporized, “That sort of thing takes time, Sammi. You know that. You must be patient.”

“He hasn’t lifted a finger,” Vyborg insisted.

“Patience, Sammi. Patience.”

Strangely, Vyborg smiled. To Morgenthau it looked like the smile of a rattlesnake gliding toward its victim.

“I once saw a cartoon,” he said slowly, “that showed two vultures sitting in the branches of a dead tree. One of them was saying to the other, ‘Patience, my ass! I’m going to kill somebody.’ ”

Morgenthau felt her cheeks flush at Vyborg’s crude language. “And just who do you intend to kill?”

“The two people who stand between me and the top of the Communications Department, of course.”

“I wouldn’t advise—”

“Neither one of them is a Believer. The department head is a Jew, not that he observes his own religion. The other one is a superannuated old Mexican who spends more time gardening than he does at his desk. He should be easy to dispose of.”

“You mustn’t do anything without getting Eberly’s approval first.”

“Don’t play games with me. We both know that Eberly is nothing more than a figurehead. You’re the real authority here.”

“Don’t underestimate Eberly. He can win over people. He can mesmerize crowds. I don’t want you to act precipitously.”

“Yes, yes. But I believe the old adage that the Lord helps those who help themselves. I’m finished waiting. The time for action has come.”

Morgenthau pursed her lips disapprovingly. But she said nothing.

Showered, combed and dressed, Holly phoned Morgenthau before leaving her apartment.

“Dr. Eberly wants me to interview the newcomer,” she said to Morgenthau’s fleshy image. “I’ve checked with the medical department and they’re lifting his quarantine this morning, so I’m planning to go straight there instead of to the office.”

Holly spoke the words as a declaration, not a question, not a request for permission. Eberly’s name was all the permission she needed.

Morgenthau seemed to feel the same way. “Eberly called me earlier and told me about it. But thanks for informing me, Holly. I’ll see you in the office when you return from the hospital.”

Raoul Tavalera was sitting in the hospital’s tiny solarium, a glassed-in bubble on the hospital’s roof. Even though it was midmorning and sunlight streamed through the habitat’s solar windows, to Holly it looked like a slightly overcast day; the sunlight seemed weak, as though filtered through a layer of thin clouds. We’re more than five times farther from the Sun than the Earth is, she realized. Naturally the sunlight is weaker.

Tavalera was dressed in ill-fitting gray coveralls, his long, horsy face looking glum, almost sullen. He did not get up from his chair when Holly walked over to him and introduced herself. She wore a crisply tailored dusky rose blouse over dark gray slacks: office garb.

“I’m from the Human Resources Department,” Holly explained, once she had pulled up a chair to sit next to Tavalera. He did not move a muscle to help her. She made a smile for him and went on, “I’m here to get your complete life story.”

He did not smile back. “Is it true? I’m stuck here for a friggin’ year or more?”

“Unless someone sends a ship to pick you up, yes, I’m afraid you’re going to be with us all the way out to Saturn.”

“Who the fuck would send a ship out for me?” he muttered. “I’m just a turd engineer, friggin’ slave labor, that’s all I am.”

Holly took a breath. “Mr. Tavalera, I’m no saint, but I’d appreciate it if you notched up your language a little.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “A Believer?”

“Not really. I’m not a churchgoer.”

“The frig — uh, I mean, it was the New Morality that sent me out here in the first place. I hadda do two years of public service. No choice.”

“I see.”

“Do ya? I only had a couple more weeks to go and they would’ve brought me back home. Now I’m goin’ out to fri — to Saturn for chrissakes.”

Gesturing toward the rooftop view of the village and the habitat’s lovely green landscape, Holly said, “There are worse places, y’know. You might actually like it here.”

“I got family on Earth. Friends. I was gonna get my life back together…” His voice trailed off. Holly could see that he was struggling to keep from flying off into a rage.

“You can send them messages. We can find useful work for you to do. You’ll enjoy living here, betcha.”

Tavalera glowered at her.

“I know it must seem like a bugging disaster to you,” said Holly as reasonably as she could, “but you’re here and you should try to make the best of it.”

“Easy for you to say,” Tavalera muttered.

“We’ll do everything we can to help you while you’re here.”

“We?”

“The people here in the habitat. The Human Resources Department.”

“Does that include you?”

Nodding, Holly replied, “I’m with the Human Resources Department, yes.”

Tavelra seemed to brigthten a little. But only a little.

Eberly paced leisurely along the path that wound around the perimeter of the lake, Morgenthau at his side.

“It’s good to be out in the open air,” he was saying. “Away from prying eyes and snooping ears.”

“They’re spying on you?” Morgenthau asked. She knew how simple it was to spray molecule-thin microphones on a wall or ceiling. Cameras no bigger than a teardrop could be inserted almost anywhere.

“Probably not. Wilmot’s too naïve even to understand what we’re doing. But it’s best to be prepared against all possibilities, don’t you think?”

“We have a problem with Vyborg,” she said, as if making an announcement.

“He’s impatient, I know.”

Morgenthau said, “He’s more than impatient. He’s going to do something violent.”

“Violent?” Eberly felt a pang of alarm in his guts. “What do you mean?”

Morgenthau replied calmly, “He’s not willing to wait for you to remove the two men above him in the Communications Department. He’s ready to strike against them.”

Fighting against the fear rising within him, Eberly snarled, “The little snake! He’ll ruin everything.” Inwardly he asked himself, How can I stop him? How can I prevent him without seeming weak, indecisive? I want their loyalty, but if I try to thwart them, prevent them from acting, they’ll go ahead without me. And then where will I be? When we get to Saturn they’ll send me back to Earth. Back to prison!

“He’s going to resort to violence, I tell you,” Morgenthau insisted.

It took an effort of will for Eberly to keep from wringing his hands. “What can I do? How can I stop him?”

Morgenthau smiled knowingly. “Don’t stop him.”

“What?”

“Let him take action. Just make certain that whatever he does can’t be traced back to us.”

Eberly stared at her, trying to understand what she was saying.