“I agree,” she said. “You’ve created some beauty here.”

“You will not report this to the maintenance department?” Don Diego asked.

Cardenas glanced at Holly.

“I will tell them myself, of course,” he said, “when I have finished this stretch of the canal.”

Holly grinned at him. “No, we won’t tell anybody.”

Cardenas agreed with a nod.

“May we come and help you, now and then?” Holly asked.

“Of course! I am always glad for the company of lovely women.”

Less than three kilometers away from them, Malcolm Eberly and Professor Wilmot were following a lab-coated technical manager through one of the small, highly automated factories that produced the habitat’s manufactured goods. This one was turning out the pharmaceutical pills and drugs that the habitat’s population needed to maintain their health, and the meat-based proteins they required for a balanced diet. The two men were inspecting the rows of processors that produced the medications and gengineered food: shoulder-tall stainless steel vats that gleamed in the overhead lights. The factory was practically silent; the only sound other than their own voices was the background hum of electrical power.

“…can’t allow infectious diseases to get a start here,” the factory manager was saying as he led the two men down the row of processors. “In a closed ecology like this, even the sniffles could be dangerous.”

Eberly turned to Wilmot, beside him. “That’s one of the reasons why I approved Dr. Cardenas’s application to join us. With her knowledge of nanotechnology—”

“You should have consulted me first,” Wilmot said sharply. He stopped in the middle of the aisle and fixed Eberly with a severe gaze.

Eberly stopped too, and glanced at the factory manager, who pretended not to hear as he kept on walking slowly along the row of humming vats.

“But, Professor,” Eberly said placatingly, “I sent you a memorandum. When you didn’t reply, I naturally assumed you approved of our taking Dr. Cardenas aboard.”

“You should have come to me in person to discuss it,” Wilmot said. “That’s what I expected.”

“You placed me in charge of human resources matters. I assumed you would be elated to have Dr. Cardenas with us.”

“You assume too much.”

The factory manager, a bland-looking technician in a long pale blue lab coat, cleared his throat and said, “Urn, the rest of the processors are pretty much just like these here. We can program them to produce any of the medications required out of the raw materials coming in from the chem labs.”

“Thank you,” said Wilmot, dismissing the man with a wave of his beefy hand.

The manager scurried away, leaving Eberly alone with the professor. As far as Eberly could tell, the manager was the only human on the factory’s staff.

He looked up at Wilmot. The professor was much taller than Eberly, big-boned. He looked decidedly displeased.

“You don’t approve of allowing Dr. Cardenas to join us?” Eberly asked in what he hoped was a properly obsequious whine.

Wilmot opened his mouth, shut it again, and fingered his moustache momentarily before replying, “I’m not certain that I would have approved her application, no.”

“But she is here,” Eberly said. “She arrived from Ceres yesterday morning.”

“I know. You exceeded your authority by inviting her, Dr. Eberly.”

“But I didn’t invite her! She asked for permission to join us.”

“Even so, you should have brought the matter to me. Immediately. I am the one in charge here, and I have to justify every decision I make to the university consortium board back on Earth.”

“I know, but—”

“You know, but you bypassed the rules of procedure,” Wilmot hissed. “You acted on your own authority.”

“I thought you would be pleased,” Eberly bleated.

“This habitat must run on established procedures,” Wilmot said, his voice as low as Eberly’s but much stronger. “We cannot have anarchy here! There is a set of regulations that was drawn up by the best minds the consortium could tap. We will follow those regulations until we arrive at Saturn and the people select the form of government they desire. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir. Perfectly clear.”

Wilmot drew in a deep breath. Then, somewhat more softly, he went on, “Once we’ve achieved orbit around Saturn the people can draw up a constitution for themselves and elect officers and all that. Form their own government. But while we are in transit we will follow the regulations set down by the consortium. No one will deviate from those regulations. No one!”

“I thought you would be happy to have Dr. Cardenas.”

Wilmot fiddled with his moustache again. “Nanotechnology,” he muttered. “Serious stuff, that.”

Eberly realized that the professor was not angry. He was worried, perhaps frightened. A weight lifted from Eberly’s shoulders; he had to consciously keep himself from smiling.

“Ah, yes,” he said, in a hushed tone. “Nanotechnology. In a closed environment such as ours…” He let the thought peter out in mid-sentence.

Wilmot resumed walking along the nearly silent processors. “I realize that nanomachines can be of enormous help to us. And I know that Dr. Cardenas is the leading expert in the field. Still…”

Thinking quickly, Eberly suggested, “If you don’t want her here, I can order her back to Ceres.”

Wilmot looked shocked. “Throw her out? We can’t do that! We’ve already accepted her. You did, rather, but you did it in the name of our community and we can’t go back on our word.”

“No, I suppose not,” Eberly agreed meekly.

Wilmot paced on, determined to get to the end of the row of processors, even though each one looked alike and there was no longer anyone with them to explain anything.

Matching the professor’s long-legged strides as best as he could, Eberly said, “I suppose we could order her not to engage in any nanotechnology work. She served as a medical caregiver in Ceres, I understand.”

The professor glared down at Eberly. “We can’t do that! She’s a bloody Nobel laureate, for the lord’s sake! We can’t have her dispensing pills.”

“But nanotechnology has its dangers—”

“And its advantages. We’ll have to supervise her work very closely. I want foolproof safeguards around her laboratory. Absolutely foolproof!”

“Yes, of course,” Eberly replied, thinking, The only fool here is you, Professor. You’re the one who’s frightened of nanotechnology, yet you will allow it here in the habitat because you’re too unbelievably polite to send Cardenas back to Ceres.

It was all he could do to keep from laughing in the professor’s face.

Instead, he shifted the subject. “Sir, have you had a chance to study the proposal for naming the various parts of the habitat?”

“This silly contest thing?” Wilmot snapped.

“A series of contests, yes. The psychologists believe it will be beneficial to the general mental health—”

“The psychologists actually endorse the idea?”

Realizing that Wilmot had no more than skimmed the proposal, at best, Eberly went on, “The political scientists we consulted with back on Earth believe such contests can help to strengthen group solidarity.”

“Hmph,” muttered Wilmot. “I daresay.”

“All the proposal needs is your approval, sir,” Eberly urged subtly. “Then you can announce it to the general population.”

“No, no,” said the professor. “You make the announcement. It’s your idea, after all.”

“Me?” Eberly asked as innocently as he could.

“Yes, of course. I can’t be bothered with it. You announce the contests. Damned silly business, if you ask me, but if all those consultants endorse it, I won’t stand in your way.”

Eberly could barely contain his elation. He wanted to leap into the air and give an exultant whoop. Instead he meekly paced along the row of processors beside Professor Wilmot, thinking to himself, He chastised me about Cardenas, so he felt he had to placate me about the contests. How wonderfully predictable he is.