Leviathans of Jupiter

might not be any flowers anywhere aboard the research station. But when you’re rich, she understood, you can have the scent of flowers wherever you go. Or anything else you want.

“Deirdre Ambrose,” Westfall said, from the couch. “I am Katherine Westfall.”

“I recognized you from the news nets,” said Deirdre.

“Please do sit down. Would you like some juice? It’s a mix of orange and mango. Quiet nutritious, and very tasty.”

“Thank you.”

When Mrs. Westfall made no move to pour the juice, Deirdre picked up the pitcher and did it herself.

“I’ll join you,” said Westfall. Deirdre poured a cup for her.

Katherine Westfall took a measured sip of the juice, then said to Deirdre, “I’ve heard about your medical condition.”

“Oh?”

“Rabies. Very unusual. It could be troublesome if it’s not treated.”

“It could be fatal,” Deirdre said, in a low voice.

Westfall nodded. “Back on Earth there was some rumor about a biology laboratory that developed a genetically engineered form of rabies.”

Surprised, Deirdre asked, “Why would anyone do that?”

Westfall smiled thinly. “Scientists. They’re always into something. Like little boys digging in a mud puddle.”

Do I have a gengineered version of rabies? Deirdre wondered.

Westfall’s smile faded. “I understand that you accused Dr. Pohan of deliberately infecting you.”

“Oh! Well, I’m not sure it was deliberate. But the only way I could have contracted the infection was from the needle he used for my blood test, when I first came aboard the Australia.”

“The accusation upset him terribly.”

Not knowing what else to say, Deirdre murmured, “I’m sorry for that.”

More forcefully, Westfall said, “He’ll get over it. The question now is, how can we treat your condition? Especially if it’s an artificially mutated form of the virus?”

“I discussed that with the medical staff earlier today,” Deirdre said. “They’re developing the necessary vaccine. Dorn has volunteered his blood.”

“The cyborg,” Westfall said, with obvious distaste.

Deirdre nodded.

“Well,” Westfall said, “I want you to know that I am personally looking into your problem. If there’s anything you need, anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Why … that’s very kind of you.”

“Not at all.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Westfall.”

Katherine Westfall nodded graciously. Then she said, “Now tell me what your own work is all about.”

Thrown off-kilter by the sudden change of subject, Deirdre confessed, “I don’t really know. Not yet. I have a meeting with Dr. Archer in about an hour.…”

Her face hardening slightly, Westfall said, “Do you mean that you’ve come all this way without knowing what you are expected to do? Or why?”

“It seems strange, doesn’t it? We got a message that they needed a microbiologist here at station Gold and I was asked to fill the position.”

“But what will you be doing? Why does Archer want a microbiologist?”

Deirdre shook her head. “I don’t know. Not yet.”

Her flawless brow wrinkling, Westfall said, “I’d appreciate it if you told me about it, once you find out. As a member of the IAA council, I want to be kept informed about the work going on here.”

“I’m sure Dr. Archer will—”

“Not Dr. Archer,” Westfall said, steel in her voice. “You. I want you to keep me informed on what’s going on here. Fully informed.”

“Me?”

“You. And don’t let Archer know that you’re reporting to me.”

“But I—”

Westfall’s cobra smile returned. “Keep me informed and I’ll do everything I can to help cure your infection. Do we understand one another?”

GRANT ARCHER’S OFFICE

Her mind still spinning from Katherine Westfall’s demand, Deirdre realized as she sat facing Dr. Archer that his beard made him appear older than the rest of his face suggested.

Grant Archer’s office looked more like a comfortable sitting room than an executive’s headquarters. No desk, just an eclectic scattering of chairs, two of them recliners—which Deirdre instinctively avoided. The walls were glowing, soft gray smart screens.

The station’s director was sitting in a slightly tattered old armchair, his feet propped on a round ottoman that looked to Deirdre as if it might originally have been a small oil drum. Now it was covered in putty-gray upholstered faux leather. A little table of clear plastic stood beside his chair; what looked like an electronic remote-control wand rested on it.

“I really appreciate your coming all the way out here on such short notice,” Archer was saying.

“The scholarship you’re offering is a very strong incentive,” she said.

Archer shrugged. “It’s the least we can do. We’re in something of a bind. We suddenly lost the microbiologist who was scheduled to join our staff and—”

“Frieda Nordstrum?” Deirdre asked.

He looked surprised. “From Selene University, yes. Did you know her?”

Deirdre hesitated, then said, “Only by reputation.”

“Her death was a surprise to us all,” Archer said.

“Rabies,” said Deirdre.

He nodded somberly.

“I’ve come down with it, too.”

“Yes. I saw your medical file. How in the world did you ever contract rabies?”

Deirdre hesitated. “I don’t know,” she said. That was the truth, she told herself. The rest is suspicion, guesses.

“Our people here will take care of you, don’t worry,” Archer said easily.

Deirdre wondered if she should ask him about Katherine Westfall’s mentioning a genetically engineered form of the virus.

Before she could make up her mind, though, Archer brightened and said, “Well now, we ought to talk about what you’ll be doing with our team.”

“I was wondering why you want a microbiologist.”

“To tell you the truth, Ms. Ambrose, I’m clutching at a straw. And I have an ulterior motive for asking specifically for you, as well.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’ve done some work on Volvox, haven’t you?”

Deirdre replied, “Volvox aureus, yes. I did my master’s thesis on that.”

“That’s why you’re here,” Archer said. “One of the reasons, at least. Frieda Nordstrum was the world authority on Volvox.”

Blinking with surprise, Deirdre objected, “Volvox are colonies of single-celled algae. What makes you so interested in them?”

“The leviathans,” said Archer.