“I’m glad to hear that. Valnia Bloom would never have forgiven me if I’d said he couldn’t go. She’s itching to get at him. But I just hate to leave dangling mysteries.” She turned to Sebastian. “There’s something peculiar inside your white blood cells, and your brain functions and scans are also quite unusual — did you know you have variable neurotransmitter take-up rates?”

“Never knew I had them. Is that good?”

“Not good, not bad. Do you ever feel inexplicable fits of weariness, or rage?”

Jan laughed. “Sebastian never gets mad at anything, ever.”

“Then I wouldn’t worry about the neurotransmitter variations, because they’re not doing any harm. We’ll put all this into the official report, of course. Meanwhile, there’s nothing to stop you leaving.”

“Leaving the lab?”

“Leaving the Earth-Moon system.” Christa Matloff turned, to include Jan as well as Sebastian. “Congratulations, both of you. Pretty soon you’ll be on your way to Ganymede, then I gather you’ll be heading for Saturn.”

8

Five more minutes, and Alex must leave. He had to go, but he was so excited that he didn’t know if he could bear to. His feet, in their clumsy formal shoes, felt rooted to the floor of his office. He had been standing, fully dressed and motionless, for over two hours.

At last! At last his programs were able to employ the full power of the Seine, and the difference between this and all pre-Seine runs was awesome. If only he could stay until the end of the first run…

The racing clock already showed 2136 — three decades beyond the point where all earlier efforts had degenerated to meaningless overflow and massive exponents. On the displays he could now watch the outward wave, as humanity expanded faster and faster through the solar system. Total population had climbed steadily to almost ten billion. Outward Bound was busy with the major satellites of Uranus and had a firm toehold on Triton, Neptune’s giant moon. A manned expedition was on the way to the inner edge of the Oort Cloud. The seventh unmanned interstellar ship was on its way. A manned interstellar ship was on the drawing boards.

Alex could also zoom the model in to examine in more detail the prediction for any chosen location; detail enough, if he so chose, to examine the actions of an individual program element. That element was a person, or at least the Fax of a person. And the Fax could be selected as anything from a crude Level One to the most complex of the Level Fives.

The last digits of the clock were changing too fast to be more than a blur. Already the prediction had advanced to 2140. All parameters showed only orderly change, with no wild swings or uncontrolled growth. He had set the run for a full century ahead. Another hour — even another half-hour…

He became aware of Kate standing by his side. She had certainly not been there thirty seconds ago. He felt like turning, reaching his arms wide, and embracing her. Kate was the one who had coaxed and argued and finessed and finagled, until the complete Seine resources were made available to Alex’s computer models. This was her moment as much as his, it should be a shared pleasure and excitement.

Alex was smart enough not to offer Kate even his little finger. She’d probably bite it off. She was his boss, so they had no choice but to continue to work together ever since he told her that he had agreed to meet with Lucy-Maria Mobarak. It was necessary, he had explained, because of “family pressure.” Kate had nodded, but from that moment everything between them had been on a cool and strictly professional basis. He did not recall that their hands had touched once. As for the idea of sleeping together…

He could see from the corner of his eye that she was looking him up and down with disapproval. He agreed with her completely. It was not from choice that he wore clothing so outmoded and uncomfortable.

Prosper and Karolus Ligon had laid down the rules. “It is nowhere a written requirement, Alex, but it will be expected of you. We realize that there is no commitment at this moment, on our side or Mobarak’s. However, your meeting with Lucy-Maria Mobarak is the first encounter between potential heirs of two of the System’s wealthiest families. You must dress in accordance with tradition. We refer, of course, to Ligon tradition.”

Ligon tradition stretched back more than two centuries. Which was why Alex, who normally worked in a sloppy jumpsuit and more often than not went barefoot, now stood attired in a stiff and starchy suit of gleaming white, a canary-yellow shirt fronted with jeweled ruby studs that had taken half an hour to fasten, and ancient two-toned shoes of yellow and white. They were a size too small and cramped his toes. Forcing those objects onto his feet, he had wondered about Mobarak tradition. Since Cyrus Mobarak was by Ligon standards an “upstart” and a “charlatan,” was there any such thing? What would Lucy-Maria be wearing?

Kate’s disgusted glance at Alex’s clothing said everything. Her only comment, however, was, “Your mother is outside. I don’t think you should keep her waiting.”

The model’s internal clock had reached 2143. Soon they would be at the half-century projection mark. “Will you keep an eye on this run?”

“I’ve been watching it closely since the moment it started. Don’t worry, Alex. It will not lack my attention.”

No enthusiasm in Kate’s tone, no suggestion that this could be an historic event in the field of predictive modeling. Alex nodded, swiveled on his heel, and squeaked out.

Lena Ligon was indeed waiting, with an expression more of curiosity than impatience. “So you actually work here. In an office.”

“Yes, Mother. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Oh, no. If that is what amuses you.” Her glance took in and rejected the metal walls, harsh lighting, and worn floor tiles. “And that was the famous Kate Lonaker. She is taller and better-looking in person than her video would suggest. Interesting, if it is all-natural and without modifications.”

It was not an actual question. Alex remained silent. He allowed his mother to lead the way, through the labyrinthine inner tunnels of Ganymede, then onto an elevator that ascended rapidly more than four hundred kilometers. By the time they reached their destination level, the effective gravity had increased appreciably.

Alex assumed that his mother had dropped the subject of Kate, as beneath consideration. But Lena said suddenly, “She does not talk about you in a typical supervisor-employee way.”

“Oh?”

“No. I sensed that she was angry with you about something. She has airs above her station.”

“I had to leave for this meeting, right when I was in the middle of making computer runs of my prediction models.”

“This meeting is important. Anyway, not that sort of anger. Something more personal.” His mother flashed a glance at Alex from clear gray eyes, their whites almost luminous with health. “Are you two doing what these days is known as co-orbiting, but in my simpler youth was known as fucking each other?”

“No.” That was currently a true statement. Fortunately Lena did not go on to more detailed questioning.

“Good,” she said. “Keep it that way. One of your problems, Alex, is that you do not appreciate the vast gulf between you and the Kate Lonakers of the world. Ever since the time of your late great-uncle Sanford, we Ligons have followed a strict selection procedure for child-bearing. The genetic material brought into the mating from outside the family comes not from a single individual, but is a carefully-chosen chromosomal synthesis from several donors. Kate Lonaker is, I feel sure, the product of some indiscriminate, one-Y, single-father breeding. To her and to women like her — females with no family, pedigree, property, or prospects — you represent a catch of almost unimaginable value. It would not be necessary for her to extort promises from you. She could merely beguile you into ignoring all precautions, allowing her to become pregnant with your child with or without your knowledge… I assume that you remain on long-term prophylaxis? There is, after all, such a thing as loyalty to family tradition.”