Utopia

Fredda stopped her pacing back and forth and sat down on the edge of the bed. Why the devil did crises always hit in the middle of the night, when she was half asleep? She had to think, and think fast. It was no good denying the story. Not when it was true, not when it was bound to leak out again, some other way, and soon. But she could not just blandly confirm it either. She had no idea at all how likely the comet plan was. Alvar had gone off somewhere to study the problem. Suppose he had already concluded the idea was, after all, as insane as it sounded? She could not commit him, either way. But she couldn’t let it go with a flat “no comment” either. That would simply start the rumor mill churning faster than ever.

In short, there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t cause some serious damage. She should never have taken this call in the first place. But it was too late now. She had to say something. She took a deep breath, and spoke slowly, carefully. “There is a comet,” she said. “The governor is aware of…studies that have been made concerning the comet.” Suddenly Fredda had an inspiration. Something she could say that was utterly truthful, and yet something that was completely misleading. Something that might slow down the rumor long enough to buy them some time. “I do not know all the details, but I believe the project has something to do with Operation Snowball. I assume you are familiar with snowball?”

“Ah, yes, somewhat, ma’am.” There was a longish pause. At a guess, Lews was doing a lookup on “snowball” in some sort of reference system. Fredda smiled. It was increasingly obvious to her that Lews was not quite as smooth and prepared as he let on. That was also good. “It’s a project to mine ice from comets and drop it into the atmosphere,” Lews said, in a tone of voice that made it obvious that he was reading the words from off some screen or another.

“Precisely. In effect, dropping a comet on the planet-a few kilograms at a time. Snowball has been going on for some time, and it is the only officially approved project concerning comets that I know about.” The statement was true, if misleading in the extreme. The Comet Grieg plan was not, after all, approved. “I trust that answers your questions, Mr. Lews?”

“Well, I suppose so,” Lews replied.

Suppose what you will, thought Fredda, just so long as I’ve muddled the trail enough to hold you off. “In that case, I’ll be getting back to bed. Good night-or good morning-Mr. Lews.” Fredda made a throat-cutting gesture to Donald, and he cut the connection. “I hope I did that right,” she said, more to herself than to Donald. “See to it that a copy of the original broadcast, and a copy of that conversation, are in the governor’s data mailbox. When he does check in, he’ll need to know what’s going on.”

“I have already put copies into his mailbox, Doctor.”

“Excellent.” Fredda slumped backward onto the bed, her feet still dangling down over the front of the mattress. That wouldn’t do. No point dozing off like that when she could so easily crawl back beneath the covers. She stood up, went around the bed, and got back into it, wondering if there was indeed any point in getting comfortable. It wouldn’t surprise her if she were unable to sleep at all. She certainly had enough things to worry about for her to keep her staring at the ceiling for the rest of the night. Where was Alvar? What was he going to do about the comet? Had she done it right, or had she just made a bad mess worse? No way to know. No way to know until it was too late.

It seemed her to that was the running theme for everything that had happened in the last few days. She yawned, shut her eyes, rolled over on her side, and set forth on a valiant effort to fall asleep.

FREDDA OPENED HER eyes again, to Donald staring down at her once more.

“Your pardon, Dr. Leving, but there is an urgent call for you. The pseudo-robot Caliban says he must speak with you at once,” Fredda sighed. She knew she had to take the call, and that Caliban would only call if it were important, But even so, it was turning into a very long night. “Now what time is it?” she asked.

“It is now 0429 hours,” Donald said.

“It would be,” she muttered. “All right, on the bedroom comm again. Audio only.” Perhaps she shouldn’t have cared how she looked to a robot, but she did.

“Very well, Dr. Leving. Caliban can hear you-now.”

“Caliban, hello,” Fredda said, struggling not to yawn. What’s going on?”

“Dr. Leving, please forgive me for disturbing you at this hour, but I felt that we must talk. Prospero and I are leaving the city now, headed for Depot and beyond. We have learned through our own sources what is likely to befall our city.”