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Cameron lifted her head from her couch as far as the restraints allowed and
smiled at me. "I wanted to tell you how honored we are I am to be included.
This is incredible ... Absolutely fantastic. I'm terrified."
I smiled as much reassurance as I could muster. What we were about to do was
beyond my imagination though not beyond the calculating power of my
enhancement.
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Because there would be no acceleration, no force expended, a very different
notion of force and work came into play based entirely on descriptor
adjustments observed in experiment. Translating into familiar terms, moving
Phobos across ten thousand light-years would require stealing from the
galactic treasure-chest enough energy to power a star like the sun for several
years.
The approach to the moon seemed glacially slow. Phobos, across an hour, grew
from a bright speck to a dark smudge as we fell again into Martian shadow.
Deceleration was more abrupt than take-off, one loud staccato burn that left
bruises on my elbow where it pressed against a thinly padded metal bar. We
skimmed a few hundred meters above the regolith of
Phobos, ancient gray and black mottled craters, grooves, pits, and scars from
early mining and research.
We would be occupying a thirty-year-old mining base near the center of
Stickney crater, still viable but inhabited only by arbeiters.
If
Mercury were attacked, we would have a better chance
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of surviving buried beneath the small moon's bleak gray surface.
"There it is," Leander said. Charles sat up. On one sloping side of the
irregular bowl of Stickney crater, a small landing beacon flashed every few
seconds, as it had for decades.
Mercury shifted course with a lurch. We approached the beacon with alarming
speed.
"Searching for anchor points," the thinker announced.
Another jarring deceleration, then a gentle bump as
Mercury locked down. We checked all systems in the station, found everything
in adequate condition, and extended the ship's transfer tube.
Charles unbelted from the couch and I followed, floating free. "Three days'
supplies," Charles said with a crooked grin as he passed me in the cargo bay.
"Will that be enough?" Galena Cameron asked, face creased in concern.
"We hope to be gone less than five hours," Leander called from the deck above.
Hergesheimer grimaced. "We could spend ten years studying the system and not
know enough."
"The tunnels are going to be cold and uncomfortable for several hours,"
Leander said. "Not used to visitors."
Crawling through the transfer tube behind Charles, I nearly bumped into an old
arbeiter felted with dust. It floated in a corner, the size and approximate
color of a much-loved teddy bear, ancient sensor torque spinning with a faint
squeak as it examined us.
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"This device is in need of repair," it said in a muffled voice.
Charles rotated in the lock to look at me, and for the first time in weeks I
smiled, remembering Tres Haul Medoc. He returned the smile, wincing as
stretched skin tugged on his nano patches. "We really should take better care
of our orphans," he said.
Hergesheimer cursed the lack of adequate sensor ports, and Leander instructed
a small sample-drilling arbeiter to make
422 Greg Bear
new ones. We had brought repair kits with us, and most of the station
arbeiters were undergoing upgrades and refits. Galena Cameron coordinated the
sensors and telescopes, sitting in a cold cubic chamber by herself, putting
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everything through practice runs with simulated targets and data.
For the time being, I had little to do. I helped Leander by sitting in the
star-shaped central control chamber and keeping close watch on pressure
integrity; we could not trust the station's own emergency systems until the
upgrades were finished. I occupied one point of the star. Charles nursed the
QL thinker in another. He leaned around the corner, optic leads attached to
the back of his head, and said, "It's fuddled."
"What is?"
"The thinker. I should have given it a focusing task before we left. It's off
somewhere doing something we'll never need to know about."
"Can you get it back?" I asked.
"Of course. It just takes a while to corral all of its horses. How's your
enhancement?"
"Quiet, actually," I said. "I think I've finally got it under control."
"Good." He looked at the wall behind me as if someone might be there. I felt
the urge to turn, but I knew we were alone in the control center. "Casseia, I
don't know what this is going to do to me. Every time I
guide the QL, I get a different reaction. It's definitely not ..." He couldn't
seem to find the word. He waggled his fingers in the air.
"Pleasant?" I offered.
"Maybe too pleasant." he said. "Like slipping into a bad habit. Like joining a
raucous party of crazy geniuses. There's always something enchanting, the
solution to everything "
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"You'd like that," I said quietly.
"Exactly. My weakness. I go looking for it, and the true parts vanish like
ghosts, leaving only a sensation of completeness. The QL chases different
kinds of truths, things not useful to human brains. Mathematical tangents
we'll never
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423
pursue, logics that actually hurt us. I have to watch myself, or I'll come
back and not be useful. To you or anybody."
"You'll always be useful," I reassured him.
"Not necessarily. I just wanted to ask ... May I keep a focus on you? I don't
really have anything but this job and you. Focusing on the job is recursive.
Not productive."
"How do you mean, focusT'
"A goal," he said. "Something to value that's real."
The request bothered me deeply. I decided that a question needed to be asked
now, no matter how awkward it might be. "Are you making a pass, Charles?"
"No," he said. A frown crossed his face and he looked away again. "I need a
strong friend. I hope that's clear, and appropriate." He took a deep breath.
"Casseia, to hit on you now would be so horrible ... You're still grieving."
"Yes," I said.
"I need someone here who cares for me in more* than a professional sense. To
bring me back.
Me.
Not some product of merging with the QL, not some intellectual mutant."
"I care for you," I said. "You're important in and of yourself. I value you."
His expression softened. Once again, I felt my power to please and was
dismayed by it. "That's what I
need," he said. "But don't be frightened. Even if I lose myself, whatever's
left will bring us back. Tamara or Stephen can take my place later. For the
big trip."
"Is it that dangerous?" I asked.
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"I don't think so," Charles said. "But each time gets more difficult. The
truths are so compelling."
"Dangerous truths."
"Yeah," he said. "Falling in love with another reality ... Getting all set to
marry it. And being jilted."
Leander entered the control center from below, hand over hand in the moon's
weak gravity. "Galena and
Jackson say they're ready. I've connected our tweaker by direct link to
Preamble's big tweaker. We're getting good signals. I can't
424 Greg Bear
guarantee keeping a connection when we move, but I can probably get it back
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