Bios Read Free Page A

terminator. The long light of dawn picked out clouds in vivid chiaroscuro. Across the dark zone, lightning flickered, embers on velvet.
    Zoe had seen planets before. She had seen Earth from orbit, a view not dissimilar. She’d spent a year on Europa learning pressure lab technique, and the vast orb of Jupiter had filled more of the sky far more dramatically.
    But this was
Isis
. That glitter of sunlight came from a star notEarth’s. Here was a living world that had never seen a naked human footprint, a world strange and alive, rich with biology; a swarming waterdrop orbiting a foreign sun. As lovely as Earth. And infinitely more deadly.
    â€œIs there an issue,” Degrandpre said at last, “or have you come to stare? You wouldn’t be the first, Citizen Fisher.”
    Degrandpre’s voice had the bite of Terrestrial authority. His English was finely honed. Zoe thought she heard a touch of Beijing Elite School in the understated consonants.
    She took a breath. “I’ve been here ten days. Apart from the Habitat Seven physical regime director and the cafeteria staff, I haven’t spoken to anyone in authority. I don’t know who to report to. The people who are supposed to oversee my work directly are all on-planet—which is where I ought to be.”
    Degrandpre tapped his stylus and sat back in his chair. His clothing was sere gray, the inevitable kacho uniform, a stiff black collar framing his thick peasant neck. Wooden chair, wooden desk, a plush carpet, and a multilayered dress uniform; all of this would have been shipped from Earth, at an expense Zoe shuddered to consider. He asked, “Do you feel neglected?”
    â€œNo, not neglected. I just wanted to make certain—”
    â€œThat we haven’t forgotten you.”
    â€œWell . . . yes, Manager.”
    Degrandpre continued to tap his stylus against the desktop, a sound that made Zoe think of ice cracking in a warm glass. He seemed as much amused as irritated. “Let me ask you this, Citizen Fisher. In an outpost of this size, with every gram accounted for and every sou budgeted, do you really suppose people get
lost?”
    She reddened. “I wasn’t thinking of it that way.”
    â€œIn the last six weeks, we’ve conducted four shuttle exchanges with the downstations. Each exchange calls for lengthy quarantine and elaborate sterile docking protocols. Flights are scheduled months in advance. You people arrive thinking the Higgs launch was the bottleneck and that a trip downside must be a holiday jaunt by comparison. Not so. I’m aware of your presence and your purpose, and you have a place, obviously, on the rotation list. But ourfirst priority has to be resupply and maintenance. You must understand that.”
    But you knew I was coming, Zoe thought. Why didn’t the schedule reflect that? Or had there been delays she didn’t know about? “Beg pardon, Manager Degrandpre, but I haven’t even seen an agenda. When am I scheduled to drop?”
    â€œYou’ll be notified. Is that all?”
    â€œWell . . . yes, sir.” Now that she’d looked through the window.
    Degrandpre eyed his rapidly scrolling desktop. “I have a delegation from Yambuku waiting outside. People you’ll be working with. You might as well stay and listen. Meet your colleagues.” He said this as if he had made a grand concession. Planned, of course, in advance. It was one of those kacho maneuvers the bureaucrats loved so much. Surprise the opposition; never
be
surprised.
    Zoe said, “Yambuku?”
    â€œDownstation Delta. Delta is called Yambuku; Gamma is Marburg.”
    â€œYambuku” and “Marburg” were the first identified strains of the hemorrhagic fever that had devastated twenty-first-century Earth. A microbiologist’s joke. Most likely a Kuiper microbiologist’s joke. The Terrestrial sense of humor was limited in that department.
    â€œSit,” Degrandpre