Shivering World

by Kathy Tyers

  Up on the screen, Lindon DalLierx sat calmly watching FreeLand. Graysha waved at the image. “That’s a mighty open government they’ve got.”

  “It’s not a government,” Varberg pronounced. “They’re just playing games.”

  “Odd games.” Jirina swiveled her stool. “You’ll notice they’re electing as many males as females to that committee.”

  “I noticed,” Varberg answered blandly.

  “So maybe this Dr. Lwu was a . . .” Graysha searched memory for an archaic term. “A masculist? Trying to restore men’s right to govern by taking away some of their aggressiveness?”

  Trev rubbed his hands together. “They’re crazy. Playing God like that.”

  Did Trev care about God? Graysha wondered. “But what does all this have to do with calling fresh elections?” she asked everyone in general.

  Jirina leaned back on her stool and flexed one leg. “The physical laws can’t be trespassed. If you go outside at the wrong time, you die. Like in a hab, only worse . . . for now. Maybe they’re politically casual to compensate. You know, make a hard life just a bit easier. Where they have a freedom, maybe they overuse it. Calling elections any old time.”

  Break the physical laws and die. At Jirina’s sidelong reference to Jon Mahera’s death, a nasty feeling crept up Graysha’s spine. She glanced at Varberg without moving her head.

  That’s when she saw Paul standing in the doorway, wearing a lab coat tailored to accentuate the line of his shoulders. “Perhaps,” he said, “that woman feels she’s been held back long enough.” He pointed toward the screen and Ari MaiJidda. “It’s my experience that she has more of an urge to dominate than he does.”

  Varberg spread his fingers over the arms of his padded chair. “An early colonial environment is like a time warp,” he told Paul. “They have to cooperate utterly. Utterly. It creates an ultraconservative society. Messier’s colonists were well on their way to creating a monarchy, or a dictatorship.”

  The pain in his voice when he mentioned Messier made Graysha cringe. Paul shrugged and walked away, light on his feet for a man so well muscled.

  Back on the monitor, the committee was discussing a proposed river diversion to create a controlled flood as soon as thaw season arrived. Proponents claimed it would bring more dust and minerals to the potential croplands near Axis, creating new highland soil. Opponents voiced concerns regarding its controllability, citing Messier and then the possibility of bringing in too many soil salts.

  Graysha half listened, more interested in the colonists’ interplay than in flood engineering. Males, females; dominant, submissive; a complex dance. DalLierx’s boyish face was attractive, much like the way a jewel or a star or a planetary sunset was attractive. And he was vulnerable now, challenged by Ari MaiJidda.

  Why was such a young man placed in command of the settlement’s affairs? He must have been elected by colonial vote. What qualifications had he claimed?

  He could be overruled, too. Otherwise, Graysha wouldn’t be here.

  ―――

  Melantha Lee followed the broadcast with less visual interest. On the near corner of her desk, her pocket memo blinked seven times, then repeated. Her day’s agenda was far from cleared.

  Goddard’s colonial covenant did allow the Lwuites to establish a defense group. She’d discovered that ten minutes earlier when, stunned by MaiJidda’s announcement, she examined the document line by line.

  So they could train and maintain a small military force. Gaea people at Copernicus Hab, always monitoring, would have heard MaiJidda’s announcement approximately three minutes ago, slightly delayed by the distance. With luck, they would suggest that she enact restrictions.

  Employed as a theoretician during the Messier disaster, Melantha Lee had watched Gaea stock and Gaea’s reputation plummet. It had been excruciatingly difficult to find families willing to risk the dangers of another project.

  Next time, if her quiet little scheme bore fruit, colonists would enroll confidently.

  She mustn’t let the Lwuites slip Gaea control, though. DalLierx was getting to be a particular pest, and he made her suspicious. If Lwuite non-­aggressiveness was fact and not fantasy, no one should’ve come complaining to Gaea about atmospheric imbalances until they nearly righted themselves. Terraforming could probably succeed beyond previous experience. But the equations still had too many variables. After Messier, it was plain that a planet must not become too warm too quickly.

  Perhaps MaiJidda also thought DalLierx overstepped. He never should have come to Lee with veiled accusations. This call for elections could be MaiJidda’s attempt to offer him to the Gaea station as a scapegoat.

  She considered her office’s blank wall. Like Goddard, it had potential. Like Goddard, when she selected and painted one mural, that would rule out all other possibilities.

  Someone had to choose. She wasn’t about to dance for MaiJidda, either. She reached for her keyboard and keyed in, +Varberg—call Lee.+

  Several minutes later, he acknowledged.

  By then she had a response from Copernicus, a wishy-­washy wait-­and-­see message that left her fuming. The system supervisor, a Graham’s Reach man, was long overdue for transfer. She’d already started typing a recommendation. She saved it to an active file, then answered Varberg. +You should know, DalLierx has been here asking about cooling again. All but demanding investigation.+

  +Isn’t that interesting.+

  +Let’s wait,+ she typed, +and see if they toss him out. We might not need to do a thing.+

  She was about to switch off when more words appeared. +Thought any more about bringing Graysha inside the group?+

  A USSC official’s daughter? Lee grimaced. +Not for a while,+ she typed, thinking, and maybe not ever.

  D-­Group

  Graysha rolled over and stretched, and warm covers rolled with her. Where was she? What day was it, what time . . . ?

  Answers floated up through her luminous, contented confusion: Goddard, Dropoff—the first circ after sunset—at six-­thirty in the morning. Last Sunday, after the town meeting, she had watched her first supply shuttle land planetside, where a craft could splatter in full gravity. It was a frightening experience. The lander seemed to drop too fast, threatening to undershoot the landing crater—and then, like a bird sweeping out its wings at the last possible moment, it braked. Track-­trucks rolled out to intercept it. That night, the Gaea cafeteria served a fresh vegetable mélange that reminded her of Thanksgiving feasts back at Newton.

  She lay in bed, blinking her way back to the present. Her relief week started today, but she wouldn’t have time to lie around. Today she started D-­group training, a career in laser-­radar, and her cautious informal investigation of Lwuite practices.

  Her alarm wouldn’t ring for a while. She stared up at yellow-­brown concrete finished in a pattern of overlapping swirls, then looked aside at the gathered browncloth hanging she had bought on Windsday at a craft fair in the hub. Loose blue embroidered arcs radiated out from its center, suggesting a magnificent tropical flower. She got up and mixed a few drops of scent onto a pile of precious wood shavings—her most extravagant purchase—on a plate underneath the hanging. The room would smell like rain forest until the fragrance faded.

  It was the first time she had scented a room since the happy time, her first two months with Ellard. They’d been close in those early weeks. His genius made conversation a delight, and every private touch was like opening a new door in a house full of secrets. At last she’d known what the love songs meant.

  Or had she?

  She reached for Emmer. The gribien contracted in alarm at her first touch, then relaxed again, arching to present her sleep-­warmed belly for a rub.

  Ellard, brilliant like the rest of Graysha’s family and an inspired researcher in submolecular electronics, must have thought her a typical Brady-­Phillips when they met. He courted her with poetry and synthetic jewels.

  After a brief taste of intimacy, he became a mean-­
hearted, belittling dominator, gifted enough to be truly cruel. He contrived to make her believe every problem in their lives was her fault. He controlled his male aggressiveness in public but unleashed it privately. Her teaching suffered. His farewell letter, which she found clipped to the top of her jewelry box, said he’d rather live alone than with someone who did such imbecile things.

  She’d sterilized the letter before dropping it in the flash box. She should’ve kept it. She never dreamed he would sue her for more than she possessed as part of the divorce settlement. It never occurred to her to countersue.

  Stroking Emmer, she thought of how ignorant she’d been and for how long. Maybe she was starting to recover a sense of self-­worth. Trev helped, allowing a relationship she dominated . . . gently, of course. Jirina demanded nothing, accepted everything, was amused by it all. Will Varberg . . . well, he gave her a challenge, as did blue-­eyed Paul Ilizarov. Even Lindon DalLierx forced her to assert herself. She owed him for that.

  This world had been good for her.

  She rolled out of bed, fed Emmer a cracker and two grapes she’d saved from dinner, then sink-­bathed. By then, she needed to head north for her morning commitment. Following directions she’d found in her message box, she dressed in loose, washable clothing and stuffed a change into the browncloth backpack she had also bought on Windsday at the fair. She tucked in an HMF glucodermic, which she’d taken to carrying in a pocket—always. It might save her life if she had another Flaherty’s attack. Finally, she loaded her pockets with hard sour candies, smiling as she remembered the Lwuite woman with snow-­white braids and a free candy ball for every child who visited her sales table.

  Graysha patted her pockets. This time, if Ari MaiJidda pushed her limits, she would be ready.

  ―――

  In the cafeteria, she put away two servings of syrupy pancakes. Then, whistling softly, she strolled up the hub and north almost to the co-­op. Beyond Colonial Affairs, the next set of concrete stairs wore a newly painted Defense Group sign. She had no idea what it had been before—concrete storage, she guessed as she plodded upstairs. It smelled like old dust.

  The room where she reported had padded metal chairs set up in rows, unpainted yellow-­tan walls, and a high ceiling. She found a chair. By now accustomed to Axis’s public rooms having concrete furnishings, she felt queerly transplanted as she sank onto the cushion.

  A woman on her right turned toward her, a greeting dying visibly on her lips as she got a good look. It’s the hair, Graysha moaned to herself. She’d braided it back, but to really fit in, she’d have to dye it. Surely among the Lwuites were a few ordinary two-­recessive blondes, but she hadn’t seen any.

  Picking up the greeting where it dropped, Graysha extended a hand. “Graysha Brady-­Phillips,” she said, “and I’ve been cooped up in a laboratory for thirteen days.”

  Before her neighbor could answer, someone ahead of her swiveled around. “Good morning,” the new woman said cordially. Refined features and expressive eyes countermatched her girlish, barely upturned nose. Loose braiding—most colonists started their pigtails close to the scalp—gave her face a haloed appearance. “Don’t worry, you don’t know me. I’m Crystal DalDidier. I’ve been hoping to make your acquaintance. Welcome to Goddard. They told me women would be coming in from the other settlements, but with you here from Gaea, this group will really represent all of Goddard. I’m glad.”

  Graysha clasped the young woman’s hand, warmed by her welcome. She was opening her mouth to ask Crystal where she worked when Ari MaiJidda appeared up front and conversations ended.

  “Thank you for contributing your time,” MaiJidda said. “All of you.”

  Crystal turned back around, and Graysha settled into her chair for a lecture.

  “We are Earth’s newest beginning,” MaiJidda intoned, standing close to a lectern near the wall’s center. Against the yellow-­tan concrete, her olive complexion looked almost ruddy. “We are humanity in a new milieu. Whatever you do today, do it for the common good and leave selfish notions in the corridors.”

  A woman on Crystal’s left nodded.

  “The first order of business with other D-­group squads has been to blow out the vents, get rid of rumors.”

  Yes, Graysha thought, good idea.

  “Every planet yet settled, every habitat constructed, has a small police force at the ready, watching the unknown for persons or conditions that could prove a threat.” MaiJidda wore a one-­piece suit, cut close to her slender hips and waist, loose through the shoulders. “Goddard is not under any threat of imminent invasion or forced evacuation. With our small population, maintaining a D-­group of any efficacy will simply have to involve a higher-­than-­normal percentage of us.”

  The phrase forced evacuation snagged in Graysha’s ear. Evacuation, yes. Every habitant dealt with that fear in childhood. Graysha had suffered through a spell of particularly vivid nightmares as a nine-­year-­old, but who—or what—were these people afraid of?

  The Eugenics Board came to mind, with its threats of irradiation and imprisonment. So far so good, she observed. If they would help her, she would protect them with every resource she could muster . . . though that wasn’t much.

  Vice-­Chair MaiJidda curled her fingers around both edges of her lectern. “Some women in my previous training squad asked why we segregated the sexes. There are two reasons. Men and women working beside one another in combat situations tend to become distracted, protective—they put the safety of an opposite-­sex comrade before the unit’s goals. Therefore our D-­group will operate in two sectors, male and female.

  “Besides, aren’t you all ready for a short vacation from them?”

  Graysha rubbed her left thumbnail, vaguely bothered by MaiJidda’s disdain. To her satisfaction, the room remained quiet. Some women she’d known might have giggled.

  “Two reasons?” called a woman near the front.

  Leaving the lectern, Vice-­Chair MaiJidda walked slowly to one side with a sensual, swaying gait. If she despises men, Graysha observed, she must not be above using her charms to control them. “The other is for exercise purposes. In mixed physical-­education situations, many of us don’t work as hard as we’re capable. Yes, philosophy has swung back and forth concerning that issue for centuries. Since the current swing is back toward integration and equality, you’re going to call me reactionary.”

  This time there were giggles.

  MaiJidda frowned. “But you’re also going to call me ‘Coordinator’ for the duration of your training week.”

  Dr. Lee would want to hear this little speech repeated if she wanted to know her employers better. So would Jirina, for that matter . . . simply because she was curious.

  After MaiJidda answered logistics questions and distributed cloth-­tape ID tags, Graysha followed the group into a larger adjoining room, where drag scars marred the concrete that wasn’t covered by thin gray foam pads. This new gym had obviously held stores until recently. Along one wall, huge metal crates were still piled six high. She crunched and swallowed two sour candy balls when no one was watching.

  On a gray pad in formation, Graysha spent the most physically demanding half hour of her life, eventually growing concerned enough to check her t-­o button without caring if Ari MaiJidda noticed. If I survive this, she huffed while walk-­running her sixth lap of the room, I’ll prove to Ari MaiJidda—and to myself—that I’m stronger than anyone thought. She popped another candy. Each foot felt heavier by the step, but it was pleasant not to be coddled. At Einstein, she’d exercised sporadically. She would keep up with these women—most of whom probably did physical work every day—or collapse trying. Most of them acted friendly, though a few glimpsed her name tag and turned stiffly polite.

  Then came a gang shower that reminded her of school days, sweaty female bodies clustered under water-­conserving thin sprays. She and her squad mates quickly changed into their other clothes in a long narrow room with concrete benches along its center. Their worn
clothing reeked. Quicker dressers encouraged and chaffed the slower, despite an apparent average age of well over thirty.

  “I never expected boot camp,” commented a woman with white hairs threaded down her black pigtail. She sat sideways on the bench, lacing shoes woven from some heavy fabric. “I guess I should have. Why else would they tell us to bring a change of clothes?”

  “It’s just basic fitness.” Crystal rolled up her worn clothes and tied a browncloth sleeve around them.

  Graysha pulled her own shoelaces tight. “We’re learning to follow orders, I suppose. We’ve been our own bosses for terrannums. Most of us, anyway.” The older women smiled sidelong at a cluster of shoulder-­punching teeners.

  As Graysha left the shower room, she was shocked to be herded into line, issued a pair of ear protectors, and given a handgun.

  Incredulous, she carried the square-­angled metal pistol into a third echoing room that was also piled along one wall, ceiling to floor, with huge metal crates. Other women looked as uncomfortable as she felt. They’ve been mining metals at Hannes Prime. Have they got an armament factory?

  Melantha Lee definitely should have joined up.

  Who was in charge of this group, anyway? Ari MaiJidda alone, or had others taken part in the decision to arm?

  Gaea would have learned about it eventually. With Graysha enlisted, they’d just hear sooner.

  Ari MaiJidda wore a holster on her right hip now. Standing at a corner of the room, she clipped a button mike onto her collar. “All right,” she called, “form a line along that back wall. You’re wondering what you’re doing with this in your hand.”

  I should say so. Graysha shuffled to the indicated area, trying but failing to get a spot near Crystal.

  MaiJidda drew her weapon. “Remember, first of all, you’re no longer in a habitat. Projectiles won’t puncture bulkheads here.” Graysha set her jaw, half expecting the woman to demonstrate. “The design may be antique, but they’re cost-­effective.” She holstered it again, and Graysha breathed easier. “They’re efficient for hunting and for personal defense. Yes, hunting,” she continued. “Suppose we found it necessary to scatter our population across the planetary surface. There’s edible plant life up there, and there’s meat. It’s sparse right now, but if we get this cooling trend turned around, there’ll be more of both after a few seasons.”