Starborne (8 page)

In the aftermath of the wrestling match they sit facing one another along the edge of the tank, unable to stop laughing: one will start, and set off the oth
er two, and around and around it goes. Elizabeth
’
s pallid meager body is rosy now from the underwater frolic; her flesh glows, her small breasts heave. Paco studies her with a proprietary air, and Heinz amiably contemplates them both as if planning to spr
e
ad his long arms about them both and pull them in again.

The air in the small, brightly lit room is warm and steamy. A volu
p
tuous abundant torrent of warm water splashes down from the fountai
n
head set in the tiled wall. No one worries about water shortages
aboard the
Wotan
: every drop, urine and sweat and the vapor of everybody
’
s breath included, is rigorously recaptured and purified and aerated and chilled and recycled, and not a molecule of it ever goes to waste. The baths are Roman in sensuousness if not
in scale: the room is compact but elegantly appointed, and there is a hot tank, a tepid one, and a frigid one, something for all tastes. Up to nine or ten people can use the baths at the same time, though in practice a certain amount of exclusiveness is
a
fforded those who are in any sort of bonded relationship. Three small rooms adjacent to the tank chamber have beds in them. Much of the ship
’
s erotic activity goes on in those rooms.

Elizabeth says in a serious tone, when the three of them are calm again,
“
I don
’
t deny that I
’
m attracted to him. And not just for his body, though he
’
s certainly a handsome man. But his mind
—
that mysterious, complicated, opaque mind of his
—”

“
The mind of a mystic,”
Paco says, with unconcealed contempt. “
The mind of a monk, yes
.”

“
He
’
s been a monk,”
Elizabeth retorts, “
but he
’
s been a lot of other things too. You can
’
t pin him down in any one category. And I don
’
t think he
’
s as ascetic as you seem to believe. The Lofoten monastery isn
’
t famous for vows of chastity.”

“
Oh, he
’
s no
ascetic,”
Heinz says. “
I can testify to that.”

Elizabeth and Paco whirl to gape at him. “
You
?”
they both say, at the same time.

Heinz chuckles lazily. “
Oh, no, not what you
’
re thinking. He
’
s not really my type. Too inward, too elusive. But I can see the p
assion in him. You don
’
t have to go to bed with him to know that. It
’
s there. Plenty of it. It streams from him like sunlight.”

“
There,”
Elizabeth says to Paco. “
Ice outside, maybe, but fire wit
h
in.”

“
And,”
Heinz continues, “
I
’
m quite certain that he
’
s bee
n sleeping with somebody on board.”

“
Who?”
Elizabeth asks, very quickly.

Another lazy chuckle. “
Your guess is as good as mine, and mine is no good at all. I haven
’
t been spying on him. I
’
m only saying that he moves around this ship like a cat, and knows ev
ery hidden corner of it better even than the man who designed it, and I
’
m certain that a man of his force, of his virility, is getting a little action somewhere, in some part of the ship that we don
’
t even suspect can be used for some stuff, and with some
partner who
’
s keeping very quiet about what
’
s going on. That
’
s all.”

“
I hope you
’
re right,”
says Elizabeth, forcing a broad lascivious grin not at all in keeping with the austere scholarly angularity of her face. “
And when he
’
s done with her, whoever she i
s, I
’
d gladly volunteer to be his next secret playmate.”

“
He doesn
’
t want you,”
Paco says.

Elizabeth meets this casual dismissal of her fantasies with a disdai
n
ful wave of her hand. “
Oh, I don
’
t think you can be so sure of that.”

“
Oh, but I am, I am,”
Paco
replies. “
It
’
s only too obvious. You keep sending him signals
—
everyone can see that, you stare at him like a lovesick child
—
and what does he send you in response? Nothing. Nothing. I don
’
t mean to cast any personal aspersions, Liz. You know there are ple
n
ty of men who find you attractive. He doesn
’
t happen to be one of them.”
Elizabeth is staring wide-eyed at him, and pain is visible in her rigid unblinking gaze. But Paco will not stop. “
There
’
s no
—
what is the term?
—
no chemistry between you and our year-c
a
ptain. Or else he
’
s a master at masking his emotions, but if he
’
s that good at playing a part he should have had a more successful career as an actor than he did. No, he just isn
’
t interested in you, my love. You must not be his type, whatever that is. Ju
s
t as he isn
’
t Heinz
’
s. There
’
s no accounting for th
e
se things, you know.”

Sadly Heinz says, “
I think Paco
’
s right. But not for the same reasons, exactly.”

“
Oh?”

“
You may or may not be the captain
’
s type. Who can say? I
’
ve a
l
ready said I think he
’
s got some
one for casual sex, and if we knew who he or she is, we
’
d have more of an idea about his type. But you
’
re up against another problem that goes beyond his choice of casual bedmates. He sleeps with someone, yes, very likely, but even so his emotions are foc
u
sed somewhere else, and that
’
s too complicated a something for you to deal with. The year-captain is in love, don
’
t you realize that? I
’
m not talking about sex, now, but love. And it
’
s a love that
’
s impossible to consummate.”

“
Yes, it
’
s obvious. He
’
s in lo
ve with himself,”
says Paco.

“
You
’
re such a filthy boor,”
Elizabeth says. She glances toward Heinz. “
What are you talking about? Who do you imagine he
’
s in love with?”

“
The one untouchable person aboard this ship. The one who floats through our lives like
some kind of being from another sphere of exis
t
ence. I can see it written all over his face, whenever he
’
s within twenty meters of her. The blind girl, that
’
s who he wants. Noelle. And he
’
s afraid to do anything about it, and it
’
s agony for him. For God
’
s
sake, can
’
t you tell?”

***

“
Captain?”
Noelle says. “
It
’
s me, Noelle.”

The year-captain looks up, startled. He is not expecting her. It is late afternoon, the last day of the voyage
’
s fifth month. He is working alone in the control cabin, poring over a thic
k batch of documents that Zed Hesper has brought him: a new set of formal analyses of three or four of his best prospects for a planetary landing, set forth in much greater d
e
tail than Hesper has been able to supply previously.

For the first time, the year
-captain has begun to pay serious attention to such things. Half his term of office is over, and he is thinking beyond his captaincy, to the time when he will have reverted to his primary sp
e
cialty of xenobiology. He can
’
t practice that aboard the
Wotan
. H
e needs an actual alien planet as his scene of operations. He has walked alien worlds before, not only Earth
’
s neighbor planets but also the bleak strange moons of the gas-giant worlds beyond the orbit of Mars: Titan, Iapetus, Callisto, Ganymede, Io. The
e
xultation of finding splotches of life on those cold forbidding worldlets, extraterrestrial microorganisms rugged beyond belief
—
supreme moments of his life, those were, the astounding discovery in the sulfurous landscape of Io, and then again on Titan, wh
e
n he knelt and pointed into methane-ammonia snowdrifts at the tiny astonishing spots of burnt orange against the glaring white! And so he will certainly want to be a member of the first landing team, where his intuitive skills will be valuable on a world
f
ull of strange and pe
r
haps challenging life-forms of unpredictably strange biochemical cha
r
acteristics; but as year-captain he would be obliged to remain aboard the vessel while others take the risks outside. That is the rule of the ship.

It is time, therefore, for him to pick the site of the first landing and head for it in these closing months of the first year, while he is still in command. The die will be cast, that way. That way the timing will be right for him to hand his executive r
e
sponsibilities on to his successor just as they arrive at their destination, and thus to be able to take part in the initial planetary expedition.

But here is Noelle, drifting silently, wraithlike, into the room where he is working. She looks older and les
s beautiful today than she usually seems to him: weary and drawn, so much so that she is almost transl
u
cent. She appears unusually vulnerable, as though a single harsh sound would shatter her.

“
I have the return transmission from Yvonne,”
she tells him. Th
ere is an oddly timid, tentative inflection in her voice that is not at all like her. He wonders if something terrible has taken place on Earth. But what could possibly go awry, on that torpid, tranquil world?

She hands him the small, clear data-cube on wh
ich she has archived her latest conversation with her sister on Earth. As Yvonne speaks in her mind, Noelle repeats each message aloud into a sensor disk, and it is captured on the cube.

He rests the cube on the palm of his hand and says to her, “
Are you a
ll right, Noelle? You look wiped out.”

A faint shrug. “
There was a little problem.”

He waits. She seems to be having trouble articulating her thoughts.

“
What kind of problem, Noelle?”
he says, finally.

“
With the transmission. I had some difficulty receivin
g it. Or r
a
ther
—
what I mean to say is, it wasn
’
t quite clear. It was
—
fuzzy.”

“
Fuzzy,”
the year-captain says. His voice is flat.

“
Distorted. Not much, but some. A kind of static around the edges of the signal.”

“
Static,”
he says, flatly again, playing for t
ime, trying to understand, though he does not really see how merely echoing her words will help him to do that. Yet what else can he do? “
Mental static,”
he says, loo
k
ing straight into her sightless eyes.