he does not fit easily into that category. His innate understanding of the complex dynamics of weather systems is, so far as I can tell, unprecedented. He says he can see, inside his head, how storms on Jupiter and Saturn are born and develop. More so, oddly enough, than the weather patterns on Earth.”
She frowned at the display for a long time, while Jan shivered inside and wondered, Why is she telling me all this?
“Nothing like an epileptic fit?” Valnia Bloom said at last. “No loss of physical control, or violent outbursts?”
“Never.” Jan wanted to laugh, the idea of violence from Sebastian was so preposterous. “He’s the best- natured man you’ll ever meet.”
“He is certainly the most phlegmatic.” Valnia Bloom was nodding, more to herself than to Jan. “I wanted to be sure that you were not in some way shielding Sebastian in ways that you preferred not to mention. I have a reason why this is important. I know that the two of you insist on being considered as a team, which is very unusual in people who are not sexual partners.”
“We’re not.”
“I know that.”
“We never have been. He’s like my brother.”
“Which is why I wanted to meet with you before taking any action. You came as a team. I understand and appreciate that. But would you accept it if I were to, so to speak, take Sebastian under my wing for awhile?”
“You mean — what do you mean?”
“I would like to work with him, and try to understand why he is different from other people. He would become one of my personal research projects. Oh, you two would still be together as much as you like, and see each other whenever you want. But you might not — almost certainly would not — be working side by side on a day-by-day basis. You would no longer be a team. I want to know, is this acceptable to you?”
It was, in a way, Jan’s oldest and dearest dream: a Sebastian who was valued for what he could do, rather than needing protection for what was strange or incomprehensible to him. But because Jan had filled her role for so long, she had to ask. “If ever Sebastian seems to be having difficulties—”
“You will be the first to know, and the first person called upon to help.”
“Then, yes. It sounds like a wonderful opportunity. Dr. Bloom, when you get to know him you’ll find that he’s the sweetest, most uncomplaining person on Earth — not just Earth, anywhere. I’m absolutely thrilled for Sebastian that this is happening. And thank you for what you are doing.”
Jan wanted to lean over and hug the stern, narrow-shouldered woman sitting across from her. She didn’t think that was likely to be appreciated. Instead, she had to be content with a smile that probably reached her ears.
“Don’t thank me.” Valnia Bloom reached forward and with an air of finality stabbed with one thin digit a key on the hidden display. Then she looked up, and actually smiled an answering smile. “Before you leave, Janeed Jannex, I want you to know that I am doing this not because, unlike Sebastian, I am the sweetest person on Earth, or anywhere in the System. I am doing this for my own selfish motives. I am as keen to study Sebastian Birch as you are to make sure that no one harms him. That is all.”
The dreaded meeting was over! The Achilles was in a stable orbit and the ship’s interior formed a micro- gravity environment, but Jan felt that it would have made no difference had she been back on Earth. As she left the room she would still have floated, borne up by sheer euphoria.
She headed forward, seeking Sebastian to give him the good news. He was lying on his narrow bed, staring at nothing — or at, according to Valnia Bloom, the evolving storm systems that he and he alone in the whole System was able to visualize.
“I had my meeting with Dr. Bloom.” She stood at the end of his cot, grinning down at him. “Everything is all right.”
His round face took on a perplexed expression. He said, “Of course.” And then, with hardly a pause, “I feel hungry. Can we go to dinner?”
Maybe Valnia Bloom had been trying to tell Jan something. She was in many ways still shielding and directing Sebastian, although to anyone else’s eye he was not a child or a youth but a full-grown and physically mature man. Maybe in trying to help him, she had become part of the problem.
Jan said, “You go ahead by yourself. I’ll eat later.”
He nodded and sat up. “So I’ll go eat now,” he said, and happily drifted out and away along the corridor. On his own, Jan noted, with no need at all for direction or assistance. She went next door to lie on her own bed. She needed an hour or two alone, to work some of the smiles out of her system.
Apparently she failed. There must have been plenty of smiles left. When she went to dinner, three hours later, Paul Marr was in the passenger dining room for the first time. He was assigned to eat with a different group, so he did no more than glance at Jan as he passed and say quietly, “I wish people would do something for me to make me grin like that.”
Dinner itself was a curious disappointment. The person she wanted to talk to was one table over, making polite and impartial conversation with the five passengers who sat with him. Jan noted that his white uniform was as spotless and well-pressed as ever, and this time his hands and nails were scrubbed free of every trace of working grime. He occasionally glanced her way, but not enough so that others would notice.
Jan’s own table partners were a mixed bag. Four of them, a man, woman, and their two children, had just flown up from Mars and in their new micro-gravity setting they at the moment felt like eating little or nothing. Then there were two wannabe miners who had been office workers back on Earth. Jan had eaten with them several times before and quite liked them, though they talked mainly about their bright future in the rough-and-tumble cowboy society on Callisto. Jan eyed their delicate hands and pudgy bodies and hoped they wouldn’t be disappointed.
And then there was Judd O’Donnell, a loud oaf who seemed to seek Jan out and whom she avoided whenever possible. As usual, he insisted on sitting next to her. Tonight his main contribution to the conversation came when fish was served as the first course. One of the would-be miners said how good it was, so tasty it might have been flown up fresh from Mars. The Mars family stared at him in disbelief, but remained silent.
Judd O’Donnell said, “Hey, how can you tell if the fish you’re eating was caught in Marslake?” And, when no one answered, “You turn the lights off, and see if it glows in the dark.”
He laughed loudly. The man in the group from Mars winced, while the woman made a gesture to her children to keep quiet. Radioactivity levels on Mars were still high thirty years after the end of the war, especially in bodies of water. Mutations were common. A strict eugenics program culled the human and animal populations, and most families had relatives among the victims.
That set the tone for the rest of the dinner. When she came in, Jan had been feeling on top of the universe. By the time people were dispersing she couldn’t wait to get away. But she stayed, enduring O’Donnell’s attempts at wit and waiting for Paul Marr to get up and leave.
Finally she couldn’t take any more. She stood up in the middle of a Judd O’Donnell story and left the dining room. Before the door could slide closed behind her, it was opening again for someone else.
“Phew.” It was Paul Marr. “That fat man at our table, talking about how he was going to transform Outer System economics… I thought you were never going to leave.”
That was direct enough. Jan could play coy, but what the hell. “I felt the same about you. I thought you must be having a fascinating time while I sat and suffered. You got economics, I had tasteless jokes.”
Other passengers were still leaving the dining room or drifting along the corridor. Paul Marr remained a meter and more away from Jan, and his voice was soft and casual when he said, “We’ve had enough economics and jokes for one night, and it’s too crowded here to talk at all privately. Can I interest you in a quiet drink back in my quarters?”
“I think so.” Jan tried to sound as relaxed as Paul. “Do you want to go on ahead?”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. No harm in a passenger wanting to take a look at the engine room, is there? By the way, the inspection of the Omnivores went as smooth as you could ask. We’ll be on our way in less than twenty-four hours.”
To the men and women they were passing, the conversation must sound routine if not actually boring. No one had a monitor to read Jan’s pulse rate, or to measure the fine tremble in her hands. One more turn, and the
