Nemesis (38 page)

“As you said, that’s for me to decide. I take it you would not refuse the post if it were offered to you?”

“No, Commissioner. I would be greatly honored.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Pitt dryly. “And what happened to the girl?”

For a moment, D’Aubisson seemed taken aback by the sudden change in subject. She all but stammered as she repeated, “The girl?”

“Yes, the girl who was outside the Dome with Genarr, the one who removed her protective suit.”

“Marlene Fisher?”

“Yes, that’s her name. What happened to her?”

D’Aubisson hesitated. “Why, nothing, Commissioner.”

“So it says in the report. But
I’m
asking you now.
Nothing?
”

“Nothing detectable by brain scan or in any other way.”

“You mean that at the same time that Genarr, wearing an E-suit, was struck down, the girl, this Marlene Fisher, without an E-suit, suffered nothing?”

D’Aubisson shrugged. “Nothing at all, as far as we could tell.”

“Don’t you consider that strange?”

“She’s a strange young woman. Her brain scan—”

“I know about her brain scan. I know also that she has peculiar abilities. Have you noted that?”

“Oh yes. I have indeed.”

“And how do her abilities strike you? Mind reading, by any chance?”

“No, Commissioner. That’s impossible. The concept of telepathy is a mere fantasy. I wish it were mind reading, in fact, since that would not be so dangerous. Thoughts can be placed under control.”

“What is it about her that is more dangerous?”

“Apparently, she reads body language and we can’t control that. Every motion speaks.” She said it with a touch of bitterness that Pitt did not fail to note.

He said, “Did you have a personal experience of that?”

“Certainly.” D’Aubisson looked grim. “It is impossible to be near the young woman without experiencing some of the inconvenience of her habit of perception.”

“Yes, but what happened?”

“Nothing of tremendous importance, but it was annoying.” D’Aubisson flushed and, for a moment, her lips pressed together as though she were thinking of defying her interrogator. But that moment passed. She said, almost in a whisper, “After I had examined Dome Commander Genarr, Marlene asked me how he was. I told her that he was not seriously harmed and that there was every hope that he would recover completely.

“She said, ‘Why does that disappoint you?’

“I was taken aback and said, ‘I’m not disappointed. I’m pleased.’

“She said, ‘But you
are
disappointed. That is quite clear. You’re impatient.’

“It was the first time I had encountered that sort of thing directly, though I had heard about it from others, and I couldn’t think of anything to do but challenge her. ‘Why should I be impatient? For what?’

“She looked at me solemnly with her large, dark, and unsettling eyes. Then she said, ‘It seems to be about Uncle Siever—’ ”

Pitt interrupted. “Uncle Siever? Is there a relationship?”

“No. I think it’s only a term of affection. She said, ‘It seems to be about Uncle Siever and I wonder if you want to replace him as Dome Commander.’

“At that, I just turned and walked away.”

Pitt said, “How did you feel when she told you this?”

“I was furious. Naturally.”

“Because she had maligned you? Or because she was correct?”

“Well, in a way—”

“No no. Don’t hedge, Doctor. Was she wrong or was she right? Were you sufficiently disappointed at Genarr’s recovery for the girl to notice, or was the whole thing a stroke of her peculiar imagination?”

The words seemed to force themselves out of D’Aubisson’s lips. “She sensed something that was really there.” She stared at Pitt defiantly. “I’m only human, and I have my impulses. And you yourself have now indicated that I might be offered the post, which would seem to mean you consider me qualified for it.”

“I’m sure you are maligned in spirit—if not in fact,” said Pitt, without any sign of humor. “But now consider— You have this young woman, who is peculiar, who is very strange, both as shown by the brain scan and by her behavior—and, in addition, she seems unaffected by the Plague. Clearly, there may be a connection between her neuronic pattern and her Plague resistance. Might she not be a useful tool for studying the Plague?”

“I can’t say. I suppose it’s conceivable.”

“Shouldn’t it be tested?”

“Perhaps, but how?”

Pitt said quietly, “Let her be exposed to the influence of Erythro as much as possible.”

D’Aubisson said thoughtfully, “That is what she wants to do, as it happens, and Commander Genarr seems to be willing to let her.”

“Good. Then you will supply the medical backing.”

“I understand. And if the young woman gets the Plague?”

“We must remember that the solution of the problem is more important than the welfare of a single individual. We have a world to win, and for that we might have to pay a sad but necessary price.”

“And if Marlene is destroyed and that does not help us understand or counteract the Plague?”

Pitt said, “That risk must be faced. After all, it might also be that she will remain untouched and that that untouchability, carefully studied, may give us the means of a breakthrough in understanding the Plague. In that case, we win without loss.”

It was only afterward, when D’Aubisson had left for her Rotorian apartment, that Pitt’s iron resolution permitted
him to think of himself as Marlene Fisher’s confirmed enemy. True victory would be to have Marlene destroyed and the Plague remain unsolved. At a stroke he would be rid of an inconvenient girl who might otherwise, someday, produce young like herself; and of an inconvenient world that might otherwise, someday, produce a population as undesirable, as dependent, and as immobile as Earth’s population had been.

The three of them sat together in the Erythro Dome—Siever Genarr watchful, Eugenia Insigna deeply concerned, and Marlene Fisher clearly impatient.

Insigna said, “Now, remember, Marlene, do not stare at Nemesis. I know you’ve been warned about the infrared, but it’s also a fact that Nemesis is a mild flare star. Every once in a while there’s an explosion on its surface and a burst of white light. It just lasts a minute or two, but that will be enough to shock your retinas, and you can’t tell when it’s going to happen.”

Genarr said, “Can astronomers tell when it’s going to happen?”

“Not so far. It’s one of the many chaotic aspects of nature. We have not yet worked out the rules underlying stellar turbulence and there are some among us who think the rules can never be worked out entirely. They are simply too complex.”

“Interesting,” said Genarr.

“It’s not that we’re not grateful to the flares. Three percent of the energy reaching Erythro from Nemesis is the result of those flares.”

“That doesn’t sound like much.”

“It is, though. Without the flares, Erythro would be an icy world and much less easy to live on. The flares do make problems for Rotor, which has to adjust its use of sunlight quickly whenever there’s a flare, and strengthen its particle-absorption field.”

Marlene was looking from one to the other as they spoke, and she finally broke in with a small note of exasperation, “How long are you two going to keep this up? It’s just to keep me sitting here. I can tell that very easily.”

Insigna said hastily, “Where will you go when you’re out there.”

“Just around. To the little river, or creek, or whatever it is.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s interesting. Just flowing water in the open, and you can’t see the ends, and you know it’s not being pumped back to the beginning.”

“But it is,” said Insigna, “by the heat of Nemesis.”

“That doesn’t count. I mean human beings aren’t doing it. Besides, I just want to stand there and watch it.”

“Don’t drink from it,” said Insigna severely.

“I don’t intend to. I can last an hour without drinking. If I get hungry, or thirsty—or anything else—I’ll come back. You’re making such a fuss over nothing.”

Genarr smiled. “I suppose you want to recycle everything right here in the Dome.”

“Yes, of course. Wouldn’t anyone?”

Genarr’s smile broadened. He said, “You know, Eugenia, I’m quite certain that living in Settlements has changed humanity permanently. The necessity of cycling is now ingrained in us. On Earth, you just threw things away, assuming it would recycle naturally, and, of course, sometimes it didn’t.”

“Genarr,” said Insigna, “you’re a dreamer. It may be possible for human beings to learn good habits under pressure, but relieve the pressure and the bad habits are back at once. Downhill is easier than uphill. It’s called the second law of thermodynamics, and if we ever do colonize Erythro, I predict that we will litter it from end to end in no time at all.”

“No, we won’t,” said Marlene.

Genarr said in a tone of polite inquiry, “Why not, dear?”

And Marlene said with impatient force, “Because we won’t. Now can I go out?”

Genarr looked at Insigna and said, “We might as well let her go, Eugenia. We can’t hold her back forever. Besides, for what it’s worth, Ranay D’Aubisson, who just got back from Rotor, went over all the records from the start and told me yesterday that Marlene’s brain scan seems so stable that she is convinced that Marlene will come to no harm on Erythro.”

Marlene, who had turned toward the door, as though ready to walk to the airlock, now turned back. “Wait, Uncle Siever, I almost forgot. You must be careful of Dr. D’Aubisson.”

“Why? She’s an excellent neurophysicist.”

“That’s not what I mean. She was pleased when you were in trouble after your trip outside and pretty disappointed when you got better.”

Insigna looked surprised and said automatically, “What makes you say that?”

“Because I
know
.”

“But I don’t understand that. Siever, don’t you get along with D’Aubisson?”

“Certainly, I do. We get along very well. Never a cross word. But if Marlene says—”

“Mightn’t Marlene be wrong?”

Marlene said at once, “But I’m not.”

Genarr said, “I’m sure you’re right, Marlene.” Then, to Insigna, “D’Aubisson is an ambitious woman. If anything happens to me, she’s the logical choice as my successor. She’s had a great deal of experience down here and she’s surely the best person to deal with the Plague if it lifts its head again. What’s more, she’s older than I am and may not feel there’s much time to waste. I couldn’t blame her if she was anxious to succeed me, and if her heart lifted a bit when I was ill. The chances are she’s not even consciously aware of these feelings.”

“Yes, she is,” said Marlene ominously. “She knows all about it. You watch out, Uncle Siever.”

“Well, I will. Are you ready now?”

“Of course I’m ready.”

“Then let me walk you to the airlock. You come with us, Eugenia, and try not to look so tragic.”

And so it was that Marlene stepped out onto the surface of Erythro, alone and unprotected, for the first time. It was, by Earth Standard time, 9:20
P.M.
, January 15, 2237. By Erythro time, it was midmorning.

Crile Fisher tried to suppress his excitement, tried to maintain the same calm expressions that the others were wearing.

He didn’t know where Tessa Wendel was at the moment. She couldn’t be far, since the
Superluminal
was reasonably small—though broken up so that someone in one bay might well be out of sight to someone in another.

The other three crew members were just pairs of hands to Fisher. They each had something to do and they were doing it. Only Fisher himself had nothing specific to do, except perhaps to be careful to stay out of the way of the others.

He looked at the other three (two men and one woman) almost furtively. He knew them to talk to, and had talked to them frequently. They were all young. The oldest was Chao-Li Wu, who was thirty-eight and a hyperspacialist. Then there was Henry Jarlow, who was thirty-five, and Merry Blankowitz, the baby of the team, twenty-seven years old and with the ink still damp on her doctor’s diploma.

Wendel, at fifty-five, was ancient by comparison, but she was the inventor, the designer, the demigoddess of the flight.

It was Fisher who was odd man out. He would be fifty on his next birthday, which was not so far off, and he had no specialized training. He had no right to be on the ship if either youth or knowledge were considered.

But he had been on Rotor once. That counted. And Wendel wanted him with her, and that counted even more. So did Tanayama and Koropatsky, which counted most of all.

The ship was making its way, lumbering through space. Fisher could tell that, even though there was no physical indication that this was so. He could feel it with the tendrils of his intestines—if they had any. He thought fiercely: I’ve been in space far longer than all the others put together, far more times on far more ships. I can tell there is nothing sleek about this ship just by the feel of it. They can’t.

The
Superluminal
had to lack sleekness. The normal power sources that kept ordinary spaceships moving through the vacuum were cramped and cut down in the
Superluminal
. They had to be, for most of the ship was given over to the hyperspatial motors.

It was like a seabird that waddled clumsily on land because it was designed for the water.

Wendel suddenly appeared. Her hair was somewhat disheveled and she was perspiring a bit.

Fisher said, “Is everything all right, Tessa?”

“Oh yes, perfectly.” She rested her rear end against one of the convenient wall depressions (very useful, considering the light pseudo-grav maintained on the ship). “No problems.”

“When do we make the move into hyperspace?”

“In a few hours. We want to get into the proper coordinates with all appropriate gravitational sources twisting space precisely as calculated.”

“So we can allow for it exactly?”

“That’s right.”

Fisher said, “That doesn’t make hyperspatial flight sound very practical. What if you don’t know where everything is? What if you’re in a hurry and can’t wait to calculate every gravitational twitch?”