Asimov's Science Fiction: July 2013 (3 page)

I still wasn't bored with the job, with Mil Div or the Diplomatic Corps. I still had a good nine hundred species to encounter. So I hadn't come to Ariana because I'd gotten bored. I'd come because I was tired. For the first time, I'd come to a fork and not known which way to go.

I fell asleep on the last few miles of driving to the farm, and even though I protested that I was fine, Zelda diagnosed rocket lag and put me to bed. My own bed, in a wide room that would have fit four cabins on the
Raja Ampat,
with wood-paneled walls and gauze curtains. A room with a window. It was novel.

Zelda hung a blanket over the window to cut out the sunlight, and I slept for twelve standard hours.

After waking up, I wandered into the kitchen wrapped in a soft cotton robe Zelda had left for me. I ran my hands along the wood-paneled walls. Real wood, which seemed extravagant to eyes used to sleek metal and plastiform. The texture of it intrigued me, and Mim found me in the living room, hands pressed to the walls, caressing them.

"You okay?" she asked, and I blinked back to wakefulness. I was fine.

Mim stuffed food and coffee into me—fresh coffee, grown on another continent on Ariana, was a revelation. My medical alert had reset itself overnight and went off again, ranting about excessive addictive compounds and potential for systemic overload. That was the point, I muttered at it. I got dressed, wandered outside, and Tom and Zelda taught me how to milk goats. It was the most visceral, organic thing I'd ever done in my life, except for eating and sex.

The goats reminded me of at least a couple of species I'd dealt with. Their eyes with the warped pupils, their f lopping accidental ears. Their tempers, expressed in the way they bounced on sharp hooves and bleated indignantly. Hell, I'd met ambassadors who sounded like that.

My visit didn't stop the others from working—work never let up on a farm, with goats and chickens to feed and garden plots to weed and the rest. I was happy enough to sit, watch, and not think about much of anything in particular.

I slept another ten hours, amazed that I hadn't noticed how tired I was. Ten missions on thirteen worlds in the last year alone—I should have noticed. No wonder Song wanted me to take time off.

I thought about calling Captain Song, or better yet the XO, Achebe, to find out if an initial report on the Cancri Four incident had been issued yet, and what it said about me. Had my abrupt disappearance started any rumors? I wasn't sure I cared, but it would be nice to know.

I finally had a chance to unpack and distribute the gifts I'd brought: a silk tunic-style shirt for Zelda, who tried it on immediately, then spun and admired the way the light played off the blue and yellow abstract pattern; a string of hand-made glass beads for Mim; and a bottle of scotch for Tom. Gifts quickly chosen from an import boutique at the Cancri transit station when I realized I'd be coming to visit. They seemed appreciative.

Then came another meal: potatoes, chicken, asparagus, more herbs, goat butter, and candied peaches for dessert. The rich fresh food did, in fact, upset my digestion,
and the medical alert went off again, and I shut it down, again. The parameters were set too conservatively, which on a mission was fine, but on vacation? You were supposed to overindulge on vacation. I could imagine the
Raja Ampat
's physician down-loading the record and raising an eyebrow at me. Assuming I ever went back. Never mind. A couple of pills took care of the problem. In that, at least, I'd come prepared. Alien world, indeed.

Over dinner, we talked about the baby. They were arguing names. Wendy was on the list, but I shot down the idea as too confusing. Eva, I liked.

After dinner, Zelda and Mim went out to check the barns, lock up the goats for the night, and turn on the perimeter fence. The original terraformers had imported coyotes to serve as the ecosystem's apex predators and as pest control for the inevitable rodent infestations, and they'd become a problem for farmers with livestock. The fence had motion-activated laser deterrents that singed without killing. Zelda didn't want to kill the predators. The canines had mostly learned to stay away.

I helped Tom clean up the kitchen. He was of average height, with broad shoulders, his brown skin burnished by sun and wind. A farmer's life seemed to suit him. Back in the day, when Zelda and Mim had first hooked up, we'd had a f ling. Recreational and satisfying. Could have grown into more, maybe. I could have come with them to Ariana, but I'd picked Mil Div. One of those long-gone forks in the road.

He kept throwing sidelong glances at me, a wry smile on his lips. Finally I said, "Why don't you pour me a glass of wine and we can talk." So he did, and we sat across the kitchen table from one another.

He took a sip. "Zelda keeps thinking you'll be ready to retire soon and finally come stay with us. We could use the help."

I flushed, because as far as they were concerned, I was on vacation. I hadn't told them about the review, about my attempt to resign, or anything. How much did Tom guess? "I've thought about it," I said, quietly, cryptically.

"You didn't tell everything about what happened on Cancri Four, did you? What else happened?" His eyes widened. "They're not kicking you out, are they?"

"No, not yet," I said. "But I offered to take early retirement."

Was that a f lash of hope in his gaze, and did my heart sink a little, seeing it?

"My offer was not initially accepted," I added. "I'm supposed to be here thinking it over."

"I'm glad you came," he said, heartfelt. It wasn't just Zelda who wanted me to stay.

My eyes stung, yet again. I was never usually this weepy. "I have a confession," I said, studying the ruby liquid in my glass. "I'm amazed you guys have made it this long. I'm amazed
you've
stuck it out this long. I love those two dearly but they drive me crazy sometimes."

Tom said, "I like it here. I want a family. This is a good family. Zelda and Mim are the right kind of crazy." He ducked, smiled. The love in the room was thick, apparent. "With the sprout on the way...we've decided on three. But I think we can talk the natal council into a couple more. We've got the space and savings for it."

"Five kids. You want five kids?"

"I want a
big
family. Can't get that on a starship." He held out the vision like bait. Five little Zeldas running around... No, five Zeldas, Mims and Toms. With a herd of goats and fifty acres of farm, with blackberry brambles and apple trees. Like something out of a story. A myth.

"I'm in awe." My stare had become a bit glazed, thinking of five little Zeldas. I couldn't imagine it. It had never occurred to me to imagine it. It still didn't.

"You shouldn't be. This is what everyone used to do. But what you do..." He shook his head in vague explanation, as if he didn't even know what I did. Maybe he didn't. He continued, "If you decide you want a family, this is the place for it. But I guess you

kind of have a family already, with Mil Div and your ship and all." He glanced away, blushing in apology.

That gave me an unexpected pang, because as soon as he said it I thought of Captain Song, and Achebe, and my squad and even Sergeant Barrett who ran the mess hall. I could picture them all, perfectly. "I guess so," I said. "I don't have any regrets, Tom, if that's what you're asking."

"No, it's not what I'm asking. I just thought you might be ready for a change."

I couldn't have had this talk with Zelda, who wouldn't understand why I loved to travel at all, and would have become f lustered trying. Nearly every message she sent me, she asked when I was coming home. But I'd always believed what I told Captain Song: I didn't have a home.

We finished our wine just as Zelda and Mim came in. I told Tom, "I'll think about it. I'm here to think about it."

Zelda stared. "You talked? Tom, did you talk to her? Wendy, what did you decide?"

"I decided to think about it," I said.

Zelda looked at the ceiling and groaned in frustration. "We'll just have to keep stuffing with you wine until you agree to stay."

Sounded like a good plan to me.

I got a bad sunburn my second week on Ariana. After the first week of napping and eating and more sleeping, I'd woken up and felt the need to do something, so Zelda took me to the coast and we'd gone for a hike on a trail overlooking ocean. Ocean was something I didn't see very often, and I must have spent an hour just staring out.

Zelda was very apologetic—they had sunblock lotion, but they all spent so much time outside they'd gotten tan enough that it didn't matter. They wore wide-brimmed hats to keep the sun off, and she hadn't thought to get a hat for me.

I assured her that I didn't mind. "It's just so nice feeling the warmth off a G-type main sequence star, it's worth a little burn." Really, the redness felt like carrying the sun inside with me, which made me smile.

Zelda had stared at me for a minute. Like I'd been speaking a different language, there. "Weird," She said finally, shaking her head.

Yeah.

They babied me with aloe for my face, the big f luffy bed and clean, sun-dried bedding, and lots and lots of food. I was gaining weight by the day, enough to throw off fuel calculations for a drop shuttle. I wasn't sure I deserved all the attention from Zelda and the others, however much they kept going on about their interstellar heroic sister and begging me for stories. They weren't really celebrating the Mil Div hero, of which there were hundreds; they were celebrating me because I was family. I was
their
Mil Div hero.

After that first week, I sent a short message to Achebe asking for news and the mood of the ship. Just out of curiosity.

We played card games by the fireplace in the evenings, Zelda and the others teaching me the ones they'd learned on Ariana, me teaching the ones I'd learned on my travels. Tom lit a fire, not because it was cold but because I was amazed that they actually burned organic materials with open f lame. Oxygen-devouring open f lame. They had air to burn, on a planet like this. Once I remembered to breathe, I could appreciate the fire's smoky warmth, the friendly crackling of the burning wood.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Mim asked. I must have been acting like a freak. I always said yes.

I tried to imagine myself as part of the routine here. Milking goats, treading in gravity. Babysitting. Something attractive about that kind of life. It was something we talked about on the ship sometimes. Most Mil Div folk had this assumption that if we managed to survive, we would retire one day to plots of land on bucolic worlds like Ariana, with spouses and babies and green growing things. I'd send them pictures of the coast and cliffs, breaking waves, blossoms in the trees, and they'd sigh with envy. And then they'd all sign up for another tour.

A couple of times a week, supper was a production because Tom came back from the market in Sage with treasures, fresh foodstuffs they didn't grow themselves, sausages and vegetables that were specialties on other farms. Tom sold their own specialties that didn't go to the wholesalers. Lots of bartering, which seemed to me to be just as exotic as the wood paneling and sunburns.

He and Mim cooked, Zelda cleaned house, and they wouldn't let me help, and I wondered if I'd ever be allowed to help. Or would I be their showpiece, their exotic space-faring sometime-sister. They'd throw parties and I'd tell stories about blasting my team's drones on Cancri, for entertainment.

Mim let me pour wine. We gathered around the table, and Tom brought out a wide platter and gave us each a serving.

My plate landed in front of me, and I choked, gagging on a sensation of horror. The center of the meal was a wide, round shining slab that might have been dense vegetable, marinated and roasted, or some kind of spineless fish. Its color was a deep, rich purple, almost black and pale, and it had been sliced lengthwise, skin side facing out, and garnished with greens, and some kind of cheese was dribbled and melted over it. I'd never seen any food like it. It was alien. Familiarly alien.

I couldn't possibly disguise my expression of open-mouthed shock. The others ceased their noises of delight at the feast and stared at me staring at my plate.

How could I explain? "I'm sorry, but... it looks like someone I know."

Zelda put her hand over her mouth to hide a smile.

"Wendy," Tom said. "It's eggplant.

It's just eggplant." And I knew that, of course I knew that, I'd been warned in all the brief ings before the Heeban mission, that the Heeban delegates were gas-giant dwellers and had air bladders that allowed them to f loat at altitude, but also made them look like eggplants. Some of the negotiators had still expressed shock upon meeting the Heebans. It had been abstract to me, who had never seen an eggplant, and so wasn't bothered at all. And now, finally confronted with an eggplant, I discovered that the Heebans didn't look like eggplants; rather, eggplants looked like the Heebans. It was an intriguing cognitive difference that I'd have to talk to the linguistics and psych people about later.

"I know, and I'm sorry, I know how hard you worked making this. It's just food." Determined, I hefted my knife and fork, swallowed hard against a gag ref lex, and tried to cut.

"These consumables have not passed Mil Div testing standards. Non pasteurized, non sterilized—"

I put down my utensils and rested my head on my hands. I just couldn't do it. Zelda rolled her eyes. "Oh Wendy, you're so
weird."

It was something Zelda always said, ever since we were little, but the words had a different f lavor this time. They'd never cut, before. I'd never felt like I'd done something
wrong
before.

"I'm not trying to be." I should have kept quiet and eaten the damn thing.

No, I shouldn't have. I had a right to say no to what turned my stomach. Not to eat something that looked like a friend.

I said, "They're called the Heeban, and I was part of a team negotiating with them

for hydrogen mining rights. They're about this big"—I showed a space with my hands the size of my head—"and they're made mostly of air bladders that let them swim in the dense atmosphere. And they're mostly really nice—"