Iris

hemisphere. Considering that the materials making up these satellites are extremely volatile, we've seen few surprises. The colder temperatures have been a powerful force influencing these exotic ices to behave in a familiar fashion.

'As you might guess, my report is much more detailed.' Jana concluded by showing them a skilled 3V

collage of Iris and its satellites projected against the tapestry of a deep-space sky. The thing was prettier than any out-the-window view they'd seen since rounding Jupiter. There was a long moment of silence.

'Next business, then.' She looked at Cornwell.

The musician nodded, pulling off his circlet, but he waited for a while before he spoke. 'Maybe this isn't the correct time to bring this up. I don't know. We've got some big adaptations to make in the near future. The ten of us are going to be building a colony, perhaps not very isolated in the sense that we will still have access to many of the benefits of Comnet ona delayed basis, but isolated in the sense that we're going to have to provide each other with human society.' He stopped, sighed heavily, wondering where his prepared words had gone. 'The 'quest' is over. Now we have to get into the period of living happily ever after. It's hard not to see how stupidly we've been treating each other. We're all familiar with the emotional difficulties that come from being in the midst of too many people. . . . Some of us are here to escape just that. Well. I'm not sure we've come to grips with the problems of being in a permanent small group. When this adventure first occurred to me, I envisioned us becoming more closely knit, perhaps even experimenting with induction rapport. . . . The opposite is what seems to be happening.' He stopped, looking at them all, seeking some kind of response. What he saw was that they were waiting for him to continue, to draw some kind of conclusion. Obviously, when you stated a problem, most people expected you to propose some kind of solution. He sought for something to say, some plea for reasonableness, but it was too late.

Sealock wasn't smiling, not even his usual contemptuous smirk, as he said, 'I imagine we all saw this coming. You're dissatisfied with your life. Now you want to tinker with the rest of us. . . .' Taken aback, John started to say something, but another voice interrupted.

'It's just boredom!' said Harmon Prynne.

By this time Aksinia had broken out of whatever trance state was keeping her quiet, and she reacted to the previous remark. 'Come on, Brendan. He's right, of course. We're turning into a bunch of jerks. It seems to me that not one of us has come to grips with the reality of this situation.'

'Reality?What the hell ...' Sealock grinned at her and shook his head. 'I wonder how many of you really understand your own perceptions?' He nodded at Prynne. 'It's not boredom, and I refuse to speculate on the nature of someone's reality perception. . . . Sure, there's a lot of friction here. Some of it comes from an unwillingness to recognize that different people have different interests. Sometimes, when I say something, even something I'm supposed to be an expert in, people act like it's some kind of personal reproach.'

'Maybe it's the way you do it,' said Prynne. 'You make me feel like shit sometimes.'

'That's exactly it. Your feelings are magnified by what you imagine other people think. That doesn't need to happen.' John gave Sealock a pained look. 'That's your idea of a joke, I suppose. . . . Look, certain individuals may or may not be the primary instigators of ill feeling on Deepstar. Nonetheless, every one of us has some kind of relationship with every other person here. Those relationships don't seem to be working too well.... I have to believe that we're all decent, intelligent people. We all have good traits. Why can't we all be friends?'

Sealock was staring at him, slit-eyed, face frozen. It was an unpleasant look to be the target of, and he wondered just what it was he'd said to offend the man this time.

'Are you sure that's what we want?' asked Vana.

Cornwell looked at her in surprise. Over the months, he'd come to see her as a pleasant, unmotivated individual who didn't know what she wanted, maybe didn't know much of anything. . . . She went on: 'All this random fucking that we do is all right with me.... I mean, it's sort of my specialty, after all.' She gazed at Sealock, whose expression was even more unreadable than it had been. 'I really don't know how I'm supposed to feel toward you all. Sex is one thing, sure. It's fun. But . . . friends? I just don't know. You're all so ... demanding.'

'Out of the mouths of babes . . .' muttered Sealock.

Ariane broke in. 'I guess I agree with Vana. We know there's sex, and something people call love, whatever it may be, and an even more ethereal concept called friendship. . . . To integrate any two of these, much less all three, seems like a very large undertaking. I'd like to think it was possible, though.'

'None of you talk about love very much,' said Prynne 'and, when you do, you act like it's something you can control. . . . But you can't.'

'I'd settle for a little more sex, if I have any choice,' said Sealock, but the others ignored him, and suddenly he was awash in a flood of unwanted memories. Krzakwa caught a bit of it through the Octadeka Prime control circuit that they shared and looked at him with astonishment. He was, apparently against his will, sending out an image of a day three years before, somewhere in Tupamaro Arcology, in Montevideo. Cornwell had come to discuss the Deepstar venture with Ariane Methol, and the two of them had gone to her room . . . And there was Sealock, pressed against a cool outside wall of the chamber, visualizing the woman locked in a tight embrace with the handsome musician. His eyes shut and he was riven by a dense bolt of hatred. The image snapped out, buried under a mountain of recontrol. No one else seemed to have caught it. Krzakwa shook off the alien emotions, still a little startled, and listened again.