Iris

wants anything to do, there's off-line data analysis to be done.' He shook his head, grinning. 'I really don't know why anyone would want to be in on this . . . it's mostly going to be an exercise in tedium.'

'I'll do some of the data work,' said Ariane.

'Leave me out of this,' said Jana stiffly. 'I still have a lot of work to do on the IAAU report.'

'OK. That leaves Vana, Demo, John, Harmon, Axie, and me,' said Beth. 'Shall we do a random choice?'

'Sure,' said Prynne.

A quick peek at the 'net's pseudorandom number generator selected John, Demogorgon, and Axie. Consulting the machinery was a very important arbitration method among them, and they all realized that it would be pointless andharmful to question its outcome. In this case, everyone seemed satisfied with the results.

Sealock scaled his dish toward a vent intake, which snatched it expertly from the air. Tiny globules of oil, which in weightlessness would have followed it, fell away and began to drift about like dust motes. Sooner or later the circulation filters would get them, or somebody's lungs would. 'Let's go,' he said. They stood, and Ariane said, 'You know, when this is all finished, we should have some sort of a real ceremony; maybe a celebration. . . .'

Vana spun around suddenly, buoyant brown breasts swaying. 'I know! Let's have an orgy!'

'That's not quite what I had in mind.'

John laughed. 'Hell, why not? Long as everyone's willing. . . .' Grinning, Sealock stretched, muscles rolling heavily beneath his skin. 'A true Berenguerism. Never fails. Steamy crotch juice for the frozen man . . .'

Demogorgon snickered at the purloined and altered imagery. The ancient poem had been part of the original inspiration for the Illimitor World and, with a little effort, he remembered the original verse. ' 'My favorite water,' huh?'

Sealock bellowed with coarse amusement.

Ariane, standing close to him, suddenly murmured, 'Brendan, could I talk to you alone?' He looked down at her, his smile fading, and said, 'Later.'

The astrodyne, built by KMS Fusion System's Aerospace Division at their big, dangerous factories not far from Gamma-enclave Kosmograd II in geosynchronous orbit, was mounted in an exterior pod roughly on the opposite side of Deepstar from the nacelle they'd opened to liberate the crane. It was an octagonal cylinder four meters in diameter by about six long, and housed the heart of their new colony—a 50,000- megawatt, self-maintaining peak-pulse toroidal fusion reactor. External field coils were a thing of the past and the thing had virtually no moving parts. Assuming plenty of fuel, its projected life span was in excess of a hundred thousand years,though the manufacturer would not even guarantee a century of trouble-free operation.

As Krzakwa drove the crane into position, Sealock, helmet-less in the pressurized cab, directed five work-packs through some preparatory activity. They disconnected the reactor from all but two of its attach points and replaced the current-infeed cable with a much longer one that would be payed out from a reel as the device was moved. There was no provision for putting Deepstar into a powered-down condition. Demogorgonwas suited up and crawling around on the structure, unnecessarily overseeing the work of the machines and, as he said, amusing himself. John and Axie were standing below, unable to do anything but watch.

When everything was ready, they paused. Sealock lit up a small dark cigar that filled the cabin with thin aromatic clouds which were swiftly swept toward the air-conditioning grille.

'Give me one of those,' said Krzakwa. He lit the stick from the end of the other man's cigar, no easy task, and puffed away on it inexpertly, redoubling the cabin smog. It made him cough, but he sighed.

'Kind of nice to be able to smoke outside of a restricted solarium.' Sealock snorted. 'The Lunar authorities are idiots. Those rules were obsolete a hundred years ago.' He thought for a moment, then said, 'You could smoke in a space suit if you wanted to—just turn the LS

cycle all the way up.'

Krzakwa nodded. 'You're probably right, but that has nothing to do with rules. Environmental Controls and Standards runs the Moon. Any relaxation of regulations, no matter how old and obsolete, lessens their power. You know, when I was an ECS apprentice in Picard, during my teens, I had more authority than as a scientist later on. How often do you hear of a bureaucratic state loosing its grip on the people?'

'Never. . . . Well, maybe if they thought it'd raise profits a little.'

'Even then it has to be painful for them.' He stared up at the image of Deepstar, seeming pensive.

'You have to wonder why the human race let itself get turned into a system of interlocking corporate directorships.'