About twenty of the science team clustered around a video screen at one end of the cafeteria. Lanier joined them briefly, then came back while Carrolson and Patricia sat down with dinner and breakfast. An automatic chef produced trays of food, each segment at the proper temperature, each dish surprisingly tasty. A tap near the unit carried a sign announcing, "Genuine STONE water—an experience not to be missed. H2O from the stars!" The water was flat but not unpleasant.
Lanier gestured at the group around the screen. "Football," he explained. "Hunt and Thanh have patched into the bore-hole microwave and the outside array. Some commercial outfit is relaying a scrambled game to subscribers and we happen to be in the same section of the sky as the satellite. They've unscrambled the signal."
"Isn't that illegal?" Patricia asked casually, sorting out the bites on her tray.
"Height hath its privileges," Carrolson said. "Nobody will ever prosecute."
Fresh orange juice was available. Citrus trees prospered under the tubelight. The maple syrup on her pancakes was also genuine, but not homegrown. Lanier noticed her expression of surprise.
"What we can't grow in the Stone, we might as well ask for the best from Earthside. It's so expensive to ship up anyway, quality only hikes it a fraction of a percentage point—and we have them convinced we should be fed at least as well as submariners and lunar settlers. Eat hearty—that's a two-hundred-dollar breakfast."
Carrolson chatted amiably through the meal, talking about her husband's work on Earth—he was a mathematician employed by the U.S. Office of Science and Technology. Lanier said little. Patricia was also quiet, taking her cues from him, watching him from the corner of her eye whenever she thought no one would notice. His Indian features attracted her, but the dark circles under his eyes made him look as if he hadn't slept in weeks.
"—really good for you," Carrolson was saying.
Patricia regarded her blankly.
"The tubelight, you know," Carrolson reiterated. "Has everything we need, and nothing harmful. You could lie out under it for days and not be burned, but you'd get your share of vitamin D."
"Oh," Patricia said.
Carrolson sighed. "Garry, you're having that effect again."
Lanier seemed puzzled. "What effect?"
"Look at the girl." Carrolson drummed her fingers on the lightweight metal table, rigged out of OTV tank baffles, as was so much furniture in the compound. "Watch out for him, Patricia. He's a heartbreaker."
Patricia glanced between them, mouth open. "What?"
"I'm going off shift now," Carrolson said, picking up her tray. "Just keep it in mind. Every woman on the team has had their letch for Garry. But he's responsible to someone back home—someone very important." She smiled mysteriously and walked toward the dishwasher unit.
Lanier sipped his cup of coffee. "I'm not sure she's reading you correctly."
"She most certainly is not."
"She means I'm responsible to the Advisor—to Judith Hoffman."
"I met her," Patricia said.
"And I'm not on the social roster because there's too much work to do here and not nearly enough time. Besides, there's rank to consider." He finished the cup and set it down.