Nemesis (6 page)

But no one ever suggested he was, and he listened to the tales of her work on the Far Probe with patience. She never tested his education by discussing the technical details, of course. Yet sometimes he asked questions or made comments that reflected on such things and she valued them, when they came, for she always managed to convince herself that they were intelligent questions and comments.

Fisher had a job on one of the farms, a perfectly respectable
job, even an essential one, but a job that was not high on the social scale. He did not complain or make a fuss about that—she’d give him that—but he never talked about it, or showed any pleasure in it. And there was always that air of discontent about him.

Insigna learned, therefore, to attempt no cheery “And what happened to you at work today, Crile?”

The few times she had asked, just at first, the answer had been a flat “Nothing much.” And that would be all, except for a short annoyed look.

Eventually, she grew nervous about talking to him even of petty office politics and annoying errors. That, too, might serve as an unwelcome comparison of her work with his.

Insigna had to admit that her fears went against the evidence there, an example of her own insecurity rather than his. Fisher didn’t show signs of impatience when she did find herself forced to discuss the day’s work. Sometimes he even asked, with a pallid interest, about hyper-assistance, but Insigna knew little or nothing about that.

He was interested in Rotorian politics and showed an Earthman’s impatience with the smallness of its concerns. She fought with herself not to show displeasure at that.

Eventually, there fell a silence between them, broken only by indifferent discussions concerning the films they had viewed, the social engagements they undertook, the small change of life.

It didn’t lead to active unhappiness. Cake had quickly changed to white bread, but there were worse things than white bread.

It even had a small advantage. Working under tight security meant talking to
no one
about one’s work, but how many managed to whisper partial confidences to wife or husband? Insigna had not done so, for she had little in the way of temptation, since her own work required little in the way of security.

But when her discovery of the Neighbor Star was suddenly placed under tight wraps, without warning, could she have managed? Surely it would have been the natural thing to do—to tell her husband of the great discovery that was bound to put her name into the astronomy texts for as long as humanity existed. She might have told him
even before she told Pitt. She might have come bouncing in: “Guess what! Guess what! You’ll never guess—”

But she hadn’t. It didn’t occur to her that Fisher would be interested. He might talk to others about their work, even to farmers or sheet-metal workers, but not to her.

So it was no effort to mention nothing to him of Nemesis. The matter was dead between them, was not missed, did not exist, until that dreadful day when their marriage came to an end.

When did she move over wholeheartedly to Pitt’s side?

At the start, Insigna had been horrified at the thought of keeping the Neighbor Star a secret, profoundly uneasy at the prospect of moving away out of the Solar System to a destination concerning which they knew nothing but the location. She found it ethically wrong and indecently dishonorable to set about building a new civilization by stealth, one which excluded all the rest of humanity.

She had given in on the grounds of Settlement security, but she had intended to fight Pitt privately, to bring up points of argument. She had rehearsed them in her own mind till they were foolproof and irrefutable and then, somehow, she never presented them.

Always—always—he took the initiative.

Pitt said to her, early on, “Now remember, Eugenia, you discovered the companion star more or less by accident, and one of your colleagues may do so as well.”

“It’s not likely—” she began.

“No, Eugenia, we’re not going to depend on unlikelihood. We’re going to make certain. You’re going to see to it that no one looks in that direction, that no one wants to study the particular computer sheets that would give away the location of Nemesis.”

“How can I possibly do that?”

“Very easily. I have spoken to the Commissioner and, as of now, you are in complete charge of the Far Probe research.”

“But that would mean I’ve been moved over the head—”

“Yes. It means an advance in responsibility, in pay, in social stature. To which of these do you object?”

“I don’t object to any of this,” said Insigna, her heart beginning to pound.

“I’m sure you can fulfill the job of Chief Astronomer more than adequately, but your chief aim will be to see to it that the work done can be of the highest possible quality and significance, provided that what is done has nothing to do with Nemesis.”

“But, Janus, you can’t keep it completely secret forever.”

“I don’t intend to. Once we move out of the Solar System, we will all know where we’re going. Till then, as few as possible will know, and those few will learn as late as possible.”

Her promotion, Insigna noted with a little shame, cooled her objections.

On another occasion, Pitt said to her, “What about your husband?”

“What about my husband?” Insigna was immediately on the defensive.

“He is an Earthman, I understand.”

Insigna’s lips pressed together. “He is of Earth origin, but he is a Rotorian citizen.”

“I understand. I assume you have told him nothing of Nemesis.”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Has this husband of yours ever told you why he left Earth and worked so hard to become a Rotorian citizen?”

“No, he hasn’t. And I haven’t asked him.”

“But don’t you ever wonder?”

Insigna hesitated and then told the truth. “Yes, I have, sometimes.”

Pitt smiled. “I should tell you, perhaps.”

And he did, little by little. Never in any overly obtrusive manner. It was never a bludgeon, it was rather the dripping of water at every conversation. It brought her out of her intellectual shell. To live on Rotor, after all, made it entirely too easy to consider only things Rotorian.

But thanks to Pitt, to what he told her, to the films he suggested she view, she became aware of Earth and its billions, of its endemic starvation and violence, its drugs and alienation. She began to understand it as an abysmal pit of misery, something to flee from. She did not wonder
any longer why Crile Fisher had left. She wondered why so few Earthmen followed his example.

Nor were the Settlements so much better off. She became aware of how they closed in on themselves, how people were prevented from moving freely from one to another. No Settlement wanted the microscopic flora and fauna of any other. Trade dwindled slowly, and was increasingly carried on by automated vessels with carefully sterilized loads.

The Settlements quarreled and found each other hateful. The circum-Martian Settlements were almost as bad. Only in the asteroid zone were the Settlements multiplying freely, and even those were growing suspicious of all the inner Settlements.

Insigna could feel herself begin to agree with Pitt, even to grow enthusiastic over a flight from intolerable misery and the beginning of a system of worlds where the seeds of suffering had been eradicated, A new start, a new chance.

And then she found that a baby was on the way and her enthusiasm began to wither. To risk herself and Crile on the long journey seemed worthwhile. To risk an infant, a child—

Pitt was unperturbed. He congratulated her. “It will be born here and you will have a little time to accustom yourself to the situation. It will be at least a year and a half before we’re ready to go. And by then you will realize how fortunate you will be not to have to wait any longer. The child will have no memory of the misery of a ruined planet and a desperately divided humanity. It will know only a new world with a cultural understanding among its members. Lucky child. Fortunate child. My son and daughter are already grown, already marked.”

And again Insigna began to think in that fashion, and by the time Marlene was born, she had indeed begun to dread delay, to fear that before they left, the child would be imprinted with the crowded failure that was the Solar System.

She was entirely on Pitt’s side by this time.

Fisher seemed fascinated by Marlene, to Insigna’s great relief. She had not thought that he would make much of a father. Yet he hovered over Marlene and took
on his share of the duties involved in bringing her up. He seemed actually to grow cheerful as a result.

During the time Marlene was approaching her first birthday, rumors grew throughout the Solar System that Rotor intended to leave. It produced what was almost a system-wide crisis, and Pitt, who was now clearly in line for Commissionerhood, was grimly amused.

“Well, what can they do?” he said. “There’s no way they can stop us, and all the outcries of disloyalty, together with their own display of Solar System chauvinism, will only serve to inhibit their investigations into hyper-assistance, which will serve us well.”

Insigna said, “But how did it get out, I wonder, Janus?”

“I saw to it that it did.” He smiled. “At this point, I don’t any longer object to their learning the
fact
of our leaving, as long as they don’t know our destination. It would, after all, be impossible to hide our leaving for much longer. We must take a vote on the matter, you know, and once all Rotorians know of our leaving, all the rest of the system will know, in any case.”

“A vote?”

“Why, of course. Think it through. We can’t take off with a Settlement-load of people who are too fearful or too homesick for their own Sun. We’d never make it. We want only those with us who are willing, even eager.”

He was completely right. The campaign to win approval for leaving the Solar System began almost at once and the fact that the news had already leaked out served as a cushion to ease the reaction outside Rotor—and within it as well.

Some Rotorians were excited at the prospect; some were afraid.

Fisher reacted with thunderous brow, and one day he said, “This is crazy.”

“It’s inevitable,” said Insigna with careful neutrality.

“Why? There’s no reason to start wandering among the stars. Where would we go? There’s nothing out there.”

“There are billions of stars out there.”

“How many planets? We don’t know of any habitable planets anywhere, and very few of any other kind. Our Solar System is the only home we know.”

“Exploration is in the blood of humanity.” It was one of Pitt’s phrases.

“That’s romantic nonsense. Does anyone think that people are actually
going to vote to separate themselves
from humanity and vanish into space?”

Insigna said, “My understanding, Crile, is that sentiment on Rotor is rather in favor of it.”

“That’s just Council propaganda. You think people will vote to leave the Earth? Leave the Sun? Never. If it comes to that, we’ll be going to Earth.”

She felt something clutch at her heart. She said, “Oh no. Do you want one of those simoons, or blizzards, or mistrals, or whatever you call them? Do you want lumps of ice and falling water and blowing, whistling air?”

He lifted his eyebrows at her. “It’s not that bad. There are storms occasionally, but they can be predicted. Actually, they’re interesting—when they’re not too bad. It’s fascinating—a little cold, a little heat, a little precipitation. It makes for variation. It keeps you alive. And then, think of the variety of cuisines.”

“Cuisines? How can you say that? Most people on Earth are starving. We’re always collecting food shipments to send to Earth.”

“
Some
people go hungry. It’s not universal.”

“Well, you certainly can’t expect Marlene to live under such conditions.”

“Billions of children do.”

“And mine won’t be one of them,” said Insigna fiercely.

All her hopes lay in Marlene now. She was going on ten months of age, had two small teeth in the upper gum, two in the lower, could shamble about holding onto the rods of her playpen, and looked at the world with those wondering intelligent eyes.

Fisher was still clearly fond of his unpretty daughter; more fond than ever, in fact. When he wasn’t dandling her, he was staring at her and remarking fondly on her beautiful eyes. He stressed her one lovely feature and it seemed to make up to him for everything else that was lacking.

Surely Fisher would not go back to Earth if it meant leaving Marlene forever. Insigna, somehow, lacked any confidence that he would choose her, the woman he had
loved and married, over Earth, but surely Marlene would be the sticking point.

Surely?

The day after the vote, Eugenia Insigna found Fisher white with rage. He said, or choked out, “It was a fixed vote.”

She said, “Sh! You’ll wake the baby.”

And for a moment, he grimaced and visibly held his breath.

Insigna relaxed just a bit and said in a small voice, “There’s no question that the people want to go.”

“Did
you
vote to go?”

She considered. There was no use trying to placate him by lying. She had made her feelings obvious enough. She said, “I did.”

He said, “Pitt ordered you to, I suppose.”

That caught her by surprise. “No! I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

“But you and he—” He let it trail off.

She felt her blood pressure rise suddenly. “What do you mean?” she said, angry now in her turn. Was he going to accuse her of infidelity?

“That—that politician. He’s heading for Commissioner at any price. Everyone knows that. And you’re planning to rise with him. Political loyalty will get you someplace, too, won’t it?”

“Where will it get me? There’s no place I want to get. I’m an astronomer, not a politician.”

“You’ve been promoted, haven’t you? You’ve been pushed over the head of older, more experienced people.”

“Through hard work, I like to think.” (How was she going to defend herself now, without being able to tell him the truth?)