“I guess we could stay here till tomorrow.” Aleka’s voice was subdued in the silence. “We’ve probably broken our trail. But if they decide to bring in the entire system—”
Survey satellites, which could identify a man on the ground and see whether he laughed or wept. Data searches, which could list virtually everybody on Earth who had ever had to do with Lilisaire, directly or indirectly. Inquiries called in to their unsuspecting communities. More data searches: Traffic Control’s recent entries of whose vehicles had gone where. “Let’s hope we’re not that important,” Kenmuir said.
Yet.
Time crawled. They found themselves standing hand in sweaty hand.
A head and shoulders in the screen, beautiful as a snowpeak, vivid as a flame. The auburn stresses were tousled but the green eyes altogether wakeful. “Hail,” purred the Wardress. “What will you two of me?”
Kenmuir’s clasp dropped free of Aleka’s. His tongue locked. It was she who stood erect and gave a succinct account.
Lag. Lilisaire was smiling the least bit. Kenmuir stared and stared. Through the back of his head swirled bits of news he had gathered—Aleka was from Hawaii, she’d met an agent in San Francisco and that agent was a sophotect—what kept it from abandoning the Lunarian cause and merging with the cybercosm, if it had full intelligence?—but before him was the sight of Lilisaire.
She stirred. Her smile gave way to bleakness. “I belabored my wits most mightily about Pragmatic Venator,” she said, half to herself. Who? For an instant, a grin flashed. “I did somewhat about him, too. A minor wile, but maychance we shall find a use for the outcome.” She went serious again. “You deem truly, swift action is vital, else are you lost. Aleka, the Carfax machine laid out for you my skeleton of a plan. Do you still think it bears any possibility?”
“Yes, if, if we can get access to the file,” the Earthwoman answered. “I wonder now if that isn’t double-guarded.”
Lag. Lilisaire looked thoughtfully before her. Kenmuir lost himself in her eyes.
“I believe I have a means to that end,” the Lunarian told Aleka. “Hear me. Captain Kenmuir shall go to a place where the pursuit will not likely seek him soon. Pick one that is not far from your ultimate destination, which you and Carfax have discussed. Let him abide there while you double back to—Kamehameha is the spaceport nearest you. I have prepared a thing which an agent of mine shall bring on the mornwatch shuttle. He will be a Terran, I do not at this instant know precisely who but he will carry the name Friedrich and take a room at the Hotel Clarke. Meet him there, receive what he gives you, and rendezvous with Captain Kenmuir. Thence proceed according to plan and your own cunning. May fortune fare with you.” Her tone glowed. “If you win to the truth, you shall have what was pledged you, in full and overflowing measure.”
She settled back to wait, like a lynx for its prey.
Aleka swallowed. “I, yes, I’ll try,” she got out. “They don’t suspect I’m involved, oh, surely not. Nobody will take any notice of me. Yes, I’ll try, my lady.”
The fear that she was mastering reached out into Kenmuir. He was being hunted. “What of me?” he cried. “What’s my reward?”
Lag. Heat, thirst, longing, Aleka breathing at his side.
Lilisaire smiled anew. “I have told you, my captain,” she answered like a song. “The cause of liberty and of humankind going to the stars. But you have right, that is abstract, and this is no longer a simple canvass you make but a fight that you wage. Eyach, then, would you be the chieftain over my emprises in space, and dwell with me as a seigreur among the Selenarchs? That will I gladly give you, my captain, if you come to me victorious.”
Seconds drained away while he stood stunned.
Aleka nudged him.
Decision could not wait. He could say, “No,” make his way to the authorities, and damn himself till he died. Or he could take the crazy hazard, jump into the unknown, very likely gain ignominy or death, at best go into a future of endless grief, jealousy, intrigue, homesickness—but he had no real home any more, did he?
“Yes,” he called.
Through the time lag he looked at her face and understood, piece by hurtful piece, that whether or not he actually loved her, he desired her as a man lost in wilderness desires water and fire.
“Again will I kiss you,” she said. Never in his knowledge had a Lunarian spoken thus to a Terran.
The screen blanked.
After a long while: “Bueno,” blew from Aleka, “we’re committed for sure, aren’t we?”
“Why are you?” he asked dully.
“That’s a long story, and we have to move. First, to get out of this oven.” She plucked his sleeve. “Listen. It shouldn’t take me more’n a couple of days to run her errand. What I’ll do is take the car we came in to Santa Monica. At the airport I’ll direct my volant to fly here and put itself at your service. That’ll be tomorrow earlyish. Oh, yes, first I’ll’ve bought a change of clothes and suchlike for you and left them in the volant. And I’ll send the groundcar back to Iscah, and catch a flight to Hawaii. Meanwhile you should be safe here, if you stay mostly under cover and put one of those cowls on you whenever you go out. The Drylanders have a code of hospitality, and their padre favors us. But once you’ve got transport, you’d better scramble.”
“Where to?” he asked, powerless in his ignorance.
“Um, let me think. I oughtn’t tell now where we’ll be going when we’ve gotten back together, just in case. But Lilisaire’s right, we should start from within an hour or two’s hop of it. I’m not acquainted with the region either, but—C’mon, let’s go conduct a data sweep.”
Fernando directed them to the dome that held computer terminals. They were for general use, but nobody else was there at the moment. Aleka set up a search for communities in midcontinent that were relatively isolated and self-contained. Predictions of cloud cover for the next few days were another factor. Before long she had made her choice.
“Bramland. Not too nice a place, according to this, but by that token, not apt to be friendly to the police. We’ll flange up a plausible reason for you to give the locals, why you’ve flitted there to spend a while and why I’ll be joining you. I’ll put a chunk of cash in with those spare clothes and things I’ve promised you. Mainly, from now on keep your head down and your mouth shut. I know you can.” She caught his hand. “I know we can.”
Uncover what had been centuries hidden? Not for the first time—not for the first time—Kenmuir’s mind withdrew pastward, blindly casting about for whatever clues might lie buried in history.
20
The Mother of the Moon
The view from the café terrace was glorious. High on its hillside, Domme—stones brooding over narrow streets through which once rang the hoofbeats of knightly horses—looked down at the valley, across woods and fields and homes, to crests afar and the lordly summer sky of Earth. From the western horizon the sun wrought shadows and luminances; the river flowed molten gold among trees whose crowns were green-gold. A breeze awoke in what warmth yet lingered. Traffic sounds rolled muted beneath quietness.
Dagny sipped of her wine, a fragrant Bordeaux, set the glass down, leaned back, let her eyes savor. She and Edmond had the place nearly to themselves, which deepened her content. “Beautiful,” she sighed. “How glad I am you chose this.”
Across the little table he drank likewise. When he lowered his own glass, she heard how it clicked against the tiles. “You would rather have gone somewhere else?” She heard, too, the trouble in his voice. “You did not say.”
She met his gaze and smiled. “I wanted the choice to be yours,” she answered, “and knew you’d most want to see your Dordogne again.”
“But it is your holiday also.”
“Well, you knew I’ve liked the area whenever we’ve visited.” A misleading way to speak, she thought. Their times on the planet had been so few, so brief, and he always ready to go along with her wishes. How often to southern France? Thrice, counting now
. She wanted to say something about that but something else was more important. “This trip I’ve come to love it.” She was being honest, though she understood how much of the reason lay in him, his joy that made her joyful. “Thank you.”
He smiled back, just a bit. They were silent a while. The sun went down. A flight of rooks crossed a heaven still blue.
Edmond stirred. “Dagny—”
She waited, expectant without urgency, in the manner she had learned was best. Quick with assertion, rage, laughter, he could have difficulty uttering what lay him closest.
“I have meant to say this,” he went on after a few seconds, “but I was not sure how. I am not. But I should try.”
“Your tries generally work out fine, mon vieux,” she told him.
He struggled. “I am going soon to space because of you.” Hastily: “I mean, thanks to you.”
A disclaimer might ease things for him. “Really, you owe a lot more to Lars and Brandir.”
“They did well, and I appreciate it,” he said, “but you made their efforts possible. You—pulled the wires, cleared the path.” He forced a chuckle. “Can you today help me with my metaphors?”
She wondered what he was leading up to. He’d acknowledged her role often before. Memory flitted back across those past months. Governor Zhao, yes, he’d been the main opponent, issuing his decree that forbade the expedition, insisting that this was the law and exemption must be gotten from the High Council of the World Federation, knowing full well how easily that could be choked in committee. A problem of hers was that she continued to like the old bastard and believe he meant well. She thought he was more than half sincere about the hazards that might arise if Lunarians took to space in any numbers. As for the rest of his motivation, he’d told her that there was enough nationalism, dangerous enough, on Earth, without allowing anything that might encourage the tumor to grow on the Moon. Maybe he had a point. Besides, he and she usually ended their private talks with his playing some music for the sake of their spirits, and it was through him that she had come to Beethoven’s last quartets. … Occasionally she must needs fight him.
She recalled her mind to the present. Edmond had made a joke. Let her too try lightening things. She grinned. “I know where various bodies were shoveled under.” She had, in fact, enjoyed putting the screws on Commissioner Zacharias till he leaned on the governor.
Seeing Edmond serious again, she released what rose within her: “And eventually, you know, eventually I got through to … the download. In spite of the woes he’s having with Fireball, he found time for whatever he did behind the scenes to get the ban lifted.” Guthrie’s analog, the ghost of Uncans, had remembered—She swallowed. “I think mainly you’ve got him to thank.”
“Speaking with him that first time, it was not easy for you,” Edmond said. “None of this was. I could feel. Sometimes at night, beside me, you caught your breath.”
He had been aware, then. He had been so fully aware that he kept still. Her eyes stung. “Oh, darling, you, you’ve thanked me aplenty already for my part.”
“Yes,” he replied slowly, “but never before have I thanked you for why you did it.”
“For excellent reasons,” she said in her briskest tone. “Science. Adventure. Kaino’s wish as well as yours. A liberating precedent. A healthy kick to the fat gut of the Lunar Authority. All in all, a very worthy cause.”
“My cause. I am going. I will be gone for months, perhaps in danger. You do not want this.”
She looked straight at the Crô-Magnon face. “However, you do,” she said.
He nodded. “Exactly. I am not glad to leave you, but I am glad to go. Does that make sense to you? You hate it, but for my sake you worked for it. You—you love me that much.”
The blood beat in her temples. “I don’t hold with caging eagles,” was the best response she could find. “No, bears, in this case.” She leaned across the table and rumpled the iron-gray hair. “Good ol’ bear!”
“I … only want to stay … I understand,” he mumbled.
“And I understand that you understand, and that makes me happy,” she said, blinking the tears away from the sight of him. “Okay, ’Mond, let’s enjoy. Drink up and we’ll go in search of dinner.”
Day was becoming dusk. When they rose, Dagny felt the weight on her bones. In none of her earlier returns had Earth been this heavy. Well, time in the centrifuge and time in the medical program did not stop time. Maybe she’d never again come back here from the Moon. But not to worry about that, she told herself. Not now, this now that she had with her man.
Sacajawea was the best that Fireball could provide, a Venus-class transport, well-designed, soundly built, but not one of the fantastic new torchcraft that would have made the crossing in a pair of weeks. Those were still few and committed for long periods ahead. Sacajawea’s main service had been in the Asteroid Belt. For the journey to Rydberg’s rock she accelerated at less than one-fifth g, to spare the Lunarians aboard, until she attained trajectory speed; thereafter she fell free for more than a hundred daycycles before the hour came to brake for rendezvous.
Weightless that long, no matter how diligently he exercised, a Terrestrial would have taken six or seven rehabilitative weeks back on Earth to regain his full strength, skeletal and muscle mass, coordination, reflexes, body chemistry. At that, he would risk some of the changes being irreversible; resilience varies among individuals. A Lunarian, returned to his own home, would have done better, but not recovered overnight. To meet whatever they were going to meet, Beynac and his men should arrive in good condition. Besides, gravity would be feeble at their goal. Thus everyone was much in the whirly.
That machine had barely room in its compartment for a three-meter swing radius. Wire strands held a narrow platform, opposite which a one-tonne lead sphere counterrotated at the end of an adjustable arm. You did most of your drill parallel to the board, pushups, bicycles, mass-lifting with arms and legs. For the standing motions you rose very carefully; if the brain goes fast through a sudden drop in weight of some sixty percent, vertigo and nausea are the least of the possible consequences, and you must likewise be wary of Coriolis force. Although your belt and its leash, attached to the center post, kept you from being slung off, a bone-breaking accident could easily happen. It was well to hold onto that post during your knee bends and jogs. You certainly required it when you stood on your head and your heart pushed blood upward more or less as nature intended.
Beynac was among those who could keep their eyes open meanwhile without getting sick. Being alone, he could sing songs when he had breath to spare, the bawdier the better. Nevertheless he disliked such sessions; and here, in microgravity, they demanded more time per daycycle than on the Moon. Eventually he wearied of his repertory, fell silent, and combatted monotony with memories and thoughts.
They went back to Kaino. “Had we Lunarians our ships, this were no necessity,” the young man had said, a few watches ago at mess. “For us, at any rate; and for Earthling passengers, no worse than on our world. We would accelerate throughout the voyage.”
“If you could afford a fleet of torcheraft, you would have no need to trade across space,” Beynac bantered him. “You could just wallow in your money.”
Kaino scowled. “Does Fireball sit back idle?” His words shook with longing. “To go—And we’d not buy the ships, we’d build them.”
“Even then, my son it’s not economic to boost the whole way, except for special purposes.”
“We’d make it be! But who dares set us free? Often did Guthrie sneer at government, but never did he move to push it off us. He too feared us.”
Beynac was about to reply that that was nonsense. A spacefaring enterprise ought rationally to welcome able newcomers. Competition would be no problem; the existing lines had more calls on them than they could meet. However, powerful though Fireball was, there were limits to its influence.
Rydberg forestalled him. “I have looked at the parameters of Lunarian astronautics,”
the captain said in his methodical fashion. “Given access to antimatter at a reasonable price, torching may well become profitable for many kinds of haul, if not every kind. Accelerating at a constant one-sixth g, a Lunarian crew would not need centrifuge time. Therefore they could be fewer, perhaps solo. Speed at turnover would be proportionately lower than for a full g, therefore less fuel-costly. Of course, transit time would be greater, by a factor of approximately the square root of six, but that would make no large difference in the inner System. Even this crossing of ours would have taken only about a month.”
He had been right to steer the conversation away from politics, Beynac thought. When six men, two of them Lunarian, were cramped together for week after week after week, nerves wore thin.
Would it have helped if two or three were female? That was common practice on missions for Fireball, if not every spaceline. But no, Dagny had doubtless been right when she argued against it (and, her husband suspected, was the one who got the company to make all-male a condition of the charter). Given the Lunarian temperament, whether you believed it was genetic or cultural, the potentialities might be explosive.
Beynac laughed a little. She needn’t have worried about him on that account, if she did. From the first, she had been woman enough for him, “and then some,” as her North Americans would put it.
His duty to his body was done for the nonce. He could go toss this drenched, smelly sweatsuit in the cleaner, sponge-bathe, don his coverall, and, oh, seek his cubicle, he supposed, play a show before next mess. He hadn’t watched The Marriage of Figaro for years. Earphones. He was the single man aboard who cared for opera. Terrestroid Moondwellers, isolated both from Earth and from their children, were apt to keep archaic tastes.
He touched the off switch. His weight dropped as the centrifuge whirred to a halt, until he hung in midair between the slack cables. Reaching out for a handhold, he pulled himself and the platform to a stanchion, used his safety belt to secure the gymnastic equipment, and started for the door.
The Stars Are Also Fire Page 26
