Patron of the Arts

One of the things I had learned the hard way, but that Nova seemed to understand instinctively was that each person has only his or her kind of love to give, not your own kind. I felt fortunate that the kinds that we gave each other were so alike.

I also had learned that you cannot love a person all the way unless the way was open. What is better to do than love, to be in love, or even to anticipate love?

Love is ego turned inside out, but there must be time spent between loves. I had spent that time wildly and foolishly, and now it was another time. It was time to be the royal escort to the Queen of Mars, by appointment, Lover to the Princess Nova, to be Brian and Nova, perhaps even to be BrianandNova, NovaandBrian.

I must admit she did a fine job of keeping the various proNova factions from exploding. It had been our conceit that it took the other passengers two weeks to find that we were sleeping together, but perhaps lovers are the last to know that others know. To keep the others from becoming too jealous, she spent much of her time dancing and smiling and dining with other men, from the Captain to the lowest rating. Naturally, that drove me crazy, an emotion I found both foreign and degrading. Brian Thorne would never have gotten jealous. But I was Diego Braddock.

The month was both short and long. It seemed, in one way, as though we were suddenly there, and yet, in another, it was a long trip because so much happened.

Plump Miss Blount had affaires de coeur with the ranking Marine, with the ship’s Number Two, and with the wispy little technician she would become engaged to by trip’s end. One of the nurses was the subject of a duel between a crewman and one of the Marines. The Marine won and was court-martialed.

There was considerable bed-hopping, which was to be expected, and I felt fortunate in having to deck only two men, a torch-watcher who jumped me and damned near killed me, and the biologist, who had named a variant strain of Glycine soja the Nova in hopes of attracting her attention. He went zongo during a quiet party in the lounge and was sedated for the remainder of the journey. It was Nova’s own sweet nature that kept most of the men at bay, and she handled any problems with grace and tact. It is always better to have the woman at least attempt to smooth over ruffled egos. It leaves everyone in a better mood than the aftermath of any violence. I hardly think violence shows an inner strength, but tact and mildness should not be considered weakness, either.

Other things happened as well, like passing close to a robot ore ship on the long, cheap, slow route to Earth orbit, and having a fine look at a phenomenal solar flare. Nothing spectacular, but they broke the monotony of space travel.

Nova and I did not involve ourselves much with the ship’s passengers and crew, although there were numerous organized activities that kept the passengers from being idle. At first we were invited to join a handball team, or to go to one of Miss Blount’s gourmet dinners, but soon the invitations dwindled as we politely declined again and again. Most of the time we explored one another. Nova showed an amazing knowledge of Martian archaeology. “I played in the Star Palace as a child, and sat on the throne in the Great Hall, playing Queen of Mars to Georgie’s Grand Vizier and Sabra’s Counterqueen. I was just a baby, practically, when Martian Explorations made all the big finds. Evans used to put me up on his lap and we’d go over the holos together. I used an emerald crystal from the Palace for a paperweight.”

“Where do you think the Martians went, or what happened to them?” I asked.

“They ran their cycle, I suppose. They grew up, matured, aged, went senile, and died. Like every other race. Where are the Assyrians, the Maya? Ragged remnants absorbed into other cultures, only on Mars there is no other, absorbent culture. So they died off, like the dinosaurs, the tigers, the musk ox . . .”

“What about all those legends of supermartians developing into creatures of pure energy?”

“Legends. Human legends. Human wish-fulfillment, like creating God in their image so they could understand him. Maybe they’re right, maybe the Secret Knowledge Foundation has a lock on the truth. With about thirty galaxies for every human being on Earth there is room enough for almost anything,” she said.

“And that’s in this universe.”

“Oh, concepts like that are just unreal! It would take a mind or a computer or something much bigger than mine to comprehend more than one universe. Even the idea of black holes popping out of space-as-we-know-it and popping back in as quasars is something very difficult to understand.”

“If it’s true,” I said, “then it’s comforting to know there is an outside and an inside. If there’s an ‘outside’ then there might be another universe. If there’s another, there might be universii.”

“There’s no such word, Diego.”

“I was just checking your alertness. How about universia?”

“No, Diego. The idea of black holes popping out and in is scary. What would happen if there were too many holes punched? The whole thing might fall apart!”