The Jupiter Theft

…according to Farside director Dr. Horace Mackie, scientists have now updated and corrected their original computations, and it appears that the wandering planet will take up an orbit around Jupiter instead of orbiting the sun, as had originally been theorized…

Ruiz crumpled the holofax angrily and dropped it on the boardwalk. So that was the pap they were going to feed the public! Updated computations!

It had taken some unimaginable force to tear that planetary mass from its solar orbit and aim it so that it would be captured by Jupiter. The universe was turning out to be a very queer place indeed, and here he was, stuck in this expensive sandbox for spoiled Guvie brats, while a stuffed gabacho like Mackie had all of Farside’s facilities to play with.

Hot tears of frustration in his eyes, Ruiz stared out over the water.-Swarms of boisterous pink bathers splashed in the near surf, and farther out bright little sailboats bobbed against the translucent sky. It was hard to believe that this sparkling bay once had been known as Death Valley, before the ’09 earthquake had split the coast open and opened a channel to the sea.

He shook his head; best take advantage of it while he could. There’d been nothing like it for people like him while he was scrabbling for survival in the stinking tents of New Manhattan.

Ruiz hitched up his jockstrap and picked his way awkwardly through the sprawled sunbathers to the water’s edge. After a dip, he felt better. He picked up his gear and started the long trudge across the desert sands toward his assigned hospice. He’d give it one more try. Maybe this time they’d let him talk to Mackie. He pretended elaborately not to notice the arbee in the striped robe and mirrorglasses who followed him back.

Chapter 5

“Sorry I’m late,” Li said. “Struggle Group meeting.” He made a wry face. “We had to elect a new leader, and the self-criticism dragged on longer than usual.”

“Yuan yu,” Jameson said, giving Li a crooked grin of sympathy. “I thought Chu Lo was Struggle. Group leader.”

“Didn’t you hear? Chu Lo got rotated Earth. They send up new biologist this morning. Lady name Tu Jue-chen.”

“Who’s the new leader?”

“Tu Jue-chen,” Li said blandly. “Only democratic way.”

Jameson diplomatically said nothing. If Peking Center wanted to replace their political watchdog this close to countdown, it was their business. He was just thankful that it was a biologist and not somebody involved in the operational safety of the spaceship.

The two of them set off down the corridor toward Stores, helmets tucked under their arms. The great ship was eerily silent, sound smothered in foam. A quarter of the crew was on Earth leave, or at Eurostation awaiting transportation. There was ample room in the 600-foot doughnut of the spin section to dilute the rest of the crew—now grown to almost eighty people.

The sandaled feet of an approaching crewman came into view as they advanced along the upward-curving floor, and gradually the rest of him emerged from the ceiling’s eclipse. It was Kiernan, the wiry little hydroponicist, muttering to himself. As he drew abreast, he said, “If you’re headed for Stores, that new bastard’s going to give you a hard time.”

“What’s the matter?” Jameson asked.

Kiernan jerked his head angrily toward the exit. “I wanted to check out a couple of parts bins to use for seedlings. They’re just the right size. Wang and I punch holes in them for drainage. This Klein makes a big deal out of it. Says they’re not authorized for that use—tells me to make out a requisition and he’ll have the proper equipment shipped over from Eurostation, and in the meantime I lose two days!”

“By the book,” Jameson said. “One of those.”

Kiernan disappeared down the corridor, still muttering. Jameson and Li turned into the next crosstube and found themselves in the supply bay.

There was some kind of argument going on at the desk. As they drew closer, Jameson recognized Chief Grogan. Grogan’s enormous competence had gotten him promoted from the original construction crew, and he would be coming along to Jupiter.

“Look,” Grogan was growling with forced patience, “I got five men waiting at the air lock to go on outside detail. I gotta have fresh charges for their scooters.”

On the other side of the counter, Klein’s narrow face was set woodenly. “I can’t issue you the new charges until you turn in the empties,” he said expressionlessly. “Those are the rules.”