XIV
Demeter dwindled swiftly in view, from a world to a globe to a small blue sickle to a point of brightness among countless more. Folk settled into their round of duties. Those were mainly just standing watch, when Chinook ran on full automatic like this, except in the case of the quartermaster. While she happily busied herself in the galley, preparing the first meal of the trip that wouldn't merely be taken from storage for heating, Brodersen sat in the captain's quarters with nothing to do but be accessible.
The inner, private cabin was of comfortable size and furnishing: double bed folded up to give ample deck space, chairs, closet, dresser, cabinet, shelves, table, data and communication terminals, sink, hotplate, miniature refrigerator, screens for both exterior and interior scans. Faintly murmuring, ventilators kept the air in motion, fresh despite his pipe; at the present stage of its temperature-ionization cycle, it had an evening flavor. The pale gray, blue-trimmed bulkheads were bare of pictures, the shelves of books, the whole room of almost anything personal, since there had been no chance to bring more along than he and Caitlin had carried on their backs. Nevertheless it could come alive whenever they willed, for a goodly percentage of the entire culture of mankind was in the ship's memory bank.
Brodersen knew he ought to catch a nap, and a proper nightwatch of sleep after dinner. He'd been long in action. Overstrung, he was unable to. Tobacco alone didn't allay that, and in space he was very sparing of alcohol and marijuana. He decided to renew old acquaintances. Pressing the levers on his chair arms, he emptied the suction cups which held it in place against acceleration changes, and shifted it over in front of the terminals, where his weight re-anchored the legs. Having punched for a display of reference code and studied that a moment, he started Beethoven's Fifth on the audio retrieve and Hokusai's "Thirty-Six Views of Fuji" on the visual at intervals he would manually control, and settled back. Maybe later some Monet, or even some Van Gogh, he thought, or maybe no pictures but . . . rn-rn-rn . . . a little Kipling? Haven't read Soldiers Three for years.
This was about as esoteric as his taste in the arts got. He considered himself basically a meat and potatoes man, though not one who scorned fine food-such as Caitlin and Lis, like most sexy women, could well prepare-or other subtleties. His parents had seen to his getting a solid education, but his mind stayed quite pragmatic until he joined the Peace Command. Then the wish took him to make sense out of what he experienced, around Earth and on beyond. This led him to read rather widely in history, anthropology, and related disciplines, which in turn raised his awareness of the great creators. His first wife had encouraged that interest in him, his second was still doing so.
"I'm not an intellectual," he sometimes remarked. "I prefer thinkers." Yet he had endowed a chair of humanities at the University of Eopolis. The species needed to preserve, to understand and cherish its own heritage. . . in the face of the Others, of the whole cosmos.
He was beginning to feel neck and shoulder muscles relax when the door chimed. Damn! Hell! Also curses. The captain is never off call. He heaved his mass up, over the deck, into the outer cabin. It was small, strictly an office except for elaborate electronic links to the command center. Seated behind the desk, he punched the admit button. The door retracted, giving him a glimpse of the corridor that ringed this level where people dwelt.
Martti Leino stalked through and, as if remembering a planned procedure, snapped to a civilian kind of attention. "Requesting a private interview, sir," he clipped forth.
Oh, oh. Well, I knew this'd come. "Sure," Brodersen said, and closed the door. "Only since when has crew of mine needed to get fancy with me, let alone my own brother-in-law?" He waved. "Pick a chair. Any chair."
The young man (thirty-seven, Demetrian) obeyed jerkily. Red and white pursued each other across his countenance. His breath was ragged. "You look like the prophet Nahum with a hangover," Brodersen observed. "Slack off. Since you don't smoke, care for a drink?"
"No."
"What's wrong?"
"You know what." The visage before him staying quietly watchful, Leino forced out: "Your, your female!"
He's not out of control, not quite, Brodersen realized. Good. I'd hate for him to call her something that left me no choice.
He drank pungency from his pipe while he chose words. His voice he kept soft. "Do you refer to Miz Muiryan? For your information, she's nobody's female but her own. If you think different, just try pushing her in any direction she hasn't already picked to go."
"She's. . . openly. . . moved in with you!"
"Whose business is that but ours?"
"Lis', you bastard!" Leino shouted. He half rose, fists doubled, sank back, and snapped his jaws together.
"Of course. When I said, `Ours,' I meant `ours.' She knows, and doesn't mind."
"Or is she too proud and loyal to say out what she feels? I've known her longer and better than you have, Daniel Brodersen."
Longer, aye, the captain thought. Better? Could be, too.
Though the family on the farm under Trollberg was large, seven children, Lis the first, Martti the fifth: still, an enormous surrounding wilderness, shared work and pleasure and discovery and sometimes danger, had knit it close. For whatever deep-lying reasons, the bond between those two was always especially strong. When he came to Eopolis to study nuclear engineering, she was newly divorced and they shared an apartment. She went to work for Chehalis, made herself more and more valuable as well as attractive to its chief . . . and amicably refused his propositions, which was fairly unusual, until at last he married her. Because she wanted it, this brother was best man at the modest wedding.
"Let me remind you, I've been her husband nigh on ten years," Brodersen said, mildly yet. "Don't you imagine that'd give me a few understandings of her you don't have?"
"Ten years-seven, Earth-is there not a saying on Earth about the seven-year itch?" Leino's grin was of the challenge kind.
"Do you imply some casual pickup-?" Brodersen checked his anger. The sardonic confession stirred within him that he had had several. No need to make it aloud. He leaned forward, arms on desk, pipe in right hand with the stem aimed at his visitor and wagged a little.
"Martti," he said, "listen. Listen close. You've evidently not encountered the fact it's possible to love more than one person at a time. I'd lay odds you will; but no matter now. What matters between us two is this. Your sister approves of the relationship. She and Caitlin Muiryan are dear friends." I exaggerate a bit, but surely only because the three of us haven't so far gotten together often enough. Surely they are good friends, and better will follow.
"If you won't take my word, I give you leave to inquire of her after we return. Okay?"
Leino swallowed. "No. She'd bravely lie-" he fell into his home dialect-"for to ward you whom she gave her oath; for to hide her wounds from me."
Brodersen locked eyes with him. "You've known me somewhat yourself. Do you seriously think I'm the sort of guy who could deliberately hurt his wife?"
Leino bit his lip. He tries to be fair-minded, Brodersen thought, he's barking back.
Upon graduation, Leino too had become a Chehalis employee. If anything, that was nepotism in reverse, trained professionals being in chronic short supply on Demeter. The sole possible favoritism Brodersen had shown in return was to assign him to a few projects in space exploration, prospecting, establishment of mining bases on an asteroid and a comet -on which he, Brodersen, went along. He wouldn't have done it if Leino weren't competent. Humans get pretty closely acquainted under such conditions.
The captain pursued his advantage: "Neither Lis nor I feel this is any unfaith. Use your imagination. There are a million different unfaiths one monogamous spouse could practice on another, and too many of `em do. Petty cruelty. Neglect. Shirking your share of the load. Simple, correctible, annoying slobbishness, year after year. Dishonesty, in some mighty basic ways. On and on. You're right, your sister would not sit still for betrayal -real betrayal.
"So calm do
wn. You've had a surprise, nothing worse. You'll get over it."
"The humiliation," broke from Leino. "Publicly parading your mistress."
Brodersen's pipe was going out. He sat back, puffed the fire awake, formed a chuckle. "In this day and age? Why I'll agree Lis and I are exceptional. We do our best to keep our private affairs private."
"Your affairs?" Leino flared. "How'd you like it if she did the same to you?"
Brodersen shrugged. "She's a free adult. I don't expect she'll ever betray me either. Anyhow, Caitlin's aboard on account of an emergency-we might not be under weigh without her help-and none of us, them or me, none of us is much good at being a hypocrite."
That, he thought, as far as regards myself, may be my own biggest piece of hypocrisy to date. Well, a totally sincere man is a monster.
The reflection was fleeting. It ended when Leino leaped to his feet, hands clenched on high, face contorted, and yelled, "Mean you, you swine, you'd corrupt Lis too? I give not a shit what comes of you, but before God Who shaped her, you'll keep fingers off her soul."
Instinct made Brodersen answer, "Silence!" at an exact loudness. "Be seated. That's an order."
Spacefarers learn early that a shipfull of lives can depend on instant obedience. Leino folded. Save for the ventilator and his gasps, the office emptied of sound for a time which Brodersen measured, until he said evenly:
"Martti, brother of Lis, hear me. You spoke of her pride. You admire her intelligence as well. Then what in the universe makes you assume she could be corrupted? She's simply chosen to fare a little different way from what you'd have her take.
"If you worry about her faith and morals, why didn't you object when she divorced her first husband? She pledged him on a Bible, remember; he's from the Holy Western Republic."
Leino stared open-mouthed.
"Because you knew that in spite of his impressive brain, he's an overbearing, inconsiderate, narrow-minded son of a bitch," Brodersen went on. "If she ever decides I'm as bad, she'll ditch me too, and you'll cheer, won't you? I aim to maker sure she never does decide it. However, what's divorce and remarriage except polygamy in time instead of space?"
He let his question sink in before he continued:
"Don't get me wrong. I respect your principles. Where you come from, they work. Tried and true traditions; the family above self; the house presenting a solid front to the world-shucks, that's what I grew up with too. I'm not saying it's mistaken, either. For all I know, it's the absolute truth. I'm only saying it's not the only idea people can live by, or do. And you, Martti-not patronizing, merely stating a fact-you've not been much exposed to alternatives. You came to Eopolis, that calls itself cosmopolitan, straight from the backwoods. Well, Eopolis isn't cosmopolitan. It's a clutch of hick towns, alien to each other, huddled in the same few square kilometers. You've never seen Earth. Lis has. Besides, you've worked hard the whole time, often in space, which has united your human contacts still more. Repeat: I'm not saying you should change your philosophy. I am saying you haven't had a proper chance to learn tolerance-real tolerance, down where it counts, about things close to people you care for. Try that, my friend."
"God's law-" Leino whispered.
Brodersen, who had been an agnostic since puberty, shrugged anew. "Never mind about God. Let's settle with the Others first." He returned to the attack. "Not prying at you, I seldom noticed you missing your sleep to make divine service after a late poker game or whatever. And I have heard you brag a bit about what you've done among the ladies, and seen you squiring around one or two who've got reputations. Not to mention those seasonal bacchanals in your home country."
Leino flushed. "I'm still a bachelor."
"And of course you figure you'll marry a virgin. And it won't harm her afterward if you step out occasionally, as long as you're discreet." Brodersen laughed aloud. "Martti, I've been in the Uplands a fair amount. I've told you they remind me of home. Let's not play peek-a-boo, huh?"
-The words went back and forth for half an hour. Leino's quieted as they did.
In the end, Brodersen summarized: "Okay, you don't approve, and I didn't expect you would on such short notice, but you agree our mission's too important to hazard for the sake of a personal brannigan, and Caitlin's important to it. Correct?"
Leino gulped -he had come close to tears- and nodded.
"Well, that's as much as she or I could reasonably ask," Brodersen said. "For your own sake, though, plus ours, I will make one small request. Strictly a request, you understand."
Leino's fingers strained together on his lap.
"If you can," Brodersen continued, "don't hold her at arms' length, stiff and formal. Remember, Lis doesn't. Be a little friendly. She'd sure like to be your friend. And I'd like you both to be. After all, I've explained it's no overnight romp between us; I'm trying to think years ahead." He smiled. "Give her half a chance and you'll enjoy her company. For instance, you appreciate ballads. Well, she's a crackling hell of a balladeer."
"I am sure that is true," Leino said.
"Find out for yourself," Brodersen urged. "You'll have lots of time, even after we start those military drills. Ninety percent of derring-do consists of waiting around for something, anything to happen. Caitlin can liven those hours no end."
Afterward, alone, he mused around his pipe and a shot of Scotch he allowed himself: So we make one more monkey compromise that may hang together for a short spell: in order that our undertaking-forget our daily lives-may go on. I wonder, I wonder, must the Others ever do likewise?
XV
If you knew precisely where to look, the T machine gleamed as the tiniest spark amidst the stars-aft, for Chinook had made turnover and was backing down upon it. Susanne Granville had, however, set the viewscreen in her cabin to scan Phoebus. Dimmed by the optics to mere moon brightness, so that corona and zodiacal light shone at their natural luminosities like nacre, that disc still drove most of the distant suns out of a watcher's eye.
"A last familiar sight," she explained to Caitlin. "The gate will be strange to me. I `ave never guided a ship t'rough, except in training simulations. You see, we `ad. . . figured? . . . yes, we `ad figured on several re'earsals between `ere and Sol before we started for anywhere new."
"Is it needed you are at all?" Caitlin asked. "I was taught the passage pattern is exact-no dance measure, nor even a march on parade, but like a chess piece jumping from square to square- and any autopilot can conn a vessel the way of it."
"That is true nearly always, and in fact the autopilot does. But the permissible variation is small. Exceed the tolerance, and we will enter another gate. Where we go then, God only can tell, and I do not believe in God. Quite possibly we reach some point in interstellar space, no machine on `and, vacuum around us until we die. Certainly no probe from Sol ever came back." Susanne shivered the least bit. "it is a wise rule that a linker must be in circuit during transit, ready to take over wiz flexibility and judgment if anything unforeseen `appens. . . . The tea is ready. What would you like in it?"
"Milk, if you please. No, I'm forgetting, we've none fresh. Plain the same as you, and my thanks." Caitlin let her hostess pour and serve, out of ship's ware. Her own green gaze wandered.
She found little but the grandeur in the screen. Like everybody else, Susanne had embarked in haste. Aside from the office attached to the captain's, quarters differed merely in their color schemes, this room being rose and white. Otherwise nothing save the aroma from pot and cups distinguished it.
Double occupancy would have lent an extra touch, and it had been laid out with that capability in mind; but the computerman seemed likely to stay solitaire. Short, skinny, stoop-shouldered, long-armed, with slightly froglike features from which thin black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, she looked older than her twenty-eight Earth years. A high voice and a dowdy kimono didn't help. One tended to concentrate on her eyes, which were beautiful: large, thick-lashed, lustrous brown.
"I would `ave brought a better tea if I `
ad the chance," she apologized. "What you make for our table from the standard rations, I am cook enough myself to appreciate. Per'aps when I `ave leisure you could use `elp from me?"
"Och, doing for this few is no job," Caitlin said. "Though if it's the recreation you're wishing, why, it's glad I'd be of your companionship."
"I t'ought we should get acquainted," Susanne proposed timidly. She took a chair facing her guest's. "This trip may become long or dangerous."
"Or both. And we the two women aboard. Besides, you can tell me about the rest of our crew. Devil a chance I've had to know any man besides Sergei Zarubayev better than to greet or else ply him with technical questions. Dan's kept me too busy at learning my duties."
Susanne flushed. "E can explain people best. `B `as the, the knack for them. I am not. . . outgoing."
"Regardless, you can give me an extra viewpoint. Furthermore, when we are free together, himself and I do not yet squander time on briefings."
Caitlin's grin faded when Susanne reddened more and sipped noisily. Reaching over, she patted her hostess' knee. "I'm sorry. Pardon my tongue. I'll try to stay as little shameless as happiness may allow me."
"You and `e, you are in love, no?" The words were barely to be heard.
"Aye. Songbirds, roses, and hundred-year-old whisky. But fear not for his marriage. Never would I threaten that, for he loves her too, and she him, and a dear lady she is."
Susanne stared from cup to the sun and back. "Ow did you meet?"
"Through Lis, the gods would have it. Doubtless you know she's active in the Apollo Theater, organizing, fund-raising, smoothing ruffled feathers-especially those feathers! Well, I've been on the same stage once in a while, to play a minor role or sing a few songs. Lis gave a cast party at her home. . . . You've not chanced to attend a performance I was in?"
Susanne shook her head. "I do not go out much."
Caitlin softened her tone. "They do say as linkers have interests more high than ordinary folk."
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