Fighting Gravity

by Leah Petersen

  “So good of you to join us, Mr. Dawes,” Dr. Bartel intoned dryly. “Now,” turning back to the group, he continued, “there are some projects that the senior fellows and I have determined will be a part of the exhibit. After I list these we will entertain your ideas as to which projects will fill the remaining slots. The selections are as follows: Dr. Smith’s work on micro-gravity, Dr. Natanail’s theorem on relative viscosity, Dr. Kor’s ongoing work with heavy matter, Mr. Dawes’s project on refined matter as well as his project on macro-gravity—”

  “No, sir,” I interrupted, “I don’t think I should include my projects in this exhibit.”

  Everyone turned to look at me. “Mr. Dawes,” Dr. Bartel said, his face hard and his voice cold, “I imagine that you find this experience distasteful, but your personal feelings, sir, have no bearing whatsoever on the decisions I will make for this department. We have decided your projects will be included in the exhibit and therefore you will prepare displays of your projects for the exhibit. Whether you want to or not.”

  I stood. “Sir, if my personal feelings were the sole motivation behind my objection then you’d be right. But there are more important matters involved here than either my feelings or yours. No doubt you are unfamiliar with all of the particulars of my current residence at the IIC. The very fact of the emperor’s visit puts me in violation of the terms of my Resettlement and under penalty of death. I’ve just come from a meeting about the special provisions that are necessary so that his visit doesn’t cost me my life. One of those provisions is that I am forbidden to draw attention to myself in any way. Forgive me sir, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not put my name prominently before His Excellence and take the chance that he might consider it a violation.”

  Dr. Bartel’s lips were drawn together in a thin, angry line. “Well. I see. As you said, I was not aware of the complexities of the situation. Of course, we are not going to ask you to risk your life, Mr. Dawes.” I got the impression he wouldn’t have minded, though. “However, I believe we can check with someone at the palace and get a definite answer as to whether including your projects is permissible or not. I recommend you begin working up displays for both projects right away, in the hopes that we get approval from the palace.”

  “Sir,” I objected.

  “Mr. Dawes,” his voice was a warning now, “you have explained your position and I have given you your answer. I will not discuss the matter further in this forum. If you have additional questions or objections you will present them to me in a more appropriate time and place.”

  He turned away and went back to his list. I sank into my seat. Sean leaned over and whispered, “I can start working on them. You don’t have to worry about it yet. And if he gets approval then we’ll finish them up together.”

  “He’ll get his approval,” I mumbled.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Very,” I muttered.

  He shot me a sympathetic look before returning his attention to the meeting. I sat, silent and impatient. When the meeting was over, I was the first out the door.

  But halfway to the director’s office, I stopped. If I did go to the director, he would take my side; I had no doubt of that. He would be able to see the whole picture without Dr. Bartel’s myopic focus on the department. Director Harris would realize how small an impact overall it would be for two, even excellent, projects to be left out. He’d see why it would be prudent to exclude my work in particular. He had promised to try to make this easier on me.

  The entire prospect of this visit overwhelmed me with such conflicting emotions. The urgent need to stay and not only see, but be seen. The knowledge that it was best for everyone if I didn’t.

  I knew I should go to the director. It was the right thing to do, and not just to thwart Dr. Bartel. Pete shouldn’t be putting either of us in this situation. He had made the wrong choice. It was my responsibility to blunt the impact, to protect him from the fallout of his error of judgment. I owed him that. I should do it.

  But I knew I wouldn’t. I needed to see him. I knew this was going to hurt, a lot. Even happiness at seeing him again would only become pain later. But I welcomed that. I hated that I was healing, that I’d begun to find myself feeling more and more. Less numbing pain, more of the mix of good and bad that life brings. I didn’t want that. I wanted Pete, and barring that, I wanted to retain whatever I could of him; the pain of not having him if nothing else. The prospect of Pete’s visit opening old wounds was ridiculously welcome.

  Except that the visit would hurt Pete. Guilt gnawed at me, and it was ludicrous that it did. I’d been given no choice in the matter; the situation was entirely of Pete’s making. But I couldn’t help it. The whole thing had been my fault from the start.

  But as much as I wanted to protect Pete from himself, he had decided to make this trip and I wasn’t strong enough to stay away from him when I should. My decision made, for all the wrong reasons, I returned to the lab where Sean was already working on the design of one of the displays. I tried not to think about how I’d looked the right and the wrong in the face, and chosen the wrong.

  fg33

  In the end, I avoided Director Harris for the following two weeks. I respectfully addressed and answered everyone who sought me out during that time with questions or for advice. And they all sought me out, each department head as well as the Head Chef and the Head Steward. Dr. Warvrinosossi, the head of the chemistry department was the first; not the bravest, simply the most oblivious.

  “Mr. Dawes,” he called out to me one day as I was leaving the dining hall, “may I have a word with you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’d like to ask your opinion on a particular display we’re putting together for the emperor’s visit. As you know him so well, I’m sure you can give me some insight on how to proceed.”

  I was shocked speechless. I hadn’t expected this, but it seemed so obvious now, how they would all approach me for my insights into the mind, tastes, and preferences of the emperor. The thought flitted through my head that I could make a polite escape and seek out the director, putting a stop to these requests. But I didn’t.

  “Sir, the emperor has far more than a layman’s knowledge of chemistry. He won’t appreciate the full scope of the discovery but he’ll understand the underlying principles and the advancements the project has brought to the study of chemistry. I think it’s safe to assume that with His Excellence, too much detail is better than not enough.”

  His eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect of another who could understand and appreciate fascinating nuances of his science. And so I couldn’t feel sorry about the decision. Even though my stomach was tied in knots again, as it always was when I spoke of Pete. There was an almost illicit thrill in speaking of him aloud, of allowing myself to acknowledge things I’d been hiding from for two years. I managed a convincing smile and excused myself.

  They came with predictable regularity after that. Even Dr. Bartel approached me as I was working in the lab, for my insights on a project Dr. Teague was working up. His manner was gruff and almost confrontational, as if daring me to object. I didn’t.

  When Dr. Avaya, later that day, changed the subject of our conversation just as Director Harris walked by, I realized that the director had anticipated this and had tried to nip it in the bud. I felt the now familiar swell of gratitude for him, even though his attempt hadn’t succeeded.

  I answered each and every applicant, and more than one night I went back to my room and vomited from the sheer buildup of stress.

  I was distant and, honestly, rude to nearly everyone else. Dr. Okoro I saw often, as he helped Sean and me work up my displays. I talked as little as possible and only of the work at hand. They both tried to engage me in other conversations but I avoided talking to them with determination. I felt guilty about that but not guilty enough to stop.

  After a few attempts to treat me as he always did, invitations to games and such, Chuck registered the obvious rebuf
fs and left me alone. The nice thing was that Chuck wouldn’t take offense or hold it against me. I didn’t have to feel guilty about the way I was treating him.

  The worst was Kirti. I put her off and turned her down again and again and finally, one night when she came to my room and tried to seduce me to no avail, she too backed off.

  Even then I realized the irony in my actions, that I would be polite to those who were tormenting me and rude to those who wanted to help. It didn’t stop me, though.

  I often found my mind drifting, during my enforced silences, to imagined ways that Pete might say something to me, do something to acknowledge me, during the visit.

  There were so many subtle ways, so many things to be said or done that would have meaning for the two of us alone. There was far too much history over three and a half years together for there not to be a dozen ways to do so.

  After all, my work would be up there. His interest in physics was well established, his interest in my work went without saying. What would be more natural than him calling me up and talking to me about it just as he had on the last visit?

  Perhaps natural was stretching it, considering the vast difference between the situation now and before, and my very particular status. But while I was prohibited from even sneezing too loudly and causing him to look at me, he was under no restrictions. Should he decide to talk to me, there was nothing anyone could or would say or do to prevent it.

  I was jittery and nervous with anticipation just from imagining seeing him up close, having him say something, anything, to me and me alone. I knew he shouldn’t. I also knew he would.

  In any case, I kept to myself and my thoughts as much as possible those two weeks and wished for the dreaded, longed-for day to come and just be over with.

  fg34

  It did come, of course. I crawled out of bed that morning having spent a sleepless night trying not to think of Pete at all and failing miserably. Pete’s transport arrived sometime in the wee hours of the morning. I thought again and again as I lay there of getting up and going to see if he had arrived yet; just peeking out a window or sticking my head out the front door, just to know. I cursed myself for a pathetic idiot and stayed in bed.

  So it was hard, as I got ready that morning, not to think of Pete just outside, wonder if he was showering when I was, or sitting down to breakfast at the same time I did.

  As for breakfast, my stomach was a gnarled, twisted thing inside me and I only downed several cups of coffee and ate nothing. I wondered if Pete was eating anything.

  I couldn’t have done anything special with my appearance even if I’d been able to get past my disgust at the thought. I put on my dress uniform, just like everyone else.

  I was wearing his ring, but I always did that. I hadn’t removed it voluntarily since Pete had put it on my finger. What a sentimental sap I was turning out to be.

  When I left my room for the Great Hall, I felt like a man approaching his own gallows—and I did know something about what that feels like.

  Most everyone was already assembled, arranged in loose groupings where they would soon stand in rows to receive the emperor. I made my way over to where Kirti and Chuck waited for me.

  As before, we had been organized into five rows of seventy-five people each, ranked according to age and seniority. This arrangement left me squarely in the middle of the third row. I couldn’t have been in a more anonymous, unimportant position. I didn’t even have the distinction of being made to go to the back. I was simply hidden away in the middle of the crowd.

  I had not been standing there long, brooding while Kirti and Chuck exchanged worried glances, when a palace functionary entered from the lobby area and spoke with Director Harris. We were called to order. Chuck fell in beside me on my left, Kirti on my right. According to the protocol, Chuck’s positioning beside me could—with a loose interpretation of the instructions to group according to specialty—be justified, in that we were both in the sciences. Kirti’s position, not at all. No one said anything to her about it. I wondered if Director Harris had anything to do with that.

  It seemed we stood there much longer than normal waiting for the emperor to enter. I had to remind myself that I’d been on this side of things only once and for the several dozen times I was basing my estimation of “normal” on, I’d been with Pete. My anxious dread probably didn’t help.

  But eventually there was a small but perceptible change in the group of dignitaries waiting to meet the emperor. They all stood a bit straighter, smoothed hair or clothes. I noted with amusement that in a ripple effect, the entire crowd mimicked the greeting committee’s unconscious preparations. I caught myself doing it, as well.

  A figure appeared in the doorway and Pete was announced.

  And he was there.

  His hair was longer. I’d forgotten how intensely blue his eyes were. He was different, and the same, and right there. My heart passed through my throat and soared, took a sickening drop, and clenched painfully in my chest. He took a few steps into the room and turned to face the crowd. His eyes found mine like magnets drawn together. I felt the blood drain from my face and then flood it again in an excess of incompatible emotions. My view of him was cut off as I was jerked halfway into a bow by Chuck’s hand on my sleeve. I finished the bow out of reflex and ahead of the others. I sought Pete again but he had turned away.

  He began greeting and accepting the greetings of the director and heads of departments. After completing the well-choreographed scene, Pete turned to address the spectators. I couldn’t breathe from anticipation. These opening words were where he would say something to me. It would be so simple for him to say something that would sound completely benign, but would have meaning for him and me alone.

  He began to speak, to say what he’d said hundreds of times and would say again hundreds more: thanks and praise and some few words specific to the day’s crowd or occasion. He delivered it as if he were saying this for the first time.

  That was one of the things I loved about Pete. Under and among the layers of ceremony and formalities and repetitious audiences, he cared about these people. And while the words may have been the same as they were the day before, it wasn’t the same for Pete. He meant them today as he’d meant them every time he’d spoken them.

  The thoughts were fleeting, though, and intrusive because I couldn’t allow myself to miss whatever he would say, however small, to me alone.

  The stock speech concluded, he turned to the director and began to chat with him as he approached the first display.

  Nothing. He’d said nothing to me. It would have been so easy. There had been no risk. Nothing.

  I felt sick.

  I didn’t realize I was trembling until Kirti reached over and took my hand. She gave me a worried look. Of course, she couldn’t have known exactly what I was reacting to, but they’d all been expecting me to react badly in some way. Did the exact reason matter?

  I was lost in pain and confusion as I watched him tour the exhibit. More than an hour into the morning he came to my first display. I was confident, now, that he would find some opportunity to acknowledge me here.

  Both the experiments I had put on display had been born of work he and I had done together aboard ship. He wouldn’t fail to notice. I had referenced that in the timeline, and included him in the list of contributors. Now he would say something to me, do something to send me a message, even just look in my direction.

  I watched in breathless anticipation as he began to examine the display. After a couple of minutes he turned to Dr. Bartel and began to talk with him. My heart clenched. Wouldn’t this have been a perfect opportunity for him to send for me, to discuss the work with me? They spoke, examining the display, for several minutes.

  And then he moved on.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  I lost sense of time or where I was for so long that I was still awash in brutal emotions when I realized that the next display in the exhibit was also mine.

  He approached the
display and began to examine it, chatting with Dr. Bartel as he did. A full five minutes had passed. More. I was going to be sick, I was sure of it.

  fg35

  Mr. Dawes.” I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  I didn’t turn. I knew the voice, and I wasn’t prepared for how to respond to Jonathan.

  “Mr. Dawes,” he began again, “His Excellence commands you to attend him immediately.”

  Commands? Immediately? As Pete-protocol went, he couldn’t have summoned me in a way that was any more insulting and belittling unless he’d sent guards to drag me over without even asking. All the nausea and hurt swimming in my gut boiled into a slow, hot anger.

  I turned to Jonathan. He looked like he was in pain.

  I was afraid that if I opened my mouth I’d scream, or cry, or throw up, or maybe all three. So I said nothing, only gestured for him to lead the way. He gave me one long, meaningful look before he returned to Pete and I followed.

  Jonathan waited until Pete finished what he was saying to Dr. Bartel, then whispered his announcement of me. Pete nodded his head in distracted acknowledgement and returned to his conversation with my department head. Dr. Bartel cast a glance in my direction before answering.

  With an exaggerated, casual air, Pete finally turned to me.

  “Mr. Dawes,” he said.

  I bowed low, nearly prostrating myself. “Your Excellence.” He wilted a little, and I bit back a sudden urge to apologize.

  He recovered quickly. “I recognize this experiment,” he said, gesturing toward the display.

  “Of course. This one was your idea. I began the initial work on it at the palace.” The pained expression was just a flicker on his face, a tightening of his eyes, but I knew those eyes too well to miss it.

  Sam shifted at the emperor’s side; the same guard captain with whom I had a very unfortunate acquaintance. He glowered at me, but I turned back to Pete.

  “Of course, I remember,” Pete answered. “I also remember that, because it was my idea and my request, you assured me that you wouldn’t work on this project unless I was able to join you. I see you decided not to honor that.”