SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 288 DAYS

Ruth Morgenthau hated these nature walks that Eberly insisted upon. He’s absolutely paranoid, she thought as she trudged reluctantly along the path that led through the park from Village A toward the orchards. He worries that someone might be bugging his apartment the way we’re bugging everyone else’s.

It’s no longer Village A, she reminded herself. It’s Athens now. And the orchard is officially the St. Francis of Assisi Preserve. Morgenthau almost giggled aloud. What a name! What arguments they had had, real shouting battles between herself, Vyborg, and Kananga. Even the normally moderate and reserved Jaansen had raised his voice when it came to naming the habitat’s various laboratory buildings.

The months-long campaign to produce actual names for the habitat’s villages, buildings, and natural features had been little more than a farce. Every vote had a scatter factor larger almost than the number of votes. Everyone in the habitat had an opinion about what the names should be, and hardly two votes agreed with each other. It was a grand mess, but Eberly came through with a magnificent solution.

“Since there is no unanimity among the voters,” he told his inner cadre of confidants, “we will have to make the decisions ourselves.”

That set the four of them wrangling, with Kananga insisting that African names be just as numerous as European or Asian, Vyborg holding out for names that had powerful psychological connotations among the populace, and Jaansen firmly — sometimes stubbornly — proffering his own list of famous scientists’ names. Eberly had stayed above the fray, listening to their squabbles with cold disdain. Morgenthau found the whole affair disgusting; she hadn’t cared what names were chosen, as long as they were not blatantly secular. She had flatly refused to allow the biology facility to be named after Charles Darwin, of course.

In the end, Eberly resolved most of their disputes. When they could not agree, he made the decision. When they wrangled too long, he stepped in and told them to stop acting like children. Morgenthau watched over him carefully, though, and he knew it.

Village A got a European name: Athens. Village B went to the Asians: Bangkok. Village C became Cairo; D became Delhi and E was named Entebbe. The Americans — North and South — complained bitterly, but Eberly stared them down by solemnly proclaiming those were the names that the habitat’s residents had voted for. After all, he pointed out, Americans actually were a minority in the habitat’s population.

Since the votes were secret ballots, Eberly refused to allow anyone to recount them. In a great show of seeming impartiality, he erased all the votes — “So that no one can tamper with them, or use them to cause unrest in the future,” he announced.

There were some grumbles, but the people by and large accepted the names that the voters allegedly chose. Eberly saw to it that there were plenty of American and Latino names sprinkled among the buildings and natural features, to keep everyone reasonably satisfied.

It was a strong, masterful performance, Morgenthau felt. Yet a tendril of worry troubled her. Perhaps Eberly was too strong, too determined to have his own way, too hungry for power. We are agents of God, she reminded herself. We seek power not for ourselves, but for the salvation of these ten thousand lost souls. She wondered if Eberly felt the same way. In fact, she was almost certain that he did not. Yet authorities higher than her own had chosen Eberly to lead this mission; her job was to support him — and keep him from straying too far from the path the New Morality and Holy Disciples had chosen for him.

So Morgenthau walked beside him along the Washington Carver Pathway, which led from Athens to the St. Francis Orchard and beyond, over the little rolling knolls that bore the incongruous name of the Andes Hills toward the farmlands of the Ohio region. She desperately hoped that Eberly would not decide to walk all the way to California, the open region up by the endcap. Her feet hurt enough already.

“You’re very quiet this afternoon,” Eberly said as they walked along the meandering brick path. Those were the first words he himself had spoken in many minutes.

Morgenthau could feel sweat beading on her brow. “I’m just happy that the names have been settled on,” she said. “You did a masterful job, a brilliant job.”

He allowed a wintry smile to curve his lips. “Just as long as the actual votes have been totally erased.”

“Totally,” she swore.

“And no one outside our inner circle knows about how the names were chosen.”

“No one.”

“Not even Holly? She’s very bright, you know.”

Morgenthau agreed with an nod. “She asked why the votes should be erased. Once I told her that it was your decision, though, she put up no resistance.”

Eberly nodded. “I’ll probably have to take her to bed, sooner or later. That will ensure her loyalty.”

Morgenthau gaped at him, shocked. “She’s quite loyal enough now. There’s no need—”

He cut her short. “The next steps we take will be more and more distasteful to her. I’ll have to keep her bound to me personally. Otherwise she might balk, or even rebel against us.”

“But bedding her — that’s sinful!”

“It’s in a good cause. We must all be prepared to make sacrifices.”

She caught his sarcastic tone. “Well, at least she’s rather attractive.”

“A bit dark for my liking,” Eberly said, almost as casually as if he were discussing his preferences in clothing or food. “I favor blondes, with fuller figures.”

Morgenthau felt her cheeks reddening. And yet… Is he toying with me? she wondered. Testing me? She had no desire to pursue this line of discussion. She had no fantasies about her own attractions, or her own preferences.

“You didn’t ask me out on this walk to discuss your plans for romance, did you?”

“No,” he answered, quite seriously. “Hardly that.”

“Then what?”

Without changing his leisurely pace, Eberly looked up at the light poles and the miniature cameras atop them, then out to the green and flowering parkland spread about them.

“Offices can be bugged too easily. There are always prying eyes and ears to worry about.”

She understood. “Out here, it simply looks as if we’re taking in some exercise together.”

“Precisely.” He nodded.

Morgenthau considered that the fact the two of them were walking together might start some tongues wagging, although hardly anyone would suspect her of having a romantic interest in Eberly, or of being of any physical attraction to him. Or any man, for that matter. They all see me as a short, dumpy, overweight loser, Morgenthau knew. I’m no threat to any of them. How little they know!

“Sooner or later we’re going to have to confront Wilmot,” Eberly said, his eyes still scanning for eavesdroppers. “Vyborg is constantly nagging me about removing Berkowitz and installing himself as the chief of communications. I’ve decided that the way to get to Berkowitz is through Wilmot.”

“Through Wilmot?”

“Berkowitz is an innocuous former network executive. He doesn’t appear to have any obvious vices. He runs the Communications Department so loosely that Vyborg is actually in charge of virtually the entire operation.”

“But Sammi wants the title as well as the responsibility,” Morgenthau said. “I know him. He wants the respect and the power.”

“Yes. And he’s impatient. If what he did to that old man Romero is ever discovered…”

“It won’t reflect on you,” she assured him. “It can’t.”

“Perhaps. But still, Berkowitz should be removed.”

“And to do that, you want to go through Wilmot?” Morgenthau asked.

“That’s not the only reason, of course,” Eberly went on. “Wilmot believes he is in charge of the habitat. The day will come when I’ll have to disabuse him of that notion.”