“What are we celebrating?” Moira asked good-naturedly. “Not that it matters; we don’t need an excuse to throw a party. We could celebrate the passing of the orbit of Saturn.”
“Now that sounds like a good idea,” Teague said, “I’m eager to get some good, close shots of the rings —”
“We won’t be going too close,” Ravi told him, “the rings could be as dangerous as the asteroid belt!”
“I guess what we’re celebrating is being well out of range of the asteroid belt without any more damage,” Teague said, “or maybe celebrating whatever music we were playing that kept us out of range of the gym during that off-time!” During the two days past, they had meticulously stopped work only for the shared music session — all of them had an unspoken agreement that this was the one daily structure to their lives that would be violated only in the gravest of emergencies — but they had slept and eaten and done any other work aboard the Ship at odd hours.
“Well, officially,” Moira said, “what we’re celebrating is the re-opening of the gym. I’ll be glad to get some regular exercise at full gravity again.” As she spoke she felt again the twitch of unease, but told herself, sharply, not to go attributing every little neurotic twitch to her ESP. She had checked out the DeMags down to the solid core, this time, and Ching had personally checked every computer tie-in for the DeMags; it had been the first thing she had done, since it held the greatest potential for possible dangers.
“We’ll make the music session today a party, then,” Teague said. “I’ll speak to Fontana about breaking out some kind of special meal and drinks, and Ching told me once that she likes to cook, if it’s a special occasion and not just routine. I’ll ask her about it.”
As he spoke of Ching he smiled, and Moira, watching that smile, felt a sudden flare of jealousy. Teague was handsome, strong; she was certain he could give exciting experiences — but she knew Ching was undergoing the first flood of sexual awareness, centered all for the moment upon Teague. She didn’t wish to spoil that for Ching. Let her have her first affair untouched by any conflict. She’d learn, soon enough, how little it meant.
Strange, and I admired Ching so much because she didn’t feel she had to get involved in this kind of thing, and it turns out she’s just like the rest of us. Does everybody do it, then, try to make up for her — or maybe his — own insufficiencies by drowning self-awareness with sex? Look at Ravi, he’s still following me around with his tongue hanging out… I got so damned tired of that in the Academy, men following me as if I were a bitch in heat, even when I didn’t do a thing to turn them on. Sure, sex is fun, but when there’s work to do, I like to forget about sex and concentrate on what we’re doing.’ And Ravi’s got to learn he doesn’t own me.
But as they turned to leave the gym she caught a glimpse of Ravi’s unhappy eyes, and a twinge of conscience hit her.
I offered myself to Peake, I said; perhaps it might make you feel less alone. But was I really being kind to Peake, or was I simply intrigued, as he said, by the fact that he was one of the few men I hadn’t had? Is that why I want Teague, to satisfy my ego — that I can have any man, even one who’s involved with someone else?
And if I was willing to give myself to Peake to ease his loneliness, why can’t I do the same for Ravi, since it means so much to him and so little to me? She wondered why her pride should be so much more important to her than Ravi’s happiness, and then, mentally, she damned the whole male sex. Really, machinery was more important, it made no claims, played no elaborate ego games, and if it was damaged it could be repaired without any ego involvement. You could handle it as you wished, and it never made any claims on you, or complained of how you treated it.
The remainder of the crew welcomed the suggestion of a celebration; Ching and Fontana readily agreed to be in charge of a special meal after the music session that day. Teague asked permission to stay away until then, claiming that he wanted to photograph the rings of Saturn from the closest possible approach.
As Ching set the controls for cooking the specially asked-for foods, she felt strange, conspicuous. Every control she touched made her acutely aware of the computer tie-ins to Life Support; although she had checked the hardware inside the computer module, as well as the control console on the bridge, where it was tied to Life Support — it had been the first step of a job which she knew, rationally, was likely to take the better part of a year, by which time they would be far, far beyond the Solar System and have reached more than half the speed of light — she still felt insecure. Her own infallibility was shattered beyond repair. Even her body now felt strange to herself, as if she were no longer in undisputed possession of it. And Fontana’s proximity made her uncomfortable, too. All her life she had been aware that camaraderie between women usually came to an end where rivalry over a man began. It had never happened to her before because, during her years in the Academy, she had preserved her withdrawn, sexless lack of awareness, and had never challenged any woman for her male partner. Now, having achieved her first life-goal, being chosen for crew on the Ship, she had violated this rule against one of the women she hoped would be her friend.
One of the first friends she had ever had. She felt miserable, felt as if she could not face Fontana.
Fontana placed cups — regular disposable plastic, but somehow she had managed to program them to come out as cheerful cherry red — around the central table. “There,” she said. “Nothing left but the final warming, which will take about eighty seconds when they come in. Shall we pour ourselves a small dividend to anticipate, Ching, or shall we discipline ourselves to wait for the others?”
“Let’s wait for the others,” Ching said, then, suddenly, blurted out, “Are you angry with me, Fontana?”
“Angry with you, Ching? Why? Should I be?”
“Because you and Teague — and now—”
Fontana’s first thought was to say an immediate, My goodness, no! Don’t be silly, Ching! But a second’s thought changed that impulse; it would seem to take all too lightly what was all too evidently troubling Ching. She asked, choosing her words carefully, “Do you think I have some reason to be angry with you about that, Ching?”
Ching said, fiddling with the cup and not looking up at her, “Did you know about — about Teague and — and me?”
Once again Fontana wondered at Ching’s naivete; surprising in the self-sufficient, competent Ching. She, and the other four members of the crew, had all had a very good idea what was going on, when Teague had carried Ching out of the main cabin. What else did Ching think they could have thought? But she only said, “Yes, I knew. You weren’t making any special effort to hide it, were you?”
“You really don’t seem angry,” Ching said, surprised, and Fontana shook her head.
“No, I’m really not angry. Teague isn’t my property, and anyhow — well, Moira said it; it’s like one of those old-fashioned arranged marriages, only there are six of us. We are going to spend a long, long time together, all in the same boat and isolated. If any of us starts to feel as if any other is property, we’re in for trouble. I don’t know how much you know about group psychology and social dynamics — I remember you saying you didn’t think of them as very exact sciences, wouldn’t dignify them by the name of sciences or something like that — but it is one of the things people have found out; that in order to tolerate exclusive or monogamous sexual ties, a group has to be above a certain crucial number — I think it’s eighteen or twenty — so that the remaining members will have an even chance at partnerings. We’re too small a group to tolerate monogamy, Ching.”
In some obscure way Ching wondered if Fontana were warning her.
“I’m — well, I’m not used to such things, Fontana. It was the first time I ever — got myself into a relationship like that. So close.”
Fontana, in the calm, rather blank face, saw a sudden heartbreaking innocence and vulnerability. She said, very gently, “Do you care about Teague very much, Ching?”
Ching said, hesitating, “I’m very fond of him. He’s — well, he made it all seem very natural and ordinary, I always thought I’d be frightened, and I wasn’t. I liked being with him, I enjoyed it. I don’t think it was anything like — well, like it was with Peake and Jimson, I don’t think I’m all — all wrapped up in him the way they were in each other. Only I feel very strange, different inside. Not knowing what to expect of myself any more, and I’ve always been so sure. And I don’t think that has anything to do with Teague at all. It has to do with me.”
“Good,” Fontana said softly. “You do understand what I’m saying to you then.”
“Only — Fontana, I’m sorry. I mean, because I did take Teague away from you — if you miss him, I’m sorry—”
Fontana shrugged and laughed. “That doesn’t matter. Teague is old enough to choose for himself, and so am I.”
“Only — it’s what you said. In a group this small there aren’t many choices. It’s not as if there were a lot of men for you to choose from, and you’ve always had someone or other, haven’t you?”
