2312

Swan spun a little under the force of her own looking around. So dim, so abandoned; she spun in some gust of emotion that perhaps came from her poor Terminator: fist to her faceplate, suddenly she heard herself moaning.

“Yes,” the little silver figure floating by her said. “There was a pressure failure here, with no warning. This was a chondrite and water-ice conglomerate asteroid, very common. The accident review found a small meteorite had by chance hit an undetected seam of ice in the cylinder wall, vaporizing it and depressurizing the interior catastrophically. It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened, although in this case the rock readers had given it a triple A rating. Usually the ones that have cracked have been Bs or Cs, and were occupied unwisely. So I’ve been reanalyzing old accidents, looking for certain flags, and decided I wanted to have a look at this one. Mainly at the outside, but first I wanted to check the inside.”

“A lot of people died?”

“Yes, around three thousand. It happened very fast. Some people were in buildings with shelters they got to in time, and others were near spacesuits, or air locks. Other than them, the whole city-state died. The survivors decided to leave it empty as a memorial.”

“So this is like a cemetery now.”

“Yes. There’s a memorial in here somewhere, I think on the other side. I want to take a look at the inner surface of the break.”

The inspector consulted with Passepartout, then led Swan through the interior space to a boulevard on the other side of the cylinder. The neighborhood here had a Parisian scale, with wide streets running between trapezoidal housing blocks four and five stories tall.

They hovered over an area of crumpled pavements and tilted buildings, which resembled old photos of earthquake-damaged areas on Earth. It was strange how still it was.

“Aren’t there enough nickel-iron asteroids around that no one needs to hollow a conglomerate?” Swan asked.

“You would think so. But they hollowed out a few of these and found they worked fine. Keep the walls thick enough and the rotation and interior air pressure are nowhere near enough to test them. They should work and they do. But this one broke. A little meteor hit just the wrong spot.”

They floated over an area where the intense buckling had left plates of white concrete thrown up and out, leaving a long gash between them. The gash was open to space; Swan could see stars through it.

T hey left the devastated street and floated back out of the asteroid. Outside they toed and jetted over the surface of the rock, negotiating the typical asteroid mini-g. Swan had spent some time in this g during her terrarium-building days, and she saw that the inspector was expert in it, which of course made sense for someone based in the asteroid belt.

When they got to the outside location of the open seam, they found several of the Interplan team already at work around it. Genette made a few balletic leaps, twisting in descent to float down headfirst, taking photos of the inside of the rupture. Close inspection of a few small pits to each side was accomplished by way of one-handed handstands, faceplate centimeters from the rock.

After a while: “I think I’ve got what I need.”

They floated there, watching the others continue to work. Genette said, “You have a qube there in your skull, isn’t that right?”

“Yes. Pauline, say hello to Inspector Genette.”

“Hello to Inspector Genette.”

“Can you turn it off?” the inspector asked.

“Yes, of course. Will you be turning off yours?”

“Yes. If that is indeed what really happens when we turn them off.” Through the faceplates Swan could see the inspector’s ironic smile. “All right, Passepartout has been put to sleep. Has Pauline?”

Swan had indeed pressed the pad under the skin on the right side of her neck. “Yes.”

“Very good. All right, now we can talk a little more openly. Tell me, when your qube is on, is it recording what you hear and see?”

“Normally, yes. Of course.”

“And does it have direct contact with any other qubes?”

“Direct contact? Do you mean quantum entanglement?”

“No, no. Decoherence makes that impossible, we are told. I only mean radio contact.”

“Well, Pauline has a radio receiver and transmitter, but I select what goes in and out.”

“Can you be sure of that?”

“Yes, I think so. I set the tasks and she does them. I can check everything she’s done in her records.”

The little silver figure was shaking its head dubiously.

“Isn’t it the same for you?” Swan asked.

“I think so,” Genette said. “I’m just not so sure about all the qubes that are not Passepartout.”

“Why? Do you think qubes may be involved with what happened here? Or on Mercury?”

“Yes.”

Swan stared in surprise at what seemed to be a big spacesuited doll floating beside her, feeling a little afraid of it. Its voice was in her ear because of her helmet mike, speaking from almost within her, much as Pauline did. A clear high countertenor, pleasant and amused.