Still walking along as if on a casual stroll, Morgenthau explained, “We want Vyborg to take command of the Communications Department. If he’s ready to take a step in that direction, why stop him?”
“What if he commits a crime? What if he’s discovered, caught, arrested?”
“That’s why we must have no connection with him, not until after he’s succeeded.”
“But if he fails…”
“If he succeeds, he’s one step closer to our goal. If he fails, we can honestly say we had nothing to do with it.”
“Suppose he fails,” Eberly questioned, “and he’s caught, and he blames me?”
“You can show clean hands and a pure heart,” Morgenthau replied sweetly. “With your powers of persuasion, I’m sure you can make Wilmot and the whole population believe that you’ve been falsely accused. Because that will be the truth.”
Eberly walked on in silence, with Morgenthau keeping pace beside him. She wants Vyborg to act. Even if he commits murder, she’s in favor of his acting. Why? he asked himself. And the answer came immediately: Because that will give her a stronger hold on Vyborg. And a stronger hold on me. She’s allowing me to be the public figurehead because I can organize people and sway them to our side. But she’s the power behind the throne. She’s the real power here.
INTERFAITH CHAPEL
With ten thousand souls in the habitat and only one small chapel for them to worship in, you would think this house of God would be filled to overflowing every hour of the day and night, thought Ruth Morgenthau as she sank to her knees in the first pew. But no, it’s empty except for me.
Cold anger filled her. Ten thousand people and not one of them loves God enough to kneel here in prayer. Only me. I’m the only one here.
Not so, came a stern voice from within her. God is here. Bow your head in prayer. Acknowledge your sins and beg your Maker for forgiveness.
Morgenthau prayed.
She had found God — or, rather, God had found her — when she had been a skinny fourteen-year-old prostitute in the filth-littered back streets of Nuremberg, speeding toward an early death from malnutrition, disease, and drug abuse. The Holy Disciples rescued her, healed her body and cleansed her soul.
Yet the hunger remained. She realized, in time, that the hunger was the devil’s work, the insidious, inescapable hunger that would pull her down to eternal damnation unless she dedicated her every waking moment to the service of God. She prayed for relief, for the strength to overcome its constant searing need. Often she prayed for death, for she thought that only death would end the torture of her soul. She denied herself the companionship of women, slept alone in a bare monk’s cell, to keep from temptation, to stave off the yearning hunger.
And then she found the substitute, the permissible passion that sublimated her forbidden hunger. Power. By working with men, by spending virtually every waking moment surrounded by the men she loathed and feared, eventually she learned to play their games of power. She deliberately allowed her body to bloat, to become unattractive physically. But she honed her mind and her instincts. She rose in the councils of the Holy Disciples. No one suspected her suppressed yearning. Women and men alike respected her growing power.
When she was asked to go on the mission to Saturn she agreed gladly.
“We have selected a man to organize a God-fearing government in the space habitat,” her superior told her, “but he is not the most reliable of souls. He claims to be a Believer, but his past record of chicanery makes me doubt his faith.”
Morgenthau nodded. “I understand,” she said. And she did. This was an opportunity for real power, control of ten thousand men and women. A great opportunity. And a terrible temptation.
So she knelt alone in the habitat’s little chapel and prayed fervently for guidance. And power. Power was good, power in the service of God was an absolute blessing. It kept the hunger at bay. It calmed the devils that burned within her.
Morgenthau prayed for inner peace, for humility, for understanding the path that God wished her to take. But most of all, she prayed for power.
SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 335 DAYS
Holly felt awkward when she saw Gaeta again, two days later. She found a good business reason to call him, yet instead of asking him to come to her office, she invited him to lunch. He easily agreed, on the condition that it was at the Bistro, not the cafeteria. When Holly hesitated, wondering if he considered that more romantic, he said:
“Don’t worry, it’ll be my treat.”
Despite herself, Holly laughed and agreed to meet him at the Bistro.
Yet she grew more nervous as noon approached. We spent a night together and he hasn’t made a move to see me since then. I call him to talk business, but he wants to have lunch in the Bistro because it’s quieter and the food’s better and maybe he thinks we can go back to my place or maybe his afterward and go to bed together. Which wouldn’t be altogether a terrible thing, she thought, grinning despite her pangs of guilt. But I can’t get involved with him or anybody else because Malcolm’s the man I really want.
A faint voice in her head asked, Is that really true? Malcolm hasn’t even held your hand. Are you really in love with him?
Yes, she replied so swiftly that she did not allow herself any doubt. The faint voice said nothing more.
Gaeta was already at their table when Holly arrived at the Bistro. He shot to his feet, a bright smile on his rugged face.
The Bistro was so small that most of the tables were outside, on the grass. There was never any rain to worry about in the habitat, and the only winds were the gentle breezes that were stirred by the massive air circulation pumps set into the endcaps. Underground hoses watered the lawns and the crops, as needed, without spraying water through the air. Sensors in the ground kept track of soil moisture and nutrient levels.
There were no flies or other buzzing pests in the habitat, although Holly knew that the ground was honeycombed by ants and worms and the microscopic creatures that turned inert, dead dirt from the Moon’s regolith into living, productive soil.
“Sorry I’m late,” Holly said, slipping into the chair that Gaeta held for her.
“Only five minutes,” he said, sitting down again.
“Sometimes it’s almost impossible to get out of the office. There’s always something more to do.”
The flat-topped robot waiter trundled to their table, the menu and wine list illuminated on its touchscreen. They made their choices and the robot threaded its way through the tables and back inside the restaurant.
“We’re making a nice little bundle on the rescue footage,” Gaeta said. “It got a big play on the news nets. Outscored our flyby of Jupiter in the ratings.”
“That’s great.”
The robot rolled back to their table, bearing their drinks. As Gaeta handed Holly her frosted mug of cola he asked, “So what did you want to see me about?” He seemed guarded, Holly thought, almost wary.
“I need to talk to you about Tavalera, the guy you rescued,” she said.
“What? He wants a percentage?”
Holly was surprised at that. “No. Prob’ly he hasn’t even thought about that. He just wants to go home.”
“Back Earthside?”
“Right.”
Gaeta made a small, careless shrug. “He can hitch a ride with us when we leave, I guess.”
“That’s what I was going to ask you.”
“Sure. No prob. Fritz’ll grumble, but the guy’s an engineer, isn’t he? So we can carry him as a backup techie. That’ll keep Fritz happy.”
Suddenly there was nothing left to talk about, Holly realized. Except everything.
Sammi Vyborg skipped lunch. He stayed in his office and followed Diego Romero on the surveillance cameras spotted throughout the habitat. Kananga had given him the Security Department’s code for accessing the cameras.