Golden Fleece

Aaron was almost to the beginning of the simulacrum. He passed through the pressure curtain that warned the birds away from the invisible bulkhead. A doorway opened in the wall, a rectangular aperture just above the holographic sands, revealing a metallic stairwell beyond. He banged down the steps and entered the level beneath. The ceiling was sculpted in deep relief, irregular with the geography of the shoreline, bowing deeply at the middle of the lake. Beads of condensation clung to the cold metal. Among the buttresses and conduits were workbenches and cabinets, an expansion of the engineering shops. Far off, clad in dirty coveralls, was Chief Engineer I-Shin “Great Wall of China” Chang, working on a large cylindrical device.

“Ho, Wall,” Aaron called, and the other man looked up. “JASON said you wanted to see me.”

Chang, a giant in any room, seemed particularly large in this cramped space, his excess of limbs exacerbating the problem. “That’s right.” He extended his upper right hand toward Aaron, saw that it was greasy, withdrew it, and tried again with his lower right. Little time was given to formal greetings aboard Argo, since one was never far away from anyone else. With raised eyebrows, Aaron clasped his friend’s hand. “I hear that you were none too happy about today’s newscast,” said Chang, the words a burst of machine-gun fire.

“You have a gift for understatement, Wall. I was furious. I’m still trying to decide whether I should go rearrange Koenig’s face.”

Chang tilted his head toward my camera pair. “Be careful about what you say in front of witnesses.”

Aaron snorted.

“Are you upset with me for participating?” asked Chang.

Aaron shook his head. “I was at first, but I listened to the recording again. All you did was describe the technical procedure we used to bring Diana—to bring the Orpheus—home.”

“That little Japanese man asked many other questions, but I tried to respect your privacy.”

“Thank you. Actually, I was flattered by what you said. ‘The Rossman Maneuver,’ eh?”

“Oh, indeed. What you did with the magnetic field was one for the textbooks. It never would have occurred to me. So there are no hard feelings?”

Aaron smiled. “None about the broadcast, as long as there are none about the football game. I understand my boys whupped you good.”

“The Hangar Deck Stevedores are an admirable team. But my Engineering Rams are getting better, yes? Next time we will be victorious.”

Aaron smiled again. “We’ll see.”

Quiet, except for the regular plink-plink of water dripping from the ceiling.

“You’re not busy?” said Chang at last. “I’m not inconveniencing you?”

Aaron laughed. “Of course not. There hasn’t been a lot for me to do these last couple of years.”

Chang chuckled politely at the tired joke. “And you are well?”

“Yes. You?”

“Fine.”

“And Kirsten?”

“Bright and beautiful, as always.”

Chang nodded. “Good,” he said. “That’s good.”

“Yes.”

There was silence between them for six seconds. “I’m sorry about Diana,” Chang said at last.

“Me, too.”

“But you say you’re okay?” said Chang. His great round face creased in sympathy, an invitation to talk about it.

“Yes.” Aaron declined the invitation. “Was there something specific you wanted to see me about?”

Chang looked at him for three seconds more, apparently trying to decide whether to pursue his friend’s pain. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do have something to discuss. First, though, how are you going to vote tomorrow?”

“I thought I’d use my thumb.”

Chang rolled his eyes. “Everybody’s a comedian. I mean, do you favor Proposition Three?”

“It is a secret ballot for a reason, Wall.”

“Very well. Very well. I personally do favor the proposition. If it does pass, well, then, I won’t be needing your help. But if the people don’t take that chance for salvation, I have an alternative. Come.”

He led Aaron over to his workbench, its plastiwood surface nicked by hacksaw blades and marred by welding burns. With a proud sweep of his upper left hand, Chang indicated a cylindrical object that was mounted on the top of the bench. It was a metallic casing, 117 centimeters long and 50 centimeters in diameter—a section of reinforced plumbing conduit, cut to length with a laser. Its ends were closed off by thick disks of red plastic. On its side was an open access panel. Although at this moment I couldn’t see within, six days ago I had got a good look at the interior when Chang had rotated the cylinder to do some work through another, smaller access plate that was located ninety degrees around from this one. It had been filled with a grab bag of components, many only loosely mounted by electrician’s tape, a collection of circuitry breadboards stuffed with chips scavenged from all sorts of equipment, and a thick bundle of fiber-optic strands, looking like glassy muscle. The whole thing had a rough, unfinished look to it—not the smooth, clean lines technology is supposed to have. I had had no trouble determining what the device was, but I doubted Aaron would be able to figure it out.