6
antarctica—nanotechnology isolation laboratory
A strong wind whipped snow into the air, obscuring much of the desolate Antarctic landscape. Inside the Nanotech Isolation Lab, Erika Trace blinked, startled, as Parvu brought out caviar and crackers.
“Where did you get this?” she asked. The soft burr of her southern accent grew more pronounced with surprise.
Jordan Parvu busied himself with tiny cans, plastic-wrapped packages, and vials of powdered seasonings. “Personal effects,” he said. “I have been waiting for a chance to use this, to tell you the truth. Now, we have cause for a celebration.”
Erika sat up straighter and smiled with the success they both shared. Celebrating with Jordan’s questionable delicacies didn’t sound terribly exciting, though.
Inside the NIL, the nanocore had begun to turn cloudy as the prototype devices assembled and replicated themselves. The nanomachines had functioned better than expected. Taylor was smug upon reviewing the data; Compton-Reasor was ecstatic. Just an hour ago, the prototypes had transmitted their first data to the outside.
Parvu and Erika had proven that they could indeed build functional replicating machines on a submicroscopic scale, machines that could make a simple analysis of their surroundings and communicate back to the macro scale.
Erika watched Parvu open his tin of caviar. “Well, we have been waiting for this a long time.” The fish eggs looked black and slimy. “I’ve never tried this stuff before.”
“Then you are in for a treat, Erika. This is the real thing, from the Amur River in Mongolia. Sturgeon eggs, none of those awful perch egg imitations. You will like this.” He craned his head toward her. His hair was neat, his eyes bright, his eyebrows too bushy. “With as much as this cost, we cannot afford to have too many more celebrations, so let us enjoy this one.”
She nodded, keeping quiet. She would do what Parvu asked. He had rescued her from being a perpetual graduate student at MIT, pried her away from Taylor. Caviar was only one of many things she hadn’t experienced.
Growing up in Aiken, South Carolina, Erika had struggled with her out-of-place intelligence in an unambitious blue-collar family. Her father and her older brother Dick worked at the Savannah River Nuclear supercomplex. Both were beer-drinking, pool-shooting rowdies who listened to songs about big trucks, faithful dogs, and cheatin’ women. They scorned Erika’s aspirations.
But Erika’s mother had made all the difference, planning a better life for her daughter. She had put aside a college fund, collecting enough money so Erika could attend the best schools—and her mother insisted that she excel. With her father’s and brother’s indifference and her mother’s pressure, Erika had found herself withdrawing, with no escape but herself.
She had fled to MIT and worked for Taylor, and might still be there, afraid to break or afraid to change since leaving Aiken had been so difficult. Then she met Parvu, and clung to him. Parvu had seen in her the makings of a good researcher, and she had given him her best work out of gratitude. Parvu seemed embarrassed by it all. After she had finished her PhD, he did his best to talk her out of following him first to Albuquerque, then to Antarctica, but Erika insisted with a savage devotion. She had not felt happier or more worthwhile at any other time in her life.
Occasionally, when she stared out through the insulated windows to see the snow and the rocks, Erika longed to be back in Aiken, with the thick forests, fresh air, and the primeval expanse of Hitchcock Woods. Sometimes she just wanted to listen to the birds again. She remembered spring, with its parade of wisteria, dogwoods, and azaleas filling the air with ever-changing perfume. She had watched from afar as rich people rode horses down the clay paths in front of their mansions.
But then Erika remembered what kind of life she had left behind, and those scant hours of enjoyment in the woods did not make up for the rest.
Here, in their cramped living quarters, with Parvu playing classical music over the sound system, Erika knew she could celebrate much more than just the nanomachine success.
“Jordan,” she said, “for you I’ll try even salty fish eggs.”
Parvu removed two crackers from a plastic package, handing one to her with all the reverence due a communion wafer. He scooped out a bit of the lumpy caviar with a small knife. It glistened like tiny black pearls at the tip of the blade.
He spread the caviar on his cracker, then dipped out another portion for Erika. She took a sniff and imitated his gestures.
“Under ideal conditions,” Parvu said, “you accompany the caviar with a slice of boiled egg, sour cream, and chopped white onion. Here, we must make do with their dehydrated equivalents.”
Erika sprinkled powder on top of her caviar. She wanted to take only a tiny bite, but she took the cracker whole, chewing quickly to be over the first shock of taste. She was surprised to find the caviar not unpleasant at all, salty and juicy, with only a faint fishy taste. She kept chewing, swallowed, and smiled. A real smile.
Parvu withdrew a metal flask and poured a capful of pale liquid into it. It looked like disinfectant. “Here,” he said. “Peppered vodka. It is the perfect thing. Cleanses the palate.”
Erika took it and sipped, but the alcohol and the pepper set fire in her mouth, burning away the fishy taste. She felt tears stinging her eyes.
“So?” Parvu said. “We celebrate!”
Just then the communications chime rang through the intercom. Someone was trying to contact them in the conference room within the outer perimeter of the dome.
“Even here we are interrupted!” Parvu sighed.
Erika tagged along behind him, but stayed back, knowing that the communication could as well be from Parvu’s family. They passed through the doors into the outer lab area, and Parvu accepted the call over the big screens.
The image focused, startling Erika as she recognized the caller. They had had little contact with the woman directly, merely transmitting progress reports on schedule. Erika had an uneasy feeling. It was the director of the United Space Agency, Celeste McConnell.
Hovering off to the side, making sure she did not intrude upon Parvu’s conversation, Erika listened as McConnell described the Daedalus construction and what had happened there. Erika and Parvu had been so wrapped up in their work that sometimes they ignored the newsnets for days on end.
McConnell showed images of the alien nanotech assemblers, more sophisticated than Parvu’s wildest dreams. Erika took a step backward, stunned; she could see Parvu struggling to contain his astonishment. All of a sudden, the major progress they had just made in the NIL seemed utterly trivial. They had been knocked down to the lowest rung of a new ladder.
McConnell paused a long time after her last sentence. Parvu, polite as always, waited for her to continue. Erika knew the director had reached her important point.
McConnell folded her hands. “Dr. Parvu, I need you up on the Moon. You are not only one of the foremost experts in nanotechnology, but you are also the only one with any practical experience. This is not a theoretical problem. I need you to figure out this mystery for us.”
Parvu held up his hands as if to ward off shock. Erika frowned. Jordan, going away? What would happen to her? What would happen to their work down here, the prototypes? What if Parvu left and they put—who?—Taylor in charge? McConnell certainly wouldn’t let him run the NIL, would she? This couldn’t be happening. . . .
Parvu recovered from his shock before McConnell could say anything else. “I am afraid that is most impossible, Madame Director. I am old, and I can be of better assistance if I remain here to give advice, okay?”
“Dr. Parvu, we have no other choice. None of the other nanotech researchers have the hands-on experience you do. They have dealt with theories, nothing more. I must insist.” Her voice sounded a bit sharper.
“I’m afraid you do not understand—”
“I’m afraid that you don’t understand, Dr. Parvu. There’s more to this than you leaving your research down in Antarctica. Sixty people on the Moon may lose their lives. And the next fatality may be our entire space program.”
Parvu stood silent for a long time. McConnell pulled her lips tight, giving time for him to answer. She folded her arms and waited.
Finally, Parvu opened his mouth. “You do have another choice, to tell you the truth.” He reached out and took Erika’s wrist, pulling her into view. McConnell’s eyes widened.
Erika felt her breath grow short, her face redden.
Parvu continued. “Why not take my colleague, Dr. Erika Trace? I have complete faith in her abilities. She has just as much practical experience as I do, and a bit more imagination. And she is physically fit.”
“I appreciate your suggestion, Dr. Parvu, and no offense to you, Ms. Trace, but frankly”—she spread her hands wide—“we need an internationally recognized expert—”
“Erika has published more papers than I in this area, Ms. Director!” Parvu drew himself upright.
Erika couldn’t say a thing for a moment. This was worse than she had feared. She did not want to leave the NIL. Was this supposed to be an honor? She supposed so, but right now it sounded like a punishment.
Parvu patted her on the wrist. “We will discuss this further between ourselves, Director. Thank you for the intriguing information about the Moon. We will review it in more detail, okay?” His words picked up speed, as if he knew Erika was trying to gather her arguments. “I will be back in touch shortly.” He switched off.
Erika turned on him, balling her fists. “Thanks for making up my mind for me! Y’all can’t just send me away! My place is here. We’ve got work to do.”
Parvu looked at her mildly and indicated the image of the Daedalus construction, which he had frozen in a separate window on the screen. “Don’t you believe we can learn more from studying that than from any number of years spent here?”
“That’s not the point. I don’t want to go.”
“You are being silly, Erika. With an opportunity like this, you will be the most respected and most envied nanotechnology researcher in the world.” He sounded stern and paternal, not at all like her own father, who would have laughed in disbelief at the thought of his daughter being the only person in the world qualified for an important job. He softened his voice. “Besides, it is time, perhaps, for you to leave the nest.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me!” Even back in Albuquerque he had pestered her with questions of why she had no boyfriend, why she did not go to movies, or why she had no social life. Taking it upon himself, Parvu had dragged her off to dinners, forced her to go out to places normally frequented by people her own age—which meant that he himself looked hopelessly out of place.
“Oh, Erika! It is for your own good.” Parvu turned away, the matter finished.
Erika did not answer, but instead walked out through the double doors to her own quarters. Their open caviar lay on the table; several crackers had spilled out of the package. She hoped he would feed them to the three lab rats.
The speakers on the sound system began to play another selection from Parvu’s CD changer. She recognized it as Mozart’s Requiem Mass. Angrily Erika switched it off. The music seemed too appropriate.
Erika rode in silence next to Kent Woodward in the Mars rover. Once again the gusting winds prevented any helicopter from landing near the NIL; the Mars crew had been asked once again to perform a delivery service. Their long Antarctic training schedule left many gaps with time to run errands, and the astronauts did not mind the break in routine.
Erika wished that Parvu had driven her in the EOV. The Emergency Overland Vehicle was delta-shaped, with a cramped driver’s compartment and an empty space in the back to haul a passenger.
The EOV had been intended for use if one of the NIL people were injured and needed to be rushed overland the 120 kilometers to McMurdo Sound Naval Station, or even to the Mars base camp—one of those “frivolous” emergency measures that Parvu had not designed himself. He’d sworn he’d never use the contraption except in an emergency.
In the rover, Kent Woodward kept jabbering, regaling her with stories—no doubt exaggerated to make him seem wonderful—about growing up in British Columbia, his college days in Arizona, mountain climbing and off-trail hiking, and his aspirations and excitement about going to Mars. He kept grinning at her, showing off his skill in the rover as if it were a carnival ride, zipping over rock outcroppings and snowdrifts that had been packed down for countless years.
But Erika could think only of the comfortable, safe NIL she was leaving farther behind each minute. She would probably never return. Her years-long association with Jordan Parvu seemed ended now; they would become peers, not partners. Why couldn’t she be thrilled by the prospect? She’d be the first person to study alien nanomachines! But if she had wanted glory and public acclaim, would she have come down to the bottom of the planet?
She thought of her possessions, a pitifully small package stowed in the rear sample compartment of the vehicle. Did it all mean that little?
“What’s the matter?” Kent finally asked. Erika looked pointedly out the window at the bleak landscape. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she answered. “You’re doing enough talking for the both of us.” Kent shrugged, then seemed to have no objection about continuing to talk about himself.
Reaching the Mars base camp, Erika looked with a mixture of amazement and nervousness at the tiny, cramped modules half-buried under heaped snow and dirt. She saw two living canisters, one for backup; together, they seemed barely large enough for one person, yet this facility housed six, stacked like sardines.
The crewmembers had lived in such close contact for the three-month flight in low-Earth orbit; now they were simulating the six-hundred-day Mars mission in Antarctic isolation. No wonder Gunther Mosby and Kent went out of their way to take advantage of the NIL showers and living spaces.
Erika, who valued her privacy, wasn’t sure she could last even one day in this miserable environment while waiting for the big Navy helicopter to take her to McMurdo Sound.
Kent dismounted from the rover as its methane engine puttered into silence. He put on his best tour-guide smile and clicked the faceplate down. The astronauts were required to participate in the simulation at all times, but Erika herself wore only a heavy parka, scarf, and thick mittens. She wore a radio headphone to communicate.
“Over there, we’ve got an optical communications telescope.”
He gestured to a steaming mound several hundred meters from the base. “Our own megawatt nuclear power plant is buried over there. Provides all our electricity. Boy, oh, boy, you should have heard the environmentalists squawk about ‘contaminating the pristine Antarctic environment.’ As if it makes any difference around here!” He smiled in the cocksure way that was already beginning to annoy Erika.
The inflatable airlock on the nearest cylinder opened, and two suited figures emerged to greet her. She knew Kent, and Gunther Mosby, and she was familiar enough with the commander of the expedition, a middle-aged astronaut with graying hair and gaunt cheeks named Bingham Grace. But Erika had no idea who the other three members of the Mars crew were, and she would never be able to remember all of their names. She just had to try to be as amiable as she could. . . .
Later, inside the living module with her knees drawn up to her chin and the walls sloping against her back, she still tasted her meal of fresh lettuce grown in the “salad machine.” She remembered the sharp, salty taste of caviar during that last special moment with Parvu.
“Come over here, Erika,” Kent said, crouched by a tiny table that flipped down from the wall. He sat across from tall and angular Gunther Mosby, who looked not uncomfortable in his awkward position. Kent held up a pack of plastic cards. “You can’t be antisocial in circumstances like this. Play a game of cards with us.”
“Yes, please, Ms. Trace,” Gunther added. “Kent always cheats and I need a second person to watch him.”
They tried to teach her Schaafskopf for the next hour, but her lack of experience with card games left her at a loss. Instead, they settled for Spades, which Erika won twice in a row.
At eleven o’clock, Bingham Grace summoned them together for a daily wrap-up, gave another little welcoming speech to Erika, and mentioned how nice it was to have company “other than these bozos.” He made a special point of looking at Kent and Gunther as he said this, then announced that it was time to go to bed. Erika learned only afterward that their clocks gradually slipped to keep pace with the slightly longer Martian day/night cycle. Antarctica, with its half-year-long days and nights, was the perfect place to readjust the team’s daily rhythms.
Gunther stacked the cards and slipped them into a small container below the flip-down table, gave an exaggerated yawn, and nodded to Erika. “If you will excuse me, Ms. Trace. I am going to bed. I am feeling very horny at the moment.”
Kent raised an eyebrow at her and grinned. “Well?”
She snorted. “In your dreams.”
Erika stood alone by the towering rocks and ice sheets of McMurdo Sound. She huddled in a Navy parka, syn-fur gloves, and gel body-warmers, shrouding her face with a scarf. The cold bit into her cheeks. The tall rocks and gray-blue ocean looked like the gates of the Underworld—and she had been cast out.
The ice shelves extending into the water glowed a cold blue from trapped oxygen bubbles. The seas lurched, as if the ocean itself was shivering. Overhead, enormous albatrosses circled like hang gliders with twelve-foot wingspans. On a series of small islands away from the McMurdo installation, jammed penguin rookeries filled the air with an incredible noise, an incredible smell. It seemed numbingly bleak and exotic at the same time.
Years before, she had left the lush forests of South Carolina to travel to the city of Boston, then to Albuquerque and the New Mexico desert. She had thought that Antarctica was the most barren place she could ever see; but now, she found herself on her way to the Moon, with a hasty stop in Star City, the refurbished cosmonaut training facility near Moscow, to cram in astronaut certification.
Where would they yank her next? Why couldn’t they let her be? Too many times, people had done things “for her own good.”
In the distance she heard a jet. Squinting, she could just make out the silhouette of the C-141 Starlifter come to carry her back to civilization—for a few days.
Erika felt stinging tears from the wind whipping off the water. As the plane grew near, terror was alive and gnawing inside her—not from fear of space travel, or living on an austere moonbase, or even from the responsibility of being the first person to study alien nanotechnology. Erika felt most afraid to be separated from her mentor for the first time in a decade.