Adiamante by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page A

antique synthetic rubber—”
    â€œPlease,” I said. I didn’t want to hear his lecture about how the ancients had actually sweetened and flavored synthetic rubber and chewed it. Chewing the same stuff that you put on groundcar tires?
    â€œWe’ve got the old mess room operating,” Elanstan said. “The hardest part was defrosting the water supplies.”
    She turned right when she left the control center, toward the central hub. I followed. Rhetoral sealed the hatches behind us. Despite the innate shielding provided by the bulk of a nickel-iron asteroid, the Rebuilt Hegemony had also encased the control center, the broadcast and reception nets, and the power and defense systems themselves in a double layer of adiamante—about twice the protection provided by the hulls of the Vereal Union’s fleet. I could feel both Rhetoral’s and Elanstan’s links to the center, and their apprehension.
    â€œDoes one of you want to stay on the board?” I finally asked.
    â€œNo … so long as we’re both in the hub area,” she answered.
    â€œNot so long as we’ve got the Coordinator with us,” quipped Rhetoral.
    â€œThank you.”
    Fifty meters farther along we reached the circular chamber that represented the center of the station’s main level. Eight corridors angled from that point.
    I paused to study the diorama displayed in the arched dome. The holoed reality left me looking up at snow-covered peaks, and firs and pines that moved in the winds under a deep blue sky, as if I were in a deep mountain canyon.

    The faint sound of falling water caught my ear, and I turned to study the line of silver that sprang from the dark rock. A hawk of some sort I had not seen—not that many hawks were left on Old Earth—circled a white throne peak plateau.
    The heat of the sun beat down on me, and the scent of a river and pines wafted across me.
    After a moment, Rhetoral said softly, “Amazing, isn’t it?”
    It was amazing, on two counts. First was the technical skill involved in creating such a vivid representation, and second was the ancient arrogance that full-body reality could be duplicated through mere technology.
    â€œYes, it is amazing.” But I shook my head.
    We continued straight through the hub another hundred meters along the corridor, where Elanstan paused and asked, “You haven’t been into the mess here, have you?”
    â€œNo,” I admitted. “This part was closed off the times I worked on the net antenna and the power systems.”
    She smiled and pressed the lockplate. “You might find this interesting, then.”
    Rhetoral smiled back at her, and I caught a shared sense of amusement that passed between them.
    Again, after stepping through the locks, I swallowed. The walls of the mess were apparently paneled in polished dark wood, and rich green velvet hangings surrounded the windows that displayed a hillside vista of a city—but no city I had ever seen. Three tables were actually placed within bay windows that seemed to display a continuation of the city view.
    Each of the dozen tables was preserved and polished wood, and the chairs were upholstered in the velvet-like fabric. I looked back at the lock, but from within, it appeared as a thick wooden door. My eyes traversed the room, taking in the hundreds of details: the pressed pale
green linen tablecloths, the real silver utensils on the single table set for eating—the one in the middle bay window.
    After stepping toward the table, I picked up a knife. It was cool, heavy, and felt like real silver. I fingered the cloth. Not cotton or linen, but something smoother, yet still woven.
    â€œHow?” I asked.
    â€œInert pressgas,” said Elanstan. “The physics are complex, but it uses a convection system where the cooling of the gas to close to absolute zero creates heat and circulation … . I can’t say I understand it, but all