Probability Sun Read Free

Kaufman paused, considered, decided on honesty. “In fact, hardly anybody likes working with him. He’s sarcastic, and he’s always convinced he’s perfectly right.”
    “And is he?”
    “Usually, sir.”
    “I see. Major, you’ve handed me a stinker.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “All right. Let’s hold our noses while you explain this science to me. Do it slowly, do it clearly, and show me why you think it might lead to some counter-device to the Faller shields. And don’t overstate your case, Major. I probably won’t be able to detect if you’re doing so now, but I’ll find out eventually.”
    “Yes, sir,” Kaufman said, and had to hold still a moment before he began again. His head felt light. The science wouldn’t be easy to explain, but that wasn’t the problem. Nor was obtaining Gordon’s consent. Kaufman knew that he, like Gordon, was a good judge of men. Gordon had already decided to chance the expedition. No, Kaufman’s light-headedness wasn’t because he was nervous about Gordon’s refusal. He was nervous about Gordon’s acceptance.
    And of what train of events he, Lyle Kaufman, had just, finally, got out of the station and into motion.

TWO
    THARSIS PROVINCE, MARS
    W hen the comlink shrilled in his brother-in-law’s comfortable living room, Tom Capelo said, “If that’s for me, I’m not here.”
    “Incoming message in real-time from Earth, United Atlantic Federation, for Dr. Capelo, priority one,” the house system said.
    “I’m not here. In fact, I’m not anywhere. I’ve vanished from timespace.”
    “Tom,” Martin Blumberg said with weary patience.
    “System, tell them I’m caught in a space tunnel.”
    “It won’t do that,” Martin said. “Only your system will do that. This is a normal system. House, put the call on screen.”
    Capelo’s younger daughter said, “Daddy, you’re not really in a space tunnel.” After a moment she added, “Are you?”
    “Caught with all my molecules dissassembled.”
    “Oh, he’s just acting stupid again,” the older daughter told her sister, with enormous disgust. “You’re such a baby.”
    “I am not! I’m five!”
    “So what? I’m ten, and that’s twice as old.”
    “Transferring message,” the house system said. A section of the living room wall, which had previously shown the Martian sunset outside the room, darkened briefly, then brightened into an image of a sharp-featured man in a darkened bare room. The image said formally, “This is Dr. Raymond Pellier at Harvard University, UAF, calling for Dr. Thomas Capelo. Please activate two-way visual and audio. There will be a six-minute delay between transmission points. Acknowledge immediately.”
    “Asshole,” Capelo said, into the six-minute delay.
    “Daddy said a bad word,” said Sudie, the five-year-old.
    “Frozen star,” Capelo said in a heavily fake Russian accent.
    “Stop acting so fizzy, Daddy,” ordered Amanda. “You always embarrass us.”
    “I’m not embarrassed,” Sudie said stoutly. “What’s embarrassed mean?”
    Martin stood. “Girls, your father is receiving an important message from his department chair, and I think he needs to do it in private. Let’s go find Aunt Kristen.”
    The two children, unmoving, looked at their father. Capelo said, “You might as well go. I’m only going to tell the frozen star that I’m disassembled.”
    “Daddy—”
    “All right, all right, I’m not disassembled. You two never let me be anything fun. House, activate two-way visual and audio. Ray, you’re acknowledged. ‘Give sorrow words.’”
    Martin took his nieces by the hands and led them away, closing the door behind him. Capelo waited the twelve minutes for his message to be received on Earth and responded to. While he waited, he paced restlessly around the room, touching objects. Bookshelves with actual books, a vase of genemod flowers from the garden at the far side of the dome, a severe metal table topped with a severe slab of red Martian stone—why