Falling Free

did not seem to be quite enough. As if he had memorized the answer, only to discover the question had been changed.

Yet what more could be demanded of him? What more could he be expected to give? What, after all, could one man do?

A spasm of vague fear made him blink, the hard-edged stars in the viewport smeared, as the looming shadow of the dilemma clouded on the horizon of his conscience. More…

He shivered, and turned his back to the vastness. It could swallow a man, surely.

Ti, the freight shuttle co-pilot, had his eyes closed. Perhaps that was natural at times like this, Silver thought, studying his face from a distance of ten centimeters. At this range her eyes could no longer superimpose their stereoscopic images, so his twinned face overlapped itself. If she squinted just right, she could make him appear to have three eyes. Men really were rather alien. Yet the metal contact implanted in his forehead, echoed at both temples, did not have that effect, seeming more a decoration or a mark of rank. She blinked one eye closed, then the other, causing his face to shift back and forth in her vision.

Ti opened his eyes a moment, and Silver quickly flinched into action. She smiled, half-closed her own eyes, picked up the rhythm of her flexing hips. “Oooh,” she murmured, as Van Atta had taught her. Let’s hear some feedback, honey, Van Atta had demanded, so she’d hit on a collection of noises that seemed to please him. They worked on the pilot, too, when she remembered to make them.

Ti’s eyes squeezed shut, his lips parting as his breath came faster, and Silver’s face relaxed into pensive stillness once again, grateful for the privacy. Anyway, Ti’s gaze didn’t make her as uncomfortable as Mr. Van Atta’s, that always seemed to suggest that she ought to be doing something else, or more, or differently.

The pilot’s forehead was damp with sweat, plastering down one curl of brown hair around the shiny plug. Mechanical mutant, biological mutant, equally touched by differing technologies; perhaps that was why Ti had first seen her as approachable, being an odd man out himself. Both freaks together. On the other hand, maybe the Jump pilot just wasn’t very fussy.

He shivered, gasped convulsively, clutched her tightly to his body. Actually, he looked—rather vulnerable. Mr. Van Atta never looked vulnerable at this moment. Silver was not sure just what it was he did look like.

What’s he getting out of this that I’m not? Silver wondered. What’s wrong with me? Maybe she really was, as Van Atta had once accused, frigid—an unpleasant word, it reminded her of machinery, and the trash dumps locked outside the Habitat—so she had learned to make noises for him, and twitch pleasingly, and he had commended her for loosening up.

Silver reminded herself that she had another reason for keeping her eyes open. She glanced again past the pilot’s head. The observation window of the darkened control booth where they trysted overlooked the freight loading bay. The staging area between the bay’s control booth and the entrance to the freight shuttle’s hatch remained dimly lit and empty of movement. Hurry up Tony, Claire, Silver thought worriedly. I can’t keep this guy occupied all shift.

“Wow,” breathed Ti, coming out of his trance and opening his eyes and grinning. “When they designed you folks for free fall they thought of everything.” He released his own clutch on the wings of Silver’s shoulderblades to slide his hands down her back, around her hips, and along her lower arms, ending with an approving pat on her hands locked around his muscular downsider flanks. “Truly functional.”

“How do downsiders keep from, um, bouncing apart?” Silver inquired curiously, taking practical advantage of having cornered an apparent expert on the subject.

His grin widened. “Gravity keeps us together.”

“How strange. I always thought of gravity as something you had to fight all the time.”

“No, only half the time. The other half, it works for you,” he assured her.

He undocked from her body rather gracefully—perhaps it was all that piloting experience showing through —and planted a kiss in the hollow of her throat. “Pretty lady.”

Silver blushed a little, grateful for the dim lighting. Ti turned his attention momentarily to a necessary clean-up chore. A quick whistle of air, and the spermicide-permeated condom was gone down the waste chute. Silver suppressed a faint twinge of regret. It was just too bad Ti wasn’t one of them. Too bad she was such a long way down the roster of those scheduled for motherhood. Too bad…

“Did you find out from your doctor fellow if we really need those?” Ti asked her.

“I couldn’t exactly ask Dr. Minchenko directly,” Silver replied. “But I gather he thinks any conceptus between a downsider and one of us would abort spontaneously, pretty early on—but nobody knows for sure. Could be a baby might make it to birth with lower limbs that were neither arms nor legs, but just some mess in between.” And they probably wouldn’t let me keep if.… “Anyway, it saves chasing body fluids around the room with a hand vac.”

“Too true. Well, I’m certainly not ready to be a daddy.”

How incomprehensible, thought Silver, for a man that old. Ti must be at least twenty-five, much older than Tony, who was nearly the eldest of them all. She was careful to float facing the window, so that the pilot had his back to it. Come on, Tony, do it if you’re going to.…

A cool draft from the ventilators raised goose bumps on all her arms, and Silver shivered.

“Chilly?” Ti asked solicitously, and rubbed his hands up and down her arms rapidly to warm them by friction, then retrieved her blue shirt and shorts from the side of the room where they had drifted. Silver shrugged into them gratefully. The pilot dressed too, and Silver watched with covert fascination as he fastened his shoes. Such inflexible, heavy coverings, but then feet were inflexible, heavy things in their own right. She hoped he’d be careful how he swung them around. Shod, his feet reminded her of mallets. Ti, smiling, unhooked his flight bag from a wall rack where he had stowed it when they’d retreated to the control booth half an hour earlier. “Gotcha something.”

Silver perked up, and her four hands clasped each other hopefully. “Oh! Were you able to find any more book-discs by the same lady?”

“Yes, here you go—” Ti produced some thin squares of plastic from the inner reaches of his flight bag. “Three titles, all new.”

Silver pounced on them and read their labels eagerly. Rainbow Illustrated Romances: Sir Randan’s Folly, Love in the Gazebo, Sir Randan and the Bartered Bride, all by Valeria Virga. “Oh, wonderful!” She wrapped her upper right arm around Ti’s neck and gave him a quite spontaneous and vigorous kiss. He shook his head in mock despair. “I don’t know how you can read that dreck. I think the author is a committee, anyway.”

“It’s great!” Silver defended her beloved literature indignantly. “It’s so, so full of color, and strange places and times—a lot of them are set on old Earth, way back when everybody was still downside—they’re amazing. People kept animals all around them— these enormous creatures called horses actually used to carry them around on their backs. I suppose the gravity tired people out. And these rich people, like—like company executives, I guess—called ‘lords’ and ‘nobles’ lived in the most fantastic habitats, stuck to the surface of the planet—and there was nothing about all this in the history we were taught!” Her indignation peaked.

“That stuff’s not history, though,” he objected. “It’s fiction.”

“It’s nothing like the fiction they give us, either. Oh, it’s all right for the little kids—I used to love The Little Compressor That Could— we made our creche-mother read it over and over. And the Bobby BX-99 series was all right… Bobby BX-99 Solves the Excess Humidity Mystery… Bobby BX-99 and the Plant Virus … it was then I asked to specialize in Hydroponics. But downsiders are ever so much more interesting to read about. It’s so—so—when I’m reading this,” she clutched the little plastic squares tightly, “it’s like they’re real, and I’m not.” Silver sighed hugely.

Although perhaps Mr. Van Atta was a bit like Sir Randan… high of status, commanding, short-tempered… Silver wondered briefly why short temper in Sir Randan always seemed so exciting and attractive, full of fascinating consequences. When Mr. Van Atta became angry, it merely made her sick to her stomach. Perhaps downsider women had more courage.

Ti shrugged baffled amusement. “Whatever turns you on, I guess. Can’t see the harm in it. But I brought something better for you, this trip—” he rummaged in his flight bag again, and shook out a froth of ivory fabric, intricate lace and ribbony satin. “I figured you could wear a regular woman’s blouse all right. It’s got flowers in the