Saturn

SATURN ARRIVAL MINUS 19 DAYS

Holly and Eberly walked past the orchard’s neat rows of trees, heading for the spot along the irrigation canal where Don Diego had drowned. Holly didn’t need a map or a marker; she remembered the exact location perfectly.

“But what did Kananga find?” she asked.

Eberly shrugged his rounded shoulders. “I don’t know. He said he didn’t want to talk about it on the phone.”

“Must be something important,” she said, quickening her pace. “Must be.” Eberly touched his comm, in the breast pocket of his tunic. Vyborg was supposed to call him, give him an excuse to leave Holly and head back to his office. Why hasn’t he called? Is he trying to make certain I’m involved personally in this? Trying to make me a witness to Holly’s murder? An accomplice?

Holly was oblivious to his nervous behavior. “Wonder what it could be?”

“What what could be?” Eberly asked, with growing impatience. “Whatever it is that Kananga found.”

Your death, he replied silently. He’s going to kill you, and make me a party to it.

“Wait,” said Eberly, reaching out to grasp Holly’s arm. “What is it, Malcolm?”

He stood there, feeling cold sweat beading his upper lip, his forehead, trickling down his ribs. I can’t do it, he realized. I can’t let them draw me in this deep.

“Holly, I…” What to say? How can I get out of this without telling her everything?

His comm buzzed. Almost giddy with relief, Eberly fished it out of his tunic pocket and fumbled it open.

Instead of Vyborg’s dark, sour face, Morgenthau appeared on the miniature screen. She was smiling broadly. “I’ve found it,” she said, without preamble. “His entertainment vids. They’re—”

“I’m out here in the orchard with Holly,” he interrupted, his voice as strong and imperative as he could make it without shouting. “What is it that you’ve found?”

Morgenthau looked flustered for a moment, then she seemed to understand what he was trying to tell her. “It’s an important break through,” she temporized. “Too complicated to discuss over the phone. I must show you all the details, so that you can then discuss them with Professor Wilmot.”

“Is it urgent?” he prompted.

“Oh, yes, quite urgent.” Morgenthau took her cue. “I suggest you come to my office immediately. This can’t wait.”

“Very well,” he said sharply. “I’ll meet you at your office.”

He clicked the handheld shut and looked up at Holly. “I’m afraid I’ll have to go back. You go on to your meeting with Kananga. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

Holly was clearly disappointed, but she nodded her understanding. Without another word, Eberly turned around and started walking quickly back toward the village, practically loping through the trees. Puzzled, Holly turned back and headed for the irrigation culvert. Then she realized she would have to see Kananga by herself. The prospect didn’t please her, but she was determined to find out what the security chief had learned about Don Diego’s death.

No, not death, Holly reminded herself. Murder.

For one of the rare times in his life, Manuel Gaeta felt awkward. As he walked down the corridor toward Nadia Wunderly’s cubbyhole office, he actually felt nervous, like a teenager going out on his first date. Like a guilty little kid going to confession.

The door markedplanetary sciences staff was wide open. The area inside looked like a maze constructed of shoulder-high partitions, filled with quietly intense scientists and their assistants. Gaeta had been there often enough to know the way, but this particular morning he got confused, lost, and had to ask directions. Everybody seemed to know who he was and they smilingly pointed him in the right direction. The women seemed to smile especially warmly, he noticed.

None of that now, he told himself sternly.

Feeling a little like a mouse in a psychologist’s maze, Gaeta finally made it to Wunderly’s cubbyhole, which was about as far from the front door as it could be.

“Good morning, Ma

“Hi,” he said as brightly as he could manage. “You got the results for me?”

She nodded without smiling. Unasked, Gaeta took the squeaky little plastic chair at the side of her desk. Suma friadad, he thought. A man could freeze to death in here.

Wunderly projected a set of tables on the blank partition that formed the back wall of her cubicle. “These are the frequencies of particles bigger than ten centimeters in the brightest belt, the B ring,” she said, her voice flat, as unemotional as a machine. “And here are the deviations that they—”

“I don’t blame you for being sore at me,” he interrupted.

She blinked her big gray eyes slowly, solemnly.

“I know you and Kris talked.”

“Holly, too.”

He conceded with a shrug and a weak attempt at a boyish smile. “Yeah, and Holly too.”

“And God knows who else.”

“Now wait,” he said, raising a hand defensively. “It’s bad enough, don’t go making it worse than it is.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Wunderly said.

“I owe you an apology.”

She glared at him for a moment. Then, “I don’t want to talk about it. Ever again.”

“But I—”

“Never again, Ma

Wunderly took a breath, then said, “Our relationship from now on is strictly business. You want to go skydiving through the rings and I want to draw public attention to the rings. We’ll work together on this strictly as professionals. No personal involvement. Understood?”

“Understood,” he said weakly.

“With any luck, I’ll get a big fat grant to study the rings and you’ll break your ass.”

Despite himself, Gaeta gri

Holly walked along the culvert to the spot where Don Diego’s murder had taken place. As she made her way down the dirt embankment she looked for Kananga. He was nowhere in sight.

He’s not here? she wondered. What’s going on?

Then she saw his tall, lanky form, maybe a hundred meters up the embankment, standing there, waiting for her. As usual, he was dressed completely in black: tunic, slacks, boots, all dead black.

“Hello,” she called.

Kananga started toward her.

“This is the spot, right here,” Holly shouted. “By the peach trees up there.”

Kananga called back, “Are you certain?”

“I remember every detail.”

He stopped once he was within arm’s reach. “You have an excellent memory.”

“Photographic,” Holly said. She tried to hide her nervousness, with Kananga towering over her. She noticed that his boots left prints in the dirt just like the ones at the murder scene.

“And I suppose that spot, there,” he stretched out a long arm, pointing, “is where you found the old man’s body.”

Holly pointed slightly more leftward. “Over there. That’s where it was.”

“I see.” And he grabbed Holly, one big hand clamped over her face, covering her nose and mouth, the other arm wrapped around her waist, pi