Cascade Point and Other Stories Part 8

"I see. How long have you been thinking about this?"

Tomo had the computer's tone pegged now. "Oh, no you don't," he shook his head, grinning. "That 'I see' opener is a dead giveaway you've tied in your psych program. You're not starting me on that silly motivation questionnaire just because I've been thinking about planets and people lately." With a gentle tug he removed the top half of the damaged bearing sh.e.l.l, the bottom half dropping neatly onto the grab-cloth he'd spread out beneath it.

"Lately?" Max persisted.

Tomo twisted his head to send a mock glare at the computer monitor.

"Max-"

A beep from the pod-to-pod interrupted him. "Tomo?" a voice asked. "What's the word on that antenna?"

"No problem, Andra," Tomo a.s.sured him. "Just a fatigued bearing sh.e.l.l. Take me a couple of hours to replace it."

"Good. I don't like dockings even when Max has all six close-approach systems to work with. I'd hate to try it with one missing."

"Aw, come on-you'll have Max thinking you don't trust him."

"Max I trust. It's those rinks who're supposed to hold the port steady for us.

They're all dirtsiders at heart, you know. Lunatics, every last one of them."

"Yeah." Tomo grinned, then sobered. "You've never actually been dirtside yourself, have you?"

Andra snorted. "What kind of crazy question is that? Of course not."

"Right. Stupid question," Tomo backtracked quickly, mentally eliminating Andra as a possible confidant on this. "Everything else checking out?"

"Far as I know. Max?"

"Everything is functioning properly except for the antenna Tomo is repairing," the computer replied.

"Good," Andra said. "I'll let you work in peace, Tomo. Signing off." A second beep signaled his departure from the voicelink.

"Doesn't sound like I should invite Andra to come down to Maigre with me, does it?" Tomo remarked, striving to keep his manner light.

"Tomo-" Max began, in neutral tone again.

"No, let's just drop it for now, okay?" Tomo interrupted. "It's just a random idea-it hasn't got any deep psychological significance or anything."

"As you wish.""Good. Though I'd appreciate it if you'd keep all of this secret. Andra will be riding me all the way to Canaan Under Vega if he gets hold of it."

"I understand." There was just the barest of pauses. "I'll keep the conversation private."

"Thanks." Climbing to his feet, Tomo squinted at the inside of his bearing sphere half. "Now, how about looking up which locker we keep spare FST-938 bearings in?"

Dr. Alexei Ross was already in a foul mood when the station computer told him Director Halian wanted to see him in his office. "In his office?" Ross asked, not sure whether to be angry or astonished at the request. "Is something wrong with the intercom system?"

"The intercom is functioning normally," Iris replied. "Director Halian said to tell you that the sensitivity of the topic required a face-to-face meeting."

"Probably his exact words, too," Ross grunted. For a moment he considered refusing on the truthful grounds that he was too busy to go running all over Maigre s.p.a.ce Station just because Halian felt like being melodramatic. Parallax Industries might own most of the station, but as chief physician Ross was explicitly out of Halian's direct control. But even as he mentally considered sending back a borderline-nasty message, logic prevailed. If Halian wanted to discuss something without the risk of being overheard, he probably had a d.a.m.n good reason for it.

Possibly something new on the G- and H-deck thorascrine leaks that had put forty- five people in Ross's ward in the past twenty hours. "All right," he sighed. "Inform the director I'll be down as soon as I can."

"Yes, Doctor. Also, the bioscan data is in on Marc DeSabia now; my a.n.a.lysis indicates thorascrine concentrations in liver, kidneys, and thyroid gland."

"Okay." Ross spent a few minutes logging orders that weren't part of Iris's standard medical procedure programming and leaving contingency instructions for his staff. Then, still fuming a bit, he stalked to the elevator and rode down to W- deck and Parallax Industries' executive offices.

Director Jer Halian was staring out the oval porthole when Ross stomped in.

"This better be important, Jer," the doctor said, stepping over to Halian's desk and sitting down in the plush guest chair. "I've got a wardful of people upstairs who still need all my attention."

Halian turned to face him, and Ross saw for the first time the other's expression. It wasn't an encouraging one. "Anyone died yet?" the director asked, his mind clearly on something else entirely.

"No, and I'd like to keep it that way." Ross rubbed at his forehead, grimaced at the perspiration oils there. "Another ten hours and this last batch should be out of danger."

"Good." Halian took a deep breath. "Because in about ninety-five hours we're going to have an even worse mess on our hands. One of the Goldenrod's mainters apparently wants to visit Maigre during his layover."

Ross felt something p.r.i.c.kly dock between his shoulder blades. "Holy drine.

You sure?"

Halian picked up a ca.s.sette and rolled the slender cylinder across the desk.

"The Goldenrod's MX computer sent me this private report a half hour ago. The mainter refused to discuss it in depth, so all the MX could give us was his last general psych profile." He leaned forward a bit. "This is a problem, now, isn't it? I mean, this Tomo character won't be able to stand it for long down there, will he?"

Ross snorted. "It's even worse than that. He shouldn't even want to try mixing with other people, any more than you'd seriously consider spending your life in a stars.h.i.+p pod. The very fact he's talking this way means he's already in serious trouble."

"Great," Halian said heavily. "Just what we needed."

A sudden, horrible thought occurred to Ross. "He's not flying the s.h.i.+p, is he?"

Visions of the freighter ramming full-tilt into the station- "Oh, no-no way he can take control away from the computer, either," Halian a.s.sured him. "We're not in any immediate danger."

"I'm sure that's a great comfort to the rest of the Goldenrod's crew," Ross said dryly.

"They're not in danger, either, at least not at the moment. In fact, they don't even know anything's wrong."

"Handy. Sounds like one of your ideas."

Halian didn't seem to notice the barb. "It was the computer's, actually. But never mind that. I want you to start getting your people and programs ready right away."

Ross shook his head. "I'm afraid we're not equipped to handle anything like this. We're going to have to bring a psychoses expert up from Maigre. I'll go check the medical directory." He started to get up.

"Hold it-hold it," Halian snapped. "We can't let outsiders in on this-the company'll have our heads if bad publicity gets out. What about that therapy session you put Randoff through when he went all flutey last month?"

Ross sank wearily back into his chair. "Jer, we're talking about a stars.h.i.+p mainter here-the most carefully circ.u.mscribed personality type that's ever existed. As far as I know, no mainter has ever gone out the sunward lock like this, and I'm not going to trust him to a computer that hasn't even got a decent data base to draw on."

Halian turned back to his porthole, and Ross saw the lines around his mouth tightening. "And there's no one on your staff who can handle it?"

"No." Ross shook his head. "Anyone who developed a problem this severe would be immediately s.h.i.+pped to a dirtside facility."

Halian grunted, and for a long moment the room was silent. Ross found himself staring at the model of a star freighter sitting on the corner of Halian's desk. Six long cylindrical pods, arranged hexagonally about the central drive cylinder, the whole thing tied together by a network of bracing struts... and each of those cargo pods someone's home for years at a time. The very thought of it made Ross's skin crawl.

"All right," Halian said, breaking Ross out of his uncomfortable reverie. "But get someone who can keep his mouth shut. And don't give him any more information than absolutely necessary. That goes for your staff, too."

"I'll do my best," Ross said, annoyed at the other's peremptory tone. Standing up, he snared the ca.s.sette with Tomo's psych profile and slid it into his pocket.

"And in the meantime, you get your people on top of those thorascrine leaks. I can only handle one crisis at a time, and I want my ward empty when Tomo gets here."

Halian looked up at him with tired eyes. "Believe me, Doctor, no one wants those leaks stopped more than I do."

Ross felt his irritation with the other melting away. Halian was a solid company executive, but in spite of that he really wasn't a bad sort. "I know," he told the director. "I'll talk to you later."

A stars.h.i.+p's natural environment, Tomo had always felt, was out in interstellar s.p.a.ce, hundreds or thousands of kilometers from anything larger than an ice cube.

Docking-actually bringing the s.h.i.+p into physical contact with a giant spinning disc-was thoroughly unnatural and therefore the most nerve-racking part of every trip. But Max performed flawlessly as usual, matching motions and gliding smoothly into the docking berth like an off-center axle. The port's spin gave the Goldenrod an effective gravity similar in magnitude but different in direction to what Tomo was used to, and he grimaced slightly as his floating crash chair came to rest against what he usually considered a wall.

"The access tunnel is connected now, Tomo," Max informed him as he unstrapped and climbed a bit gingerly from the chair. "Whenever you're ready..."

The tunnel led from the pod to a short corridor in the port proper, and a door at the far end opened to a s.p.a.cious five-room suite. Tomo gave himself a quick tour, and then returned to the living room area. "Not bad," he said aloud. "Better than that cubist's nightmare at Burnish, anyway-remember that horrible holosculp?"

There was no response, and Tomo snorted at his forgetfulness. Of course Max had no direct voicelink pickups here. Stepping to the desk, he located the "communications" section of the control ball there and traced the proper curve among the many alternatives. "Max? You there?"

"Of course," the computer's voice answered. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing-I just wanted you around." He paused, eyes still studying the unfamiliar control ball. "Wait a second-can you tell me how I call up the port's computer on this thing?"

"I believe you'll need to interface through me for all computer functions."

"Oh?" A corner of Tomo's mind noted that such an arrangement seemed unnecessarily awkward; but these were port people, after all. "All right. Uh...

would you call up a sky-to-ground shuttle schedule for me?"

"Very well."

The screen beside the control ball lit up with lines of numbers and words.

Sitting down, Tomo leaned forward to study them... but he'd barely begun to decipher their meaning when the screen abruptly blanked and the face of a middle- aged man appeared. Startled, Tomo leaned back again.

"Welcome to Maigre s.p.a.ce Station, Tomo," the man said, smiling. "I'm Director Jer Halian, in charge of Parallax Industries' operations here. I hope you had a good voyage?"

"Quite nice, sir," Tomo managed, still feeling a bit off balance.

"And I trust your rooms are satisfactory?"

"Oh, certainly."

"Good. Well, we want you to be comfortable for the duration of your stay. Is there anything we can do for you? Something special, perhaps, that we haven't thought to provide?"

Tomo took a deep breath. It's not an unreasonable request, he told himself firmly. "As a matter of fact... would it be possible for me to visit Maigre while I'm here? I'd sort of like to see what dirtside life is like."

Italian's expression didn't change. "I'm sure something can be arranged.

Uh-" His eyes flicked to the side. "Why don't you come down to my office and we can work out a schedule for you?""Come down... in person?" Tomo asked, faltering a bit. Somehow, his rather hazy plan hadn't included consequences quite this immediate. "Can't we do it from here?" Halian shrugged fractionally. "Oh, we could. But I wouldn't think it'd be a problem for someone who wants to visit a planet full of people."

It was nothing Tomo could put his finger on, but suddenly he felt like he was at the far end of a microscope. Halian was watching him closely... too closely... as if this was some sort of test.... "You're right, of course," he told the director firmly.

"How do I get to where you are?"

If Halian was surprised, he hid it well. "There are guidelights along the hallway walls; I'll have them set to lead you to my office. I-guess I'll see you in a few minutes. Good-bye."

"Signing off," Tomo nodded as the screen went blank. For a moment he sat there, working up his courage. Then, standing, he strode resolutely to the emergency door with its bold EXIT TO STATION inscription. Almost unwillingly, his hand reached out to touch the red plate, and with a gentle whoosh the door slid open. Licking his lips quickly, Tomo stepped through- And jumped back inside, using a hand on the doorjamb to swing off to the side. Back flat against the wall, he mouthed a silent curse at the still-open door.

Finally, it slid closed... but not before the two men he'd fled from had time to pa.s.s by.

He stood there for several seconds, slowly mastering the emotion of that near- contact. Unlocking his frozen joints, he peeled himself from the wall. He tried to step to the door again, but his feet seemed unable to take him that direction. The touch plate glared mockingly at him; turning away, he returned to the desk and gingerly sat down. "Max," he croaked.

"Yes, Tomo?"

He licked his lips, and this time they worked better. "Get me the director's office, will you?"

"Certainly. Are you all right? You sound agitated."

"Just make the call, huh?"

Max didn't answer, but a moment later Halian's face appeared on the screen.

"Yes, Tomo, what is it?"

"Sir... would it be possible for you to come here instead?" Tomo asked. "At your convenience, of course, and if it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all. I'll be up in a few minutes. Is it all right if I bring a couple of colleagues with me?"

Tomo wanted very much to say no, but Halian had that microscope look again. "Uh... yeah, sure."

"Good. We'll see you soon, then. Good-bye."

The screen blanked and Tomo wilted a bit in his chair. No trouble at all, the director had said airily, as if taking a trip through a crowded port was the easiest thing in the universe.

Unbelievable!

Director Halian turned off the intercom, sent a glance at Dr. Ross, and then focused his attention on the newcomer. "Well, Dr. Scharn?" he invited.

Dreya Scharn shrugged, wondering what the flapdoodle secrecy was all about. To her, the whole thing seemed absurdly open-and-shut. "If it were anyone but a stars.h.i.+p crewman I'd cla.s.s him as a severe case of anthropophobia and start chemo-imbalance correction immediately. But surely you realize that after however-odd many years in s.p.a.ce, any of us would be pretty weak in the social- contact areas. I'd suggest you give him a few days before you start getting worried."

She stopped, suddenly aware that their reactions didn't fit what she was saying. "Is something wrong?"

Halian cleared his throat, flashed an annoyed look at Ross. "I see Dr. Ross hasn't given you the whole story yet."