Nemesis (33 page)

“But it’s barren—dead. Except for
germs
,” Insigna said spitefully.

“But someday we’ll put life of our own upon it.” Marlene looked away, her eyes lost in dreaming. “I’m sure of it,” she said.

“The E-suit is a simple suit,” said Siever Genarr. “It doesn’t have to withstand pressure. It’s not a diving suit or a spacesuit. It has a helmet, and it has a compressed air supply that can be regenerated, and a small heat-exchange unit that keeps the temperature comfortable. And it’s airtight, obviously.”

“Will it fit me?” asked Marlene, looking at the display of thickish pseudo-textile material with distaste.

“Not fashionably so,” said Genarr, his eyes twinkling. “It isn’t made for beauty, but for use.”

Marlene said in a slightly exasperated tone, “I’m not interested in looking beautiful, Uncle Siever, but I don’t want to be slopping around in it. If it makes walking hard, it won’t be worth it.”

Eugenia Insigna interrupted. She had been watching, a little white-faced and pinch-lipped. “The suit is necessary to protect you, Marlene. I don’t care how sloppy it is.”

“But it doesn’t have to be uncomfortable, Mother, does it? If it happens to fit, it would protect me just the same.”

“This will fit fairly well, actually,” said Genarr. “It’s the best we could find. After all, we only have them in adult sizes.” He turned his head toward Insigna. “We don’t use them much these days. There was a time after the Plague died down that we did some exploring, but by now we know the immediate surroundings quite well, and on the rare occasions we do go out, we tend to use enclosed E-cars.”

“I wish you’d use an enclosed E-car now.”

“No,” said Marlene, obviously pained at the suggestion. I’ve been out in a vehicle. I want to walk. I want to—feel the ground.”

“You’re mad,” said Insigna discontentedly.

Marlene fired back, “Will you stop implying—”

“Where’s your perceptivity? I wasn’t referring to the Plague. I mean just plain mad, just mad in the ordinary sense. I mean— Please, Marlene, you’re driving me mad, as well.”

She then said, “Siever, if these are old E-suits, how do you know they don’t leak?”

“Because we’ve tested them, Eugenia. I assure you they’re in good working order. Remember, I’m going out with her, and also in a suit.”

Insigna was clearly seeking objections. “And suppose you suddenly have to—” She waved her hand meaninglessly.

“Urinate? Is that what you mean? That can be taken care of, though it’s not comfortable. Still, it won’t arise. We’ve emptied our bladders and we’re good for several hours—or should be. And we’re not venturing far off, so in case of emergency, we can come back to the Dome. We ought to leave now, Eugenia. Conditions are good outside and we should take advantage of that. Here, Marlene, let me help you with your suit.”

Insigna said sharply, “Don’t sound so happy.”

“Why not? To tell you the truth, I would like to step out myself. The Dome can easily start to feel like a prison, you know. Maybe if we all stepped out more, our people could endure longer shifts in the Dome. There you are, Marlene, we only have to fit on the helmet, now.”

Marlene hesitated. “Just a minute, Uncle Siever.” She walked toward Insigna, holding out her arm, suited and bulky.

Insigna gazed at her mournfully.

“Mother,” said Marlene. “Once again,
please
be calm. I love you and I wouldn’t do this and cause you such anxiety just to please myself. I do it only because I know I will be fine and that you need not be anxious. And I bet you want to get into an E-suit also, so you can come out and never lose sight of me, but you mustn’t.”

“Why mustn’t I, Marlene? How will I forgive myself if something happens to you and I’m not there to help you?”

“But nothing will happen to me. And even if something does, which it won’t, what could you do about it? Besides, you’re so afraid of Erythro that your mind is probably open to all kinds of abnormal effects. What if the Plague should strike you rather than me? How would you expect me to live with
that?
”

“She’s right, Eugenia,” said Genarr. “I’ll be out there with her, and the best thing you can do is stay here and remain calm. All E-suits are equipped with radios. Marlene and I will be able to hear each other, and we will be
in communication with the Dome. I promise you, if she behaves queerly in any way at all, if there is even the suspicion of oddness, I’ll have her inside the Dome at once. And if I feel in any way not quite my own normal self, I will come back at once, bringing Marlene with me.”

Insigna shook her head and did not look comforted as she watched the helmet being fitted first over Marlene’s head, and then over Genarr’s.

They were near the Dome’s main airlock and Insigna watched its manipulation. She knew the lock procedure perfectly well—one could scarcely be a Settler otherwise.

There was the delicate control of air pressure to make sure that there would be a gentle transfer of air from the Dome outward, never from Erythro inward. There were computerized checks at every moment to make sure there were no leaks.

And then the inner door opened. Genarr stepped into the airlock and beckoned Marlene inward. She followed, and the door closed. The two were lost to immediate sight. Insigna distinctly felt her heart miss a beat.

She watched the controls and knew exactly when the outer door slid open and, then, when it closed again. The holoscreen sprang to life and she could see the two suited figures on it, standing on the barren soil of Erythro.

One of the engineers handed a small earplug to Insigna, who inserted it into her right ear. An equally small microphone was fitted over her head.

A voice in her ear said, “Radio contact,” and at once, the familiar voice of Marlene sounded. “Can you hear me, Mother?”

“Yes, dear,” said Insigna. Her voice sounded dry and abnormal in her own ear.

“We’re out here and it’s wonderful. It couldn’t be nicer.”

“Yes, dear,” Insigna repeated, feeling hollow and lost and wondering whether she would ever see her daughter in her right mind again.

Siever Genarr felt almost lighthearted as he stepped out upon the surface of Erythro. The sloping wall of the Dome, behind him, reached upward, but he kept his back to it, for a sight so un-Erythronian would have spoiled the savor of the world.

Savor? It was a queer word to use for Erythro, for at the moment it had no meaning. He lived behind the protection of his helmet, breathing the air of the Dome, or at least the air that had been purified and conditioned within the Dome. He could not smell the planet, or taste it, within that shelter.

And yet there was a feel to it that made him oddly happy. His boots crunched slightly upon the ground. Although Erythro’s surface was not rocky, it was rather gravelly and, between the bits of gravel, there was what he could only describe as soil. There was, of course, ample water and air to break up the primordial surface rock and, perhaps, the ubiquitous prokaryotes had, in their countless trillions, added their own work patiently over the billions of years.

The soil felt soft. It had rained the day before, the soft and steady misty rain of Erythro—or at least of this portion of Erythro. The soil still felt slightly damp as a result, and Genarr imagined the bits of soil, the tiny scraps of sand and loam and clay, each with its coat of water film that had been refreshed and renewed. In that film, prokaryotic cells lived happily, basking in the energy of Nemesis, building complex proteins out of simple ones, while other prokaryotes, indifferent to solar energy, made use, instead of the energy content of the remnants of those prokaryotes that, in their countless trillions, died during each moment of time.

Marlene was at his side. She was looking upward, and Genarr said gently, “Don’t stare at Nemesis, Marlene.”

Marlene’s voice sounded naturally in his ear. It contained no tension or apprehension. Rather, her voice was filled with quiet joy. She said, “I’m looking at the clouds, Uncle Siever.”

Genarr looked up into the dark sky where, by squinting for a while, one could detect a faint greenish-yellow
gleam. Against it were the feathery fair-weather clouds that caught Nemesis’ light and reflected it in orange splendor.

There was an eerie quiet about Erythro. There was nothing to make a sound. No form of life sang, roared, growled, bellowed, twittered, stridulated, or creaked. There were no leaves to rustle, no insects to hum. In the rare storms, there might be the rumble of thunder, or the wind might sigh against the occasional boulder—if it blew hard enough. On a peaceful, calm day, however, as this one was, it was silent.

Genarr spoke just to make sure that it was quiet and that he had not suddenly been struck deaf. (He couldn’t have been, to be sure, for he heard the faint rasp of his own breath.)

“Are you all right, Marlene?”

“I feel wonderful. There’s a brook up there.” And she hastened her steps into an almost shambling run, hampered as she was by her E-suit.

He said, “Watch out, Marlene. You’ll slip.”

“I’ll be careful.” Her voice was not dimmed by increasing distance, of course, since it was a radio beam that carried it.

Eugenia Insigna’s voice sounded suddenly in Genarr’s ear. “Why is Marlene running, Siever?” Then, almost at once, she added, “Why are you running, Marlene?”

Marlene did not bother to answer, but Genarr said, “She just wants to look at some creek or other up ahead, Eugenia.”

“Is she all right?”

“Of course she is. It’s weirdly beautiful out here. After a while, it doesn’t even seem barren—more like an abstract painting.”

“Never mind the art criticism, Siever. Don’t let her get away from you.”

“Don’t worry. I’m in constant contact with her. Right now, she hears what you and I are saying, and if she doesn’t answer, it’s because she doesn’t want to be bothered by irrelevancies. Eugenia, relax. Marlene is enjoying herself. Don’t spoil it.”

Genarr was indeed convinced that Marlene was enjoying herself. Somehow he was, too.

Marlene was running upstream along the brook’s edge.
Genarr felt no great urgency to follow her. Let her enjoy herself, he thought.

The Dome itself was built on a rocky outcropping, but the region in this direction was interlaced with small gently flowing brooks that all combined into a rather large river some thirty kilometers away that, in turn, flowed into the sea.

The brooks were welcome, of course. They supplied the Dome with its natural water supply, once the prokaryote content was removed (actually, “killed” was the better word). There had been some biologists, in the early days of the Dome, who had objected to the killing of the prokaryotes, but that was ridiculous. The tiny specks of life were so incredibly numerous on the planet, and could proliferate so rapidly to replace any shrinkage of their numbers, that no amount of ordinary killing in the process of ensuring a water supply could hurt them in any significant way. Then, once the Plague began, a vague but strong hostility to Erythro rose up, and, after that, no one cared what one did to the prokaryotes.

Of course, now that the Plague did not seem to be much of a threat any longer, humanitarian feelings (Genarr privately felt that “biotarian” was the better word) might rise again. Genarr sympathized with those feelings, but then what would the Dome do for a water supply?

Lost in thought, he was no longer looking at Marlene, and the shriek sounded deafeningly in his ear. “Marlene! Marlene! Siever, what is she
doing?
”

Now he looked up, and was about to answer with automatic reassurance that nothing was wrong, that all was well, when he caught sight of Marlene.

For a moment, he could not tell what she was doing. He just stared at her in the pink light of Nemesis.

Then he made it out. She was unhitching her helmet and was taking it off. Now she was working at removing the rest of her E-suit.

He had to stop this!

Genarr tried to call out to her, but in the horror of the emergency, he couldn’t find his voice. He tried to run to her, but his legs felt leaden, and barely responded to the urgency of his feelings.

It was as though he found himself in a nightmare
where dreadful things were happening, and he could do nothing to prevent them. Or, perhaps, his mind, under the stress of events, was dissociating from his body.

Is this the Plague, striking at
me?
Genarr wondered in panic. And, if so, what will happen to Marlene now, as she is baring herself to the light of Nemesis and the air of Erythro?

Crile Fisher had seen Igor Koropatsky only twice in the three years since he had assumed the post formerly held by Tanayama, and had become the actual—if not the titular—head of the project.

He had no trouble recognizing him, however, when the photo-entry had signaled his image. Koropatsky was still his portly, outwardly genial self. He was dressed well, with a large and fluffy cravat in the latest style.

As for Fisher, he had been relaxing through the morning and was scarcely presentable, but one did not refuse to receive Koropatsky, even when he came without warning.

Fisher signaled the tactful “Hold” image, the cartoon figure of a welcoming host (or hostess, for the sex was made conventionally ambiguous) with a hand upraised delicately in a gesture that was universally understood to mean “Just a minute” without the crassness of actually saying so.

Fisher had a few moments to comb his hair and adjust his clothes. He might have shaved, but he felt that Koropatsky would consider any further delay insulting.

The door slid aside and Koropatsky walked in. He smiled pleasantly and said, “Good morning, Fisher. I intrude upon you, I know.”

“No intrusion, Director,” said Fisher, making an effort to sound sincere, “but if you wish to see Dr. Wendel, she is, I’m afraid, at the ship.”

Koropatsky grunted. “You know, I rather thought she might be. I have no choice, then, but to talk to you. May I sit down?”

“Yes, of course, Director,” said Fisher, chagrined at not
having offered Koropatsky a seat before the request was made. “Would you care for refreshment?”