Professor Wilmot leaned back in his desk chair, enjoying the familiar comfort of the padded leather upholstery. The holowindow to his left showed a three-dimensional view of the rocky coast where the River Bann empties into the cold and restless North Channel. It was like looking through a window in the old family estate. Strange, he thought, the only time I miss the old country is when I look at scenes like this. Distance lends enchantment, I suppose.

The phone buzzed and announced, “Dr. Eberly to see you, sir.” Wilmot sighed heavily and blanked the view of his ancestral homeland. Back to the business at hand, he told himself as he ordered the office computer to open the door from the anteroom.

Malcolm Eberly stepped in, with one of his young assistants, a leggy, tawny-skinned young woman wearing a hip-length tunic of pale green that showed her slim legs to good advantage. No decorations of any kind, except her name badge. She’s being an obedient little underling for him. Wilmot almost smiled. If you think you can distract me with her, my boy, you have another thing coming.

Wilmot smiled genially and said, “Come in! Sit down. It was good of you to come on such a short notice.”

Eberly was in a sky-blue tunic and blue-gray slacks. The shoulders looked padded to Wilmot’s critical eye.

“When the chief administrator calls,” Eberly said good-naturedly, “it’s best to come at once.”

Nodding graciously, Wilmot said, “It’s good to see you again, Miss Lane.”

She looked surprised for a moment, then smiled, pleased that the chief administrator remembered her name, forgetting that it was spelled out on the tag above her left breast.

“I saw the speech you made last night,” Wilmot said to Eberly. “Very impressive.”

Eberly clasped his hands together as if praying. “I’m pleased that you think so.”

“You realize, of course, that we will not be able to make any changes in our governing regulations until we establish ourselves in Saturn orbit.”

With a slight shake of his head, Eberly said, “I see no reason to delay.”

“Obviously,” said Wilmot. “But the regulations are in force and we all agreed to follow them.” Before Eberly could reply, Wilmot asked, “Tell me, why are you in such a rush to change things? Are there problems that I’m not aware of?”

Eberly pursed his lips and tapped his prayerful fingertips against them. Stalling for time to think, Wilmot reckoned.

At last, Eberly answered, “The regulations are too stifling. They allow the people no flexibility. They were written by administrators and academics—”

“Like myself,” Wilmot interjected, with a good-natured smile.

“I was going to say, administrators and academics who remained back on Earth; political theoreticians who’ve never been off the Earth. Nor ever plan to be.”

Wilmot edged forward in his chair and glanced at the young woman. “Miss Lane, do you feel that our existing protocols are stifling you?”

Her eyes went wide, startled, then she looked at Eberly.

“Miss Lane?” Wilmot repeated. “Are we stifling you?”

“I’ve never been on Earth,” Holly replied slowly, hesitantly. “At least, I don’t remember my life there. As far as I can recall, I’ve spent my whole life in Selene. And now here in the habitat, of course. Living in Selene was…” she struggled briefly for a word, “well, easier, in some ways. I mean, if you ran into a problem you could always go to one of the governing boards and appeal. Like, for your monthly water allotment, or to increase the size of your quarters.”

“And we have no such boards of appeals here,” Wilmot said softly.

“No, we don’t,” Holly replied. “Everything’s set in cement. There are the rules and nothing else. End of story.”

Wilmot brushed his fingertips against his moustache thoughtfully.

“The real problem,” Eberly burst out, “is that these regulations were written by people who live in a world that must be tightly controlled. They all share the same basic, underlying view that society must be hierarchical and controlled from the top.”

Wilmot felt pleased that the discussion was moving into his field of interest. “Aren’t all societies controlled from the top? Even the so-called democracies are ruled by a small elite group; the only difference is that a democracy can shift its elite without bloodshed and give the general populace the illusion that they have made a telling change.”

“There are too many controls,” Eberly repeated. “Back on Earth, with a global population climbing well past ten billions despite the greenhouse warming and all the other ecological disasters, tight control is very necessary. But this is not Earth.”

Wilmot pretended surprise. “Don’t you believe that we must regulate our population size? Don’t you understand the need to mete out our resources according to our ability to replenish them? We live in a very limited environment, you know.”

Obviously struggling to contain his impatience, Eberly said, “This habitat could feed and house ten times the existing population. Why must we behave as if we are on the brink of famine?”

“Because we will be on the brink of famine if we don’t control population size,” Wilmot replied mildly.

Eberly shook his head vigorously. “You assume that we are a closed ecology, that we have nothing available to us except what we produce for ourselves.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Wilmot shot back.

“No! We can trade for resources with the asteroid miners, with the bases on Mars and in Jupiter orbit, with Selene, even.”

“Trade what?” Wilmot asked. “What do we have to trade with?”

Eberly smiled as if he were turning over his trump card. “We will have the most precious resource of them all: water.”

Wilmot felt his brows go up. “Water?”

“Saturn is surrounded by massive rings, which are composed of pieces of ice. Water ice. We can become the providers of water for the entire solar system once we reach Saturn.”

“Water,” Wilmot repeated, in a near whisper.

“Water,” Eberly said again. “And fusion fuels, too. Once we are in Saturn orbit, it will be cheaper for us to scoop fusion fuels from the planet’s atmosphere than it is to scoop them from Jupiter.”

“But we’ll be twice as far from Earth—”

“I’ve had experts do the analysis,” Eberly said, almost smugly. “You can check the numbers yourself. Once we are in Saturn orbit we can drive the Jupiter operation out of business!”

“Extraordinary,” Wilmot murmured, looking up at the ceiling panels, thinking furiously. “Even if that is a workable proposition,” he said, “it will have to wait until we are at Saturn, won’t it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then there is no point in trying to alter our system of governance until then, is there?”

Eberly placed his hands on his thighs and said very reasonably, “The people should be ready to launch into action as soon as we reach Saturn. Why should they delay? They should be free to select the form of government they want, the form that will work best for them, now, while we are in transit, so that the new government can be in place when we get to our destination.”

With you at its head, Wilmot added silently. That’s what you’re after, isn’t it? This is nothing more than a power game. Fascinating.

Aloud, he said to Eberly, “Perhaps there is some merit in your idea.”

Holly blurted, “You think so?”

Wilmot smiled at her and said, “Why don’t we agree on this: You can start the process of writing a new constitution. Canvass the population and determine what kind of a government they want for themselves. Begin the process immediately.”

“We’ll have to poll the people, draw up various types of constitutions, nominate candidates—”

“Yes, yes,” Wilmot said. “Do all that while you’re carrying out your little contests about naming things. But there will be no change in our governing regulations until we are firmly established in orbit about Saturn. Is that clear? You can spend the time left in transit to form your new government, but it will not be installed in office until we are at our destination.”