Saturn (27 page)

The political debate was held in the habitat's outdoor theater, a big concrete shell that curved gracefully to focus the sound waves produced on its stage out into the rows of seats set up on the grass.

It's a fairly good crowd, Eberly thought as he looked out over the audience. Must be more than a thousand out there, and a lot more watching by vid. Seated on the stage three meters to his left was Edouard Urbain, looking stiffly elegant in an old-fashioned dove-gray suit over a sky-blue turtleneck. Next to him sat Timoshenko, sour and gruff; he wore gray coveralls as a symbol of pride in his profession. Eberly thought he looked like a janitor. Eberly himself wore a dark charcoal tunic and comfortable slacks of lighter gray, true to the dress code he had promulgated.

Wilmot stood at the podium in his usual tweed jacket and shapeless trousers, explaining the rules of the debate.

"...each candidate will begin with a five-minute summary of his position, to be followed by another five minutes apiece for rebuttal. Then the meeting will be opened to questions from the audience."

Eberly kept himself from smiling. Vyborg and Kananga had "seeded" the audience with dozens of supporters, each of them armed with questions that would allow Eberly to dominate the Q A period. He had no intention of allowing Urbain or Timoshenko to say a single word more than absolutely necessary.

"So without further ado, allow me to introduce Dr. Edouard Urbain, head of our scientific section," said Wilmot. He began reading Urbain's
curriculum vitae
from the display on the podium.

What a bore, thought Eberly. Who cares what scientific honors he won in Quebec?

At last Urbain got up and went to the podium to the accompaniment of scattered applause. There are only a few scientists in the audience, Eberly realized. So much the better. He saw that Urbain limped, ever so slightly. Strange I'd never noticed that before, he said to himself. Is that something new, or has he always walked with a little limp? Looking out over the audience, Eberly recognized several of his own people, including Holly and the stuntman, Gaeta, sitting in the front row. Good. Just as I ordered.

Urbain cleared his throat and said, "As you know, I am not a politician. But I am a capable administrator. Managing more than one hundred highly individualistic scientists and their assistants has been compared to attempting to make a group of cats march in step."

He stopped, waiting for laughter. A few titters rose from the audience.

Looking slightly nettled, Urbain went on: "Allow me to show you how I have managed the scientific programs of this habitat. In this first image we see ..."

AVs! Eberly could hardly keep himself from whooping with glee. He's showing audiovisuals, as if this was a scientific meeting. The audience will go to sleep on him!

Holly felt distinctly uncomfortable sitting next to Gaeta, but Eberly had told her to bring the stuntman to the meeting and she had followed his orders.

Gaeta had smiled his best when Holly called him. "Go to the rally with you? I'm not much for listening to speeches."

"Dr. Eberly has asked specially that you come," Holly had said to his image, from the safety of her office. "It would be a favor to him."

"Eberly, huh?" Gaeta mulled it over for a moment. "Okay, why not? Then we can have dinner together afterward. Okay?"

Despite everything she knew about Gaeta, Holly wanted to say yes. Instead, "I'm sure Dr. Eberly would like to have dinner with you."

"No, I meant you, Holly."

"I don't think I'll be able to."

"Why not?"

She wanted to say, Because you've bedded every woman who's been able to help you. Because you just think of me as a convenience, be
c
ause you're an insensitive macho bastard. Because I want you to care for me and all you care about is getting laid.

But she heard herself say, "Well, maybe. We'll see."

From his seat on the stage, Eberly saw Urbain's audiovisuals in a weird foreshortening as they hovered in the air behind the speaker's podium. Urbain was explaining them in a flat, unemotional monotone.

An organization chart. Then some quick telescope images of Titan that showed a blurry orange sphere. Urbain used a laser pointer to emphasize details that had no interest for Eberly. Or the rest of the audience, Eberly thought.

"And the final holo," said Urbain. Eberly wanted to break into applause.

What appeared in three dimensions above the stage looked like a silver-gray tank.

"This is
Alpha,"
said Urbain, his voice taking on a glow of pride. "She will descend to the surface of Titan and begin the detailed exploration of that world, directed in real time by my staff of scientists and technicians."

The tank lurched into motion, trundling back and forth on caterpillar treads, extending mechanical arms that ended in pincers or shovel-like scoops. Urbain stood to one side of the podium watching the machine, looking like a proud father gazing fondly at his child as it takes its first steps.

Wilmot, who had been sitting in the first row, climbed the steps onto the stage and advanced to the podium.

"A very impressive demonstration, Dr. Urbain, but I'm afraid your five minutes are up," he said, his voice amplified for everyone to hear by the pin mike clipped to the lapel of his jacket.

A grimace of disappointment flashed across Urbain's face, but he immediately turned off his palm-sized projector and made a smile for the audience.

"Thank you for your patience," he said, then turned and took his seat on Eberly's left. Not one person clapped his hands.

Wilmot, at the podium, said, "And now we have Mr. Ilya Timoshenko, from the Engineering Department. Mr. Timoshenko was born in Orel, Russia, and took his degree in electrical engineering..."

Eberly tuned out Wilmot's drone and watched the crowd. There were lots of men and women out there who had also dressed in gray coveralls. My God, he realized: It's like a team uniform. And almost half the crowd is wearing gray coveralls!

Timoshenko ambled up to the podium, nodding his thanks to Wilmot and then looking out at the audience. He tried to smile, but on his dour face it looked more like a grimace.

"I won't need five minutes," he said, his voice rough, gravelly. "What I have to say is very simple. Dr. Urbain says you should vote for him because he's a scientist. Dr. Eberly is going to tell you to vote for him because he's not a scientist."

A few people laughed.

"I ask you to vote for me because I'm a working stiff, just as most of you are. I'm not a department head. I'm not a boss. But I know how to get people to work together and I'm one of you. I'll look out for your interests because I'm one of you. Remember that when you vote. Thank you."

And he turned and went back to his seat. No applause. The audience was too surprised at the abruptness of his presentation.

Wilmot looked startled for a moment, but then he rose and went purposefully to the podium.

"Thank you, Mr. Timoshenko," Wilmot said, looking over his shoulder at the engineer. Turning back to the audience he said, "I think we should give Mr. Timoshenko a hearty round of applause, for being so brief, if for no other reason."

Wilmot started clapping his meaty hands together and the crowd quickly joined in. The applause was perfunctory, Eberly thought, and it quickly faded away.

"Our final candidate," said Wilmot, "is Dr. Malcolm Eberly, head of the Human Resources section and chief architect of the proposed constitution that we will vote on, come election day."

Without a further word of introduction, he turned halfway toward Eberly and said simply, "Dr. Eberly."

Several dozen people scattered through the audience got to their feet, applauding loudly, as Eberly rose and stepped to the podium. Others looked around and slowly, almost reluctantly, got up from their seats, too, and began to clap. By the time Eberly gripped the edges of the podium half the audience was on their feet applauding. Sheep, thought Eberly. Most people are nothing better than stupid sheep. Even Wilmot was standing and clapping halfheartedly, too polite to do otherwise.

Eberly gestured for silence and everyone sat down.

"I suppose I should say that I'm not a politician, either," he began. "Or at least, I wasn't one until I came into this habitat.

"But if there is one thing that I've learned during our long months of travel together, it is this: Our society here must not be divided into classes. We must be united. Otherwise we will fragment into chaos."

He turned slightly to glance at Urbain. Then, looking squarely at his audience again, Eberly said, "Do you want to be divided into scientists and non-scientists? Do you want a small, self-important elite to run your government? What makes these scientists believe that they should be in charge? Why should you have to take orders from an elite group that puts its own goals and its own needs ahead of yours?"

The audience stirred.

Raising his voice slightly, Eberly said, "Did the scientists help to draft the constitution that you will vote on? No. There was not a single scientist on the drafting committee. They were all too busy with their experiments and observations to bother about the way we're going to live."

Urbain began to protest, "But we were not asked
—
"

Wilmot turned off Urbain's lapel mike. "Rebuttals will come after the first position statements," he said firmly.

Urbain's face went red.

Suppressing a satisfied grin, Eberly said, "Our new government must be managed by people from every section of our population. Not only scientists. Not only engineers or technicians. We need the factory laborers and farmers, the office workers and maintenance technicians, butchers and bakers and candlestick makers. Everyone should have a chance to serve in the new government. Everyone should share in the authority and responsibility of power. Not just one tiny group of specialists. Everyone."

They got to their feet with a roar of approval and applauded like thunder. Eberly smiled at them glowingly.

Wilmot stood up and motioned for them to stop. "Your applause is eating into Dr. Eberly's allotted time," he shouted over their clapping.

The applause petered out and everyone sat down.

Eberly lowered his head for a moment, waiting for them to focus their complete attention on him. Then he resumed:

"I'll tell you one other thing we need in our new government. A person at its head who understands that we must be united, that we must never allow one elite group to gain power over the rest of us. We need a leader who understands the people, a leader who will work tirelessly for everyone, and not merely the scientists."

"Damn right!" came a voice from the audience.

Eberly asked, "Do you want an elite group of specialists to impose their will on you?"

"No!" several voices answered.

"Do you want a government that will work for everyone?"

"Yes!"

"Do you want a leader who can control the scientists and work for
your
benefit?"

"Yes! Yes!" they shouted. And Eberly saw that his own people were only a small part of those who rose and responded to him.

He let them cheer and whistle until Wilmot came to the podium to announce that his initial five minutes were up.

Eberly went placidly back to his seat, noting with pleasure that Urbain looked upset, almost angry, and Timoshenko's scowl was even darker than usual.

Urbain sputtered through the rebuttal period, defending the importance of the habitat's science mission, denying that he would put the scientists' needs above those of all the others. The more he denied, Eberly thought, the more firmly he fixed in the audience's mind the fact that he considered the scientists to be separate and apart from
—
above, really
—
everyone else.

Timoshenko hammered on his theme of being a simple, ordinary working man who understands the needs of the common people. Eberly noted with pleasure that neither candidate attacked him.

When it came to his time for a rebuttal statement, Eberly walked slowly to the podium and said:

"We have a choice that reminds me of the three bears in the tale of Goldilocks. One of our candidates has too little experience at management. He tells you that he is an ordinary guy. This is quite true, but for the leader of this great society we are struggling to create we need someone who is not ordinary; we need someone with experience, and courage, and skill."

He hesitated a heartbeat, then said, "The other candidate has too much experience at management. He's been managing scientists for so long that he's completely out of touch with what the rest of us need. Charts and equations and fancy mechanical toys that will explore the surface of Titan have nothing to do with our needs and our future here in this habitat."

That brought a round of applause. Eberly stood at the podium, his head bowed slightly, soaking up the adulation.

At last Wilmot got up and said, "Now we will open the meeting to questions from the floor, and from those who are watching these proceedings in their homes."

Eberly snapped his attention to the professor. Wilmot hadn't told him that people would be able to call in questions from their homes, and Vyborg hadn't even warned him of the possibility. We don't have anyone ready with prepared questions from home, he thought. The crowd is seeded, but not the home audience.

"He makes some sense," Gaeta said to Holly as they sat down again. "I mean, Urbain is dead-set against letting me go to Titan, even though Kris has shown him she can clean my suit with nanobugs."

Holly nodded and said, "Why don't you ask about that?"

Gaeta nodded back at her. "Good idea!"

The questions were all for Eberly. The people Vyborg had planted in the crowd dominated the Q A period, and even those who weren't plants addressed their questions to Eberly, not to Urbain or Timoshenko. Eberly stood at the podium, ignoring his opponents sitting a few meters away. Wilmot stood beside him, choosing the questioners from the hands raised in the audience and the incoming calls lighting up his handheld.

The questions were all so predictable, Eberly realized with some relief. Even those calling in from their homes asked the kind of routine, boring questions that he could have answered in his sleep.

Yes, I will review all applications for babies. I believe we can allow a modest growth in our population.

No, I will not permit any religious group to attain control of the government. He saw Morgenthau's cheek twitch at that answer, but it was the answer they had agreed to give. "We have to get voted into power first," he had told her, time and again, "before we can even hint at our true affiliations."

Of course I will pay personal attention to the needs of the farmers, he said to a caller who refused to identify himself. Without the farms we will quickly starve.

He recognized Manuel Gaeta when the stuntman rose to his feet to ask, "Will you permit me to go to the surface of Titan?"

Everyone knew Gaeta and his beat-up handsome face. All attention in the outdoor theater turned to him.

Eberly couldn't help smiling. "If you can satisfy the scientists that you won't contaminate the life-forms on Titan, I don't see any reason to prevent you from going."

Wilmot turned and motioned Urbain to come up to the podium. "Dr. Urbain, what is your position on this?"

Slicking his hair back with one hand, Urbain said without hesitation, "The threat of contamination to the microbial organisms of Titan is much too serious to allow any human exploration of that world for the foreseeable future. Besides, we have no choice in the matter. The IAA forbids any human intervention on Titan's surface."

Gaeta called from the first row, "But Dr. Cardenas has shown you that she can clean my suit."

Wilmot said to the audience, "Mr. Gaeta is referring to the work of Dr. Kristin Cardenas, who has developed nanomachines that may be capable of decontaminating Mr. Gaeta's spacesuit."

"The decontamination appears to be acceptable," Urbain conceded, looking a little flustered, "but appearances can be deceiving. Besides, we should not take the risk of having nanomachines infect Titan's ecology."

Eberly nudged Urbain away from the podium and looked out at the sea of faces watching them. "This is a good example of why we can't allow the scientists to have control of the government. Why shouldn't this man be allowed to carry out his adventure, if it's been proven that he won't hurt the bugs down there?"

"It has not been proven!"

"Dr. Cardenas says that it has been," Eberly countered.

"Not to my satisfaction," snapped Urbain.

"Your
satisfaction!" Eberly shouted. "In other words, you make the decision and everyone else has to obey you
—
even a Nobel Prize winner like Dr. Cardenas."

"It is my decision to make," Urbain insisted.

"I thought you said the International Astronautical Association made the decision."

"Yes, of course, that's true," Urbain stammered, "but if necessary I could override their decision. After all, I am the director of all scientific efforts here."

"You want to be a dictator!" Eberly exclaimed, pretending shock.

Wilmot jumped between them. "Wait a moment. There is another issue here. What about the dangers of nanotechnology?"

"Nanotechnology is a tool," Urbain said. "A tool that must be used carefully
—
but nothing more than a tool, nonetheless."

Eberly was surprised at that. All he could add was, "Yes, I agree."

Timoshenko rose from his chair. "Wait. There are dangers with nanotechnology. The bugs can get out of control
—
"

"Bullshit!" came a screaming voice from the audience. Kris Cardenas shot to her feet, her face white with anger. "Show me one instance where nanomachines have gotten out of control. They've been using nanobugs at Selene and the other lunar communities for decades now, and there's been no trouble at all. Not one incident."

Timoshenko scowled at her. "Nanobugs killed several people, back when it was still called Moonbase."

"That was deliberate murder. You might as well outlaw hammers because they've been used to smash people's skulls."

Wilmot spread his hands to calm things down. "No one is thinking of outlawing nanotechnology," he said flatly. "We recognize Dr. Cardenas as the solar system's acknowledged expert on the subject, and we have agreed to use nanomachines
—
but under the strictest safety procedures."

Before either of the other candidates could say anything, Eberly stepped in. "Nanotechnology can be very helpful to us, and I have every confidence in Dr. Cardenas's ability to develop nanomachines safely."

"I too," said Urbain.

They all turned to Timoshenko. He grimaced, then said, "With all respect to the admired Dr. Cardenas, I believe nanomachines can be very dangerous in a closed environment such as ours. They should be banned."

Eberly seized the moment. "Most of us are here in this habitat," he said, "because of laws and regulations that stifled our lives. Most of us are educated, knowledgeable, unafraid of new ideas and new capabilities. We have all suffered under governments that restricted our freedoms."

He saw several heads nodding agreement.

"All right then," he asked the audience, "how many of you are in favor of banning nanotechnology altogether?"

The people hesitated, glanced at each other. A few hands went up. Very few. Down on the floor, Kris Cardenas looked around, smiled, and sat down.

Eberly nodded, satisfied. Turning to Timoshenko, he said, "There you are.
Vox populi, vox dei."