Felicia was genuinely upset. “But why should you be the one to go down to Gamma? Why you?”
It had started as a dinnertime conversation. Sitting at their narrow kitchen table, Brad had told her that Kosoff had asked him to be the one to make first contact with the Gammans.
Now, two hours later, they were still going round and round, hotter and hotter.
“It’s going to be dangerous,” Felicia insisted. “You could get hurt, killed!”
Brad tried to soothe her fears. “Look, honey, I’ll have the whole contact team watching me every minute—”
“From up here in the ship, where it’s safe.”
“But they’ll be able to lift me off the planet if trouble comes up.”
“Really? Desai plans to move the ship into orbit around Alpha when Beta and Gamma have their close encounter. How can they rescue you when we’re more than thirty-two million kilometers away from you?”
Their discussion evolved into an argument. From the kitchen to the sitting room, from there into the bedroom. Brad felt confused, almost betrayed, that Felicia could be so difficult, so demanding, so angry at him.
In desperation, Brad summoned Emcee and asked for a risk evaluation.
Appearing across the bedroom from them, Emcee stood silently thoughtful for several heartbeats—an eternity for the computer’s optronic circuitry, Brad thought.
At last Emcee replied, “There are too many unknowns in the problem to give an accurate assessment.”
“Thanks a lot,” Brad grumbled. “Off.”
The holographic image winked out.
“You see?” Felicia said. “Not even Emcee can calculate the risks.”
Brad stood at the foot of the bed, Felicia to one side of it. He felt anger simmering inside him. She’s being stubborn. Foolish. But then he realized that what she really was was frightened.
Without a word, Brad went to her and folded her into his arms. She leaned against him, whispering, “Please, Brad, please don’t go.”
He kissed the tousled hair on the top of her head. “I’ve got to, honey. I can’t ask somebody else to go. It’s got to be me.”
Felicia did not cry. She looked up at him, dry-eyed. “Even if you might get killed?”
“Especially if I might get killed. I could never live with myself if I sent somebody else down there and he got killed.” Silently he added, Like my family.
She nodded regretfully. “I know. I think that’s what bothers me the most. I knew you would go, and you wouldn’t let anyone else go in your place.”
“I love you, Fil.”
“Yes. I know. And I love you.” She almost smiled. “But you’re the most stubborn jackass I’ve ever met.”
He laughed, weakly, then kissed her.
As they broke their embrace, Brad said, “You just make sure you steer clear of Kosoff while I’m gone.”
Her face utterly serious, Felicia said, “If anything happens to you, I’ll kill him.”
Brad stood there, shocked by her intensity.
She means it, he thought. I’d better make sure to come back in one piece.
* * *
While Brad stood in the middle of the antiseptic-smelling examination room, Noriyoshi Yamagata leaned his rump against the exam table, eying Brad like a hangman calculating how much rope he’s going to need.
Head of the ship’s medical team, Yamagata was the scion of an old Japanese industrial family. His ancestors had helped build the lunar city-state of Selene, had made fortunes on solar-power satellites and fusion-powered spacecraft. Yamagata Industries had turned the planet Mercury into a solar-power center for the whole inner solar system and constructed the first starships, after specifications provided by the Predecessors.
He was almost as tall as Brad’s shoulders, with a thick, heavy body and short but powerful limbs. His face was round and flat, his narrow eyes wreathed with laugh wrinkles. But he was not smiling as he silently studied Brad.
Noriyoshi had dedicated his life to the study of medicine, especially the field of cyborg enhancements of the human body.
Now he looked Brad up and down, muttering to himself in Japanese. Brad felt slightly uneasy, but forced himself to smile pleasantly at the chief of the ship’s medical department.
“You have the right body build,” said Yamagata at last, in International English. “Very tall and slim, much like the Gammans themselves.”
“Then I won’t need any surgical changes?” Brad asked.
“You will need a full-body suit, of course. Protection against possible pathogens in the environment.”
“But wouldn’t alien pathogens be … well, alien? They wouldn’t react with humans.”
“That is the theory,” said Yamagata. “But we wouldn’t want to find out that the theory is wrong, would we?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“I’ll have to bring in some engineers. Your biosuit should also filter the air you breathe, and provide for elimination of your wastes.”
Brad immediately asked, “What about food?”
“A necessity, of course, unfortunately. You will have to bring a supply with you and cache it somewhere. And we will have to design a system to allow you to eat the food without breaking your protective seal.”
“Sounds difficult.”
“Interesting,” Yamagata corrected. “An interesting challenge.”
Brad nodded.
“We will have to implant communications equipment. Probably in your skull.”
“Implant?” Brad asked. “You mean surgically?”
“Of course. Professor Kosoff wants full-time recording of everything you see and hear.”
He stepped up to Brad and peered closely at his face. “We will replace one of your eyes with a minicam.”
“Take one of my eyes?” Brad yelped.
Smiling slightly, Yamagata said, “We will store it for you and return it to its proper residence once you have returned to the ship.”
Brad tried not to wince.
“Yesss,” Yamagata hissed. “And an aural implant. That can go into your ear channel. Plus two-way communications, of course.”
“Of course,” said Brad. “I wouldn’t want to be cut off from Emcee.”
Yamagata’s smile widened. “I can guarantee you at least one thing, Dr. MacDaniels.”
“What is it?”
“You are going to lose weight.”