taking pix, measuring the magnetic field, mapping, and all the rest of it.”
“You finished?” Brennan asked.
“No. You blame me for bringing the birds. If what you say were correct-it’s not, but if it were-I’d deserve a medal. Neither of you found alien life. Not a speck. Not a trace. I found it, and returned to the ship with live specimens. You won’t concede a thing, I know. But if your accusation were correct, that would be the fact and I would be a hero.”
Ena said, “You say it’s not.”
“I do. The birds came into me while I was suited up, out in space. I told you they were there.”
Reluctantly, Ena nodded.
“I didn’t want to come back onto the ship, infected as I was. Brennan forced me to. If bringing my birds onto the ship was a crime, Brennan is the criminal. Not me.”
“You’re the one who sabotaged our mission,” Brennan said.
Ena raised her hand. “We’ve heard the accusation and Leif’s defense. I don’t want to get into it again.”
Leif said, “You promised me a chance to defend myself. I have one more thing to say. It will take less than a minute. May I do it?”
She nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Brennan threatens me with death. Surely you can see that I wanted to return to Beta Andromedae so that I could die there. I’ll suit up and go out again. You need only let me do it. Put a K beside my name in the log, and note that I was a suicide. It will be true, and if either of you is accused of my murder a veriscope reading will prove your innocence.”
Ena smiled. “Brennan?”
“I’m willing if you are.”
“I’m not. Not as it stands. You’ll have to do us a service first, Leif. Go through the ship and collect the birds. All of them. Get them back inside you. They went in once, and I think they’ll go in again if you approach them right. Do it, and we’ll go back as you ask and put you out.”
HE HAD SPREAD HIMSELF like a starfish, and the birds had flown. All of them-or nearly all. Now he blew like a dry leaf in the solar wind, revolving like a cartwheel.
His air was running out. His body would die; and that which would not die would be free at last, free to rove the universe and beyond.
Death waited beside him, warm and dark and friendly, and Leif could hardly wait.
IN HER CABIN, ENA smiled to herself as she shook the small brown bottle. She had caught the faint fragrance of Brennan’s aftershave when he relieved her on the bridge. He could not possibly have brought enough to last for half the voyage; thus he had hoarded some and was using it now.
The odor haunted her, delightful and unidentifiable. What aftershave had Walt used, what cologne? She had known those things once, but they were gone and only the memory of Brennan’s faint fragrance remained. Russian leather? Spice? Neither seemed correct.
Turning the bottle over in her hand, she reread the label she had read so often since finding the bottle in a food locker: ¬EE?IIE ¤IY?EOY.
She would smell like a cookie.
Opening the bottle, she applied the thin brown liquid it contained to five strategic spots.
Brennan would welcome her return. They would kiss, and she would unbutton his shirt. And then-
She interrupted the daydream to listen. A bird sang in her right wrist.
Carolyn Parkhurst. UNWELL
I WAS FEELING A BIT UNWELL, so I called Yvonne to come and sit with me. I believe that sisters have a responsibility to look out for one another, even though that doesn’t seem to be a popular view with everybody these days. I think that if more people would take their family responsibilities more seriously, then the world wouldn’t be in the kind of trouble…But the phone was ringing.
“Hello,” said Yvonne.
“Yvonne, I need you to come over this afternoon. I’m not well.”
I heard her sigh on the other end; I don’t believe she even tried to mask it. “Is it really important, Arlette? I’ve got a million wedding things to do.”
“Oh, the wedding. Is that coming up soon?”
“It’s Saturday, Arlette, and you know it.”
“Well, I hope I’ll be able to make it. I’ve been feeling weak all day, and I’m not at all sure I’ll be myself by Saturday.”
“Arlette, please don’t start…”
“Well, it’s hardly my fault if I’m ill. But perhaps if I had a little help…”
There was a long silence. I could just see her on the other end, wearing that outlandish engagement ring on her finger. A woman her age. “All right,” she said. “I’ll get Arthur to do some of my errands for me. I’ll be over in half an hour.”
We hung up, and I leaned back against my bed pillows, well pleased.
THE FACT IS, THIS should by all rights be my wedding. Yvonne and I met Arthur at the same time, and it was clear from the beginning that I was the one he was interested in. It used to be, in biblical times, and I believe some other notable points in history, that if there were two unmarried sisters, the younger one wasn’t allowed to be married before the elder. It was illegal. If the younger sister tried to break the rules and run off and get married anyway, they’d put her to death. I should tell that to Yvonne. They’d cut her head right off. It was just the way it was.
We met Arthur on a seniors’ cruise that Yvonne took me on in honor of my seventieth birthday. It was her idea, and not a very good one, I must say-the room was cramped, the food was terrible, and most of the other passengers were pathetic old bores. When Yvonne gave me the tickets, she had said, “Who knows? Maybe we’ll meet a couple of nice widowers,” but there were three women for every man, and what men there were were bald, toothless and demented. I actually saw one of them trying to eat soup with his fingers. So when Arthur walked into the dining room, tall and unstooped, with his full head of silver hair gleaming in the light from the nautical-themed chandeliers, all the old biddies in the room seemed to sit up a little straighter. And when he sat down next to me, I thought, Watch me. I am going to charm the pants off this man. So I started up a conversation about current events-test him, I thought, see if he’s still in possession of a fully functioning mind-and he seemed to be able to talk about something more than what kind of medication he was taking, which automatically made him a better dining companion than anyone else at the table. He and I chatted and laughed all through the meal, and Yvonne just sort of melted into the upholstery, as usual. It’s always been that way; there’s a softness to her, a sleepiness, that I can’t stand. If it weren’t for me, the world would have eaten her up long ago.
So Yvonne sat quietly and picked her way through her prime rib-no appetite on that girl, never has been-while I began laying the groundwork for my grand seduction. Things were going quite well, and I was sure I had him in my pocket. Arthur and Arlette, my mind kept singing, Arthur and Arlette. I was ecstatic, and God knows I deserve some happiness. Yvonne knows how lonely I’ve been since my Stephen passed away. She doesn’t mind being alone; she’s used to it. But I was made to be married, and in my mind I already had the church decorated, the flowers arranged artfully on the tables.
And then at the end of the meal, something odd happened. Arthur rose from his seat, helped me out of my chair and said, looking right at me, “Might I interest you in a walk in the moonlight, Yvonne?”
I felt a little prick of acid in my stomach, and my whole body tightened. I saw Yvonne raise her head hopefully, but I shot her a look. “Well,” I said to Arthur tartly, “I’d be a lot more interested if you tried calling me by the right name.”
For an instant, Arthur’s face turned cool as he flicked his eyes between me and Yvonne. Then he widened his eyes in a gentlemanly show of shock and proceeded to fall all over himself apologizing. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I must have misheard the introductions. So Yvonne is your sister?”
“That’s right,” I said. I drew my wrap around me, closing myself up. It’d take a little more wooing to make up
