“The view reminded me of… something.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Paul swiveled his seat to face her. “I was surprised to see you board the Achilles today — surprised, but pleased. Because there’s been something I wanted to say to you, and I’ve been putting it off.”
What was coming? Jan stiffened in her chair as Paul went on, “We’ve had a great time these past few weeks — at least, I have. But in six days the Achilles will be gone, and I’ll be gone with it. Now, I’m a sailor and I’m probably a typical one. If it hasn’t quite been a girl in every port, it has been a different companion on every trip. Two or three weeks were just enough time to start something going, then when you arrived at your destination you went your separate ways with everything tied off neat and civilized. I won’t lie to you, Jan, I’ve had a hell of a time doing that and there were never any regrets.
“So I ought to be the last man in the System with any right to complain when something cools off. Except it hasn’t been like that with us. We were really intense on the way out to Ganymede, and again after we arrived until you went off to see how things were with Sebastian. I thought that was it, things were over between us. But you came back and we were hot as ever. I was starting to imagine that we might be something special for the long- term. Then Sebastian had to have this weird operation done, and away you went again.
“Now, I don’t want you to think I’m jealous of the poor bastard. I’m not. I’m sorry for him, because in my opinion — don’t get mad — he’s not firing on all neurons. But it seems like whenever he’s in trouble, I disappear off the screen so far as you are concerned. Like today. You come aboard the Achilles, and I get a big lift just out of seeing you. Only it turns out you didn’t really come to visit me at all. You came because you were worried about Sebastian. So I bring you up here, thinking this will take your mind off him. But after take-off, you went away somewhere inside your head. Tell me the truth. Were you thinking about Sebastian just now?”
Jan paused, then reluctantly nodded.
“Do you wonder if I can’t see any sort of future for the two of us? What do you want, Jan?”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“I have to leave. The Achilles lifts off in six days.”
“I know. I didn’t mean that. Look, Sebastian’s operation will be finished in three days. Will you wait that long, then ask me again what I want?”
“If it has to be that way.” The ship had been following a long curved arc while they talked. Jupiter’s great orb had vanished, and the frosty glitter of Ganymede lay dead ahead. Paul turned to face away from Jan. “I will ask again. But I’m afraid I already know what you’ll say. We’d better close our suits, we’ll be landing in five minutes.”
“That would be good. I have to get back to the research facility.”
Jan listened to her own words, and she couldn’t believe she had spoken them. They confirmed all Paul’s worries and doubts. She wished they could ride out, just the two of them, and never come back.
Except that it wouldn’t work. Her ties to Sebastian were too strong. The hell of Io was nothing compared to the hell that was Ganymede.
Jan had been away for more than three hours. In that time Sebastian, so far as she could tell, had not moved a millimeter. He sat on his bed staring at the false-color display of Jupiter that covered one whole wall. The centuries-long hurricane that formed the Great Red Spot was muted to dull orange. Curling white vortices of ammonia, each one the size of Earth, spun away from its western edge.
“Sebastian?”
He did not respond. Jan went across to him and put her fingers to his forehead. Her own hands felt icy, but he was surely warmer than usual.
“Thirty-eight point two degrees,” said the disembodied voice of Valnia Bloom. “A little fever, but nothing to be concerned about. Don’t worry, I have his bedroom continuously monitored. Everything is going according to plan.”
“I’d like to stay for awhile.”
“There’s no problem with that. We can give you your own room, you can spend as much time in it as you like. I’ll make it so you can monitor the bedroom, too.”
“That would be perfect.” Jan moved to stand directly in front of Sebastian. “How do you feel?”
“Good.”
“Not too hot?”
“No.”
“Or hungry?”
“No.” The moon face was impassive. His eyes never left the display.
Jan recalled the way that he had been on Earth, with his talk of strato-cumulus and cumulo-nimbus cloud layers. Now it was hard work to wring a monosyllable out of him. She had to get him moving, make him think about something more than the damned clouds.
“Sebastian, do you know where I’ve been? I think you would love it.” She described her trip to the surface, the suited walk across icy rock beneath the unblinking stars, and the wild space-spin with Paul Marr. She gave lots of details and tried to make it sound as exciting as possible. Sebastian did not look at her, but he was certainly listening. Once or twice he nodded.
At the end Jan said, “Maybe you and I can take a ride together, as soon as the sluicing is finished? We could fly all the way in and swing by Io.”
That ought to grab him. Back on Earth, Sebastian had been a far better pilot than Jan — an absolute natural, according to the Global Minerals’ sky chief.
“Maybe.”
But his flat, neutral voice said, I don’t think so. In spite of anything that Valnia Bloom and Hal Launius might say, or even believe, Jan was profoundly worried.
A space ride together, to view Io or some other world of the Jovian system? Not unless he changed a lot from his present condition. As he was, Sebastian was not likely to be going anywhere. Ever.
30
Contrary to widespread opinion, Bat was not a misogynist. True, he did not enjoy the company of women, but neither did he care for that of men. He tolerated the presence of a select few humans; beyond that he saw no need to venture.
Nor was he unsympathetic to youth. His own adolescence had been a period of extreme trauma in which he felt at war with the rest of the universe, so he was sympathetic to anyone who had recently endured the same travail.
The glare with which he greeted the young woman who entered his cubicle therefore had nothing to do with gender or age. It was late at night, he was awaiting the arrival of Alex Ligon, and a closed door should be enough to guarantee privacy. In addition, he had been interrupted while pursuing a difficult and abstract line of thought on the SETI problem.
The intruder was saved from Bat’s righteous wrath not by anything she said, but by what she did. As she came in she stared at the brown crockpot. Her glance finally moved to the seated figure, but Bat had caught her expression long before that.
He recognized that look and sympathized with it. The new-comer was hungry, starved-wolf hungry. Such a need excused almost every form of improper behavior.
Moreover, its satisfaction must not be delayed by the conventional niceties of formal introduction. Bat waved a hand toward the food stand. “Bowls are on the lower rack. Help yourself. Eat, and enjoy.”
The woman nodded and grabbed the ladle, but she stared round-eyed at Bat as she filled a bowl with herb risotto. Thirty years of rude stares had accustomed him to such a reaction. He said, “When you have taken as much food as you want, I request that you leave. I am expecting a visitor, and you are greatly disturbing my work.”
The woman mumbled something unintelligible through a mouthful of hot rice, but rather than leaving she swallowed and said, “I’m sorry I came in without asking. Are you Megachirops — the Great Bat?”
