That was then, though. This is now.

One of the reasons for her presence on this mission was the fact that such extensive use was to be made of mentally controlled robots for the first time in decades.

Vasha Rubenchik is a real genius, Virginia thought as she deftly rode the mech over a small rise. The Russians were idiots to exile him out here, whatever his political opinions. I’ve never felt a mind-to-robot link this good before.

Too bad Vasha was already in the slots, or Virginia would have praised him for deftly tailoring the neuroelectric and holographic connections so well to her specifications. This alone was almost sure to win patent royalties for both of them, when the data were sent back. The boodle would accumulate in their accounts while they slept through most of the seven and a half decades ahead.

Although money wasn’t her top priority, Virginia had seen how useful it could be, especially when one wanted to work in areas frowned upon by the powers that be.

She could hardly wait until things had settled down a bit and there was free time to try some of these new techniques in experiments with JonVon.

As if summoned, a voice hummed along her acoustic nerve.

Oh, great, she thought. All I’d need, while I’m controlling a mech out on the surface, would be to let you construct Olivier, or O’Toole, or some other old movie heartthrob… and. have them come charging around, blowing in my ear.

She had chosen pre-vid actors to use in personality-sim experiments partly out of romantic atavism, and partly because they were less familiar to people these days—better to use in blind Turing tests on unsuspecting subjects. The simulations had fooled almost everybody, on Earth, even though they still were nothing like what she was sure they could be.

Virginia subvocalised clearly, crisply:

Not now, JonVon. Mother is busy. If you haven’t enough to do, helping the colony mainframe, go to some of those secondary problems I assigned you.

Virginia hesitated, then agreed. Okay. You do that. Just don’t leave any traces.

Of course it was a bit unethical to use her special tools and skills to snoop into other folks’ private matters. But then, Virginia had always believed people tended to try to keep too much secret.

Anyway, it broadened the number of people to think about. The dozen crew members still warm and moving about were hardly enough for even minimal gossip over the sixteen months of First Watch. In the need to conserve consumables, everyone else had already been put into cold sleep, leaving the first shift to apply finishing touches to the habitats and other facilities.

Well, Ginnie, you volunteered to be on First Watch. You knew it would be one of the busiest.

Yes, but there are opportunities, as well. Later, she thought. Later, after things have settled down, I’ll have my chance. Long, delicious stretches of work time.

Her mech finished its slow scan of the surface as the mouth of Shaft 2 came into view.

Scarred, scratched, and littered, the north polar region looked nothing like a pristine remnant of Creation Crates of supplies lay tethered to the ice or bound up under fibercloth “tents” for later use. Debris lay everywhere.

Farther off stood six high, peaked pyramids of dark tailings from shaft excavations, crudely separated into heaps of primordial nickel-iron, platinum and iridium-rich ores, and carbonaceous gunk… much like Alberta tar sands. At some point later, long after she had returned to the slots, the watch crews would start processing the piles into useful things, like Nudge Driver housings.

To take us home again. Not for the first or last time, she wondered what Earth would be like when they returned. If all their grand schemes would turn out to have mattered. Would she find Hawaii, Earth, recognizable? Friendlier? Or would it be an alien world, altered beyond recognition?

Hmm. Thank heavens she was too busy right now, or she might be tempted to record that bit of doggerel. Still, perhaps something could be done with it.

She started, then subvocalised quickly, JonVon, I thought you’d signed off. Those were private musings.

A brief pause told of vigorous cross-correlation checks.

Enough! And JonVon was instantly quiet.

Irritated, Virginia took hold of her thoughts and concentrated on maneuvering the mech back toward the work site. The spider’s legs swung, one at a time. Surface vibrations translated into sounds so she “heard” the mech’s feet crunch across the dark powder.

During the early work, so much vapor had been churned out here that some of the gases actually condensed again, instead of escaping into space. Sparkling snows had flash-frozen around the heat-and-gas-release ducts leading up from Central. Broad, rainbow-colored flows spilled over the feet of the Shaft 2 portal.

The airlock itself was more than just a drab, functional construct. Far from that, Virginia saw it as a work of art. Structural braces had been press-formed in high, faery arches. The footing anchors looked like gnarled gargoyles’ fists, gripping the ancient stuff of Halley.

Only a few crucial parts were made of precious refined metal, salvaged from the robot freighters. The supports and body of the building were cleverly sculpted from refrozen, crystalline, water ice.

It was one reason why Virginia liked working out on Quadrant 2, where Jim Vidor had been in charge of the construction crew. The man was an artist.

“We build the best when we are forced to improvise,” Virginia said softly to herself.

A carrier wave cut in, followed quickly by a woman’s voice.

—What was that, Virginia ? Did you say something?—

Virginia ’s head turned a little too quickly, causing the mech to slew awkwardly as it struggled to follow. At last a slim, spacesuited figure came into Virginia ’s field of view, standing over a row of dark shapes tethered to the ice.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Lani. I was just admiring what Jim and his guys did in melt-carving this airlock.”

Lani Nguyen’s spacesuit had been trimmed of its heavy armor, now that summer had passed and dust pebbles were no longer being blasted outward by subliming gas. A white cloth tabard covered the suit’s chest area, depicting the head of a smiling unicorn—a symbol that would identify Lani to workers too far away to make out her face. Right now the sharp sun reflected in her opaqued visor, anyway, hiding her soft, half-Asian features.

—Yes, pretty. But not entirely safe, in my opinion. Next shift, Jeffers is supposed to break out the factory gear and start processing some of that iron and carbon stacked out here. I’ll sleep a lot quieter in my slot knowing there’s a real stress-filament hatch up here, capping the air in.—