Nueva Venezuela was built of a series of concentric rings. The outermost ring spun at a rate that gave the occupants inside it a feeling of normal Earthly gravity. The two other rings were placed where they would simulate Mars’s one-third g and the Moon’s one-sixth. The docking port at the station’s center was effectively at zero gravity. The tech guys called it microgravity, but Dan always thought of it as zero g.
A great place to make love, Dan remembered. Then he chuckled to himself. Once you get over the heaves. Nearly everybody got nauseous their first few hours in weightlessness.
Dan went through customs swiftly, allowing the inspector to rummage through his one travelbag while he tried to keep himself from making any sudden movements. He could feel his sinuses starting to puff up as the liquids in his body shifted in response to weightlessness. No postnasal drips in zero g, Dan told himself. But you sure can get a beaut of a headache while the fluids build up in your sinuses before you adapt.
The main thing was to make as few head motions as possible. Dan had seen people suddenly erupt with projectile vomiting from merely turning their heads or nodding.
The inspector passed him easily enough and Dan gratefully made his way along the tube corridor that led “down” to the lunar-level wheel.
He dumped his bag in the cubbyhole compartment he’d rented for this visit, then prowled along the sloping corridor that ran through the center of the wheel, checking the numbers on each door.
Dr. Kristine Cardenas’s name was neatly printed on a piece of tape stuck above her door number. Dan rapped once, and opened the door.
It was a small office, hardly enough room for the desk and the two plain plastic chairs in front of it. A good-looking young woman sat at the desk: shoulder-length sandy hair, cornflower blue eyes, broad swimmer’s shoulders. She wore an unadorned jumpsuit of pastel yellow; or maybe it had once been brighter, but had faded after many washings.
“I’m looking for Dr. Cardenas,” said Dan. “She’s expecting me. I’m Dan Randolph.”
The young woman smiled up at him and extended her hand. “I’m Kris Cardenas.”
Dan blinked. “You… you’re much too young to be the Dr. Cardenas.”
She laughed. Motioning Dan to one of the chairs in front of the desk, she said, “I assure you, Mr. Randolph, that I am indeed the Dr. Cardenas.”
Dan looked into those bright blue eyes. “You too, huh? Nanomachines.”
She pursed her lips, then admitted, “It was a temptation I couldn’t resist. Besides, what better way to test what nanotechnology can do than to try it on yourself?”
“Like Pasteur injecting himself with the polio vaccine,” Dan said.
She gave him a sidelong look. “Your grasp of the history of science is a bit off, but you’ve got the basic idea.”
Dan leaned back in the plastic chair. It creaked a little but accommodated itself to his weight. “Maybe I ought to try them, too,” he said.
“If you don’t have any plans to return to Earth,” Cardenas replied, with a sudden sharpness in her voice.
Dan changed the subject. “I understand you’re working with the Mars exploration program.”
She nodded. “Their budget’s being slashed to the bone. Beyond the bone, actually. If we can’t develop nanos to take over the life-support functions at their bases, they’ll have to close up shop and return to Earth.”
“But if they use nanomachines they won’t be allowed to come back home.”
“Only if they use nanomachines in their own bodies,” Cardenas said, raising a finger to emphasize her point. “The IAA has graciously decided they can be allowed to use nanotechnology to maintain and repair their equipment.”
Dan caught the sarcasm in her tone. “I’ll bet the New Morality was thrilled with that decision.”
“They don’t run the entire show. At least, not yet.”
Dan huffed. “Good reason to live off Earth. I’ve always said, When the going gets tough, the tough get going—”
“—to where the going’s easier,” Cardenas finished for him. “Yes, I’ve heard that.”
“I don’t think I’d be able to live off-Earth forever,” Dan said. “I mean… well, that’s home.”