"I didn't want to say anything—but yes, there is."
"I've heard the same complaint. You're not revealing something I don't know." Docchi leaned back. "To you it seems like ingratitude and I suppose it is. More than anyone else Nona is responsible for what we've achieved. I don't object to anything she wants—twice as many geepees if she needs them and we have them. We'll get it back in ways we didn't expect."
"I agree. But not everyone feels the same way."
"It doesn't hurt. In times of hardship everyone complains, and they may as well direct it at her. Actually it's a measure of how important they feel she is—and the accusations are so ill-founded they can't believe them themselves."
Webber got up. For the first time since he entered the mechanical and muscular halves of his body failed to coordinate. "You're right. I thought if I had something to tell them they'd be less uncertain."
"Perhaps they would, for a while. I'm not keeping secrets. The truth is I don't know what she's using the geepees for."
If the explanation failed to be completely convincing it was because Webber didn't want to believe. There were others like him. He didn't blame anyone for wanting an accounting for every piece of equipment on the asteroid. And yet the attitude was an advantage. Discontent, real or fancied, wouldn't become a problem as long as it was openly displayed. There would be time to worry if Webber didn't mention his dissatisfaction. Docchi watched him leave and then bent over his work.
A few hours and a score of unimportant details later Cameron hurried in. "Need a couple of lab workers," he said on entering.
"I thought Jeriann was doing all right."
"She is—indispensable. We can't have that. Suppose she should get sick? I want her to teach someone else the synthesizers. She's got too much on her hands."