Her hand trembled as she put down her half-empty glass and rose to her feet. She stared down at him. "No of course not. The silly little bitch got herself pregnant, so just whip it out and stuff it into the incinerator. Then for an encore, you could call her up on a charge while she's still bleeding and give her something charitable like two weeks' cells, or do we still have floggings in the Corps?"
She strode out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Tom Bruce remained seated in silence for a whole minute, then grinding out his cigar butt in the ashtray he swore.
"And what the hell was all that about?" he demanded of the empty cabin.
Back in his own cabin after the end of his duty stretch, Piet Huygens sat on the edge of his bed, staring unseeingly at the blank gray wall opposite. There, in the metal womb of
Venturer Twelve,
despite the near presence of nearly five hundred others of his own kind, Corps people, he was conscious of a dreadful feeling of isolation such as he had never experienced before.
The direct, impersonal order to murder his own child had been a tearing aside of the golden veil of illusion; a destruction of the hazy, inspired dream that Mia had so carefully nurtured in his mind. Now with the ruins of that dream dissipated in the bleakness of space, he sat and tried to grapple with the reality of his situation, and the shadows of hitherto-suppressed doubts crept in on him like grinning specters, mocking his foolishness.
There was no consolation in the tapes Ichiwara had so gladly loaned him. They painted a picture of a civilization so strange, so alien, whose values, whose very manner of thought was completely different from those he had learned from birth. For Mia, life on Kepler III would be like walking back again into her own past; but for him he had the feeling that, whatever cosmetic changes were made in his outward appearance, he would always be a strange dog, unable to fit in with the ways of his newly-adopted pack. Mia took it for granted that he would accept and be accepted into the social setup on Kepler III, but he was far from being as confident And yet, once he and Mia had deserted the ship, there would be no turning back, he would be irrevocably committed to spending the rest of his life among these people with their ritualistic tea ceremonies, their cherry-blossom viewing, their delicate art, and their incomprehensible brutality.
The alternative. ... To tell Mia now that her plan was a mad, impossible one, and that it must be abandoned; to tell her that he and she were still, despite their secret rebellion, members of the Space Corps, and that they owed their loyalty and their work to that great organization; to tell her that despite all the sophistries of lovers, the oaths of allegiance they had taken were still binding.
There was no reason why they shouldn't change their minds at this stage, before any irrevocable step had been taken. Trudi was the only person who knew about their relationship, and she wouldn't talk, not now.
Trudi. He found himself thinking of her almost with fondness, remembering the times they had each surfeited the hunger of the other. With Trudi, sex had been just that, an uncomplicated satisfying of an appetite, a welcoming, unthinking oblivion. God! What would he give to be able to plunge into just that kind of oblivion now, instead of being crushed in the iron maiden of his present torment.
Because, beyond everything, deep in the soul, he knew that without setting a foot on the soil on Kepler III, the irrevocable step had already been made; it had been made at the moment, nearly four months ago, when his searching sperm had fused with the fertile egg of Mia, and their child had begun to grow. It had been pure chance that Maseba should detail him for the job of killing that child; but whether he, De Witt, or Maseba himself did the job, the result must surely be the same; with the removal of the fetus from her womb, Mia's love for him must also die. He knew that this must be so, because he himself already knew that he could never bring himself to lie with her again after such a violation, and the effect on her must surely be even deeper.
Believing himself damned from every possible angle he found that he was drawn to a positive conclusion at last. The sooner the affair was settled, the better. It could be arranged quite simply. If he gave instructions to Caiola to have Mia brought into the operating theater and anesthetized before he arrived, then she need never know who performed the abortion. Before she came to, he would be gone, and that would be an end to it
And afterwards? Well, there would be the consolation of Trudi Hoffman's rutting, female-tigress body, with its refuge of passionate oblivion. No love. But then love was too expensive a luxury in any case; surely he had learned that much?
He rose from the bed and began to put on his duty uniform. Now was the time to act, while the resolution was fresh in his mind.
She arrived just as he was about to leave the cabin. A light tap on the door, and she was inside, her golden doll-face smiling up at him as she said: "Piet! Piet, love...."
She moved forward into his arms, and as her body came close to his own, warm, like a small sun, the shadows of doubt and fear melted away and he was once more in the golden dream. Alone he had been helpless and weak, but now, with her in his arms again, he was strong again.
She giggled with pleasure as he stripped her with hands made clumsy by the urgency of his need, and purred like a cat as he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.
Afterwards, warm in the afterglow of passion they lay side by side, and she said, as her hands caressed his body: "Soon, very soon now, we shall be free."
Then she slept, as peaceful as a child. And he looked down at her, ashamed of the cowardice of his solitary doubts, the fabric of their dream once more secure around him.
Magnus's choice of Joseph Ichiwara as his second in command in this particular operation was based on a number of carefully considered factors. Ichiwara had a well-deserved reputation in Explorations Division for quiet, industrious efficiency. He had a mind like a computer, capable of producing from a vast amount of accumulated knowledge precedents applicable to almost any given situation. Additionally, he performed his duties in such a self-effacing manner that no superior had ever been able to accuse him of being overly ambitious. Magnus, untainted by any similar lack of self-esteem, admired such modesty in a subordinate. But, apart from these considerations, in the matter of Kepler III, Joseph Ichiwara was possessed of one invaluable asset by the accident of his birth; he was a Japanese, with a great knowledge of the cultural and social heritage of his people. Magnus was listening in respectful silence as Ichiwara discoursed on the matter of Japanese hospitality.
"This attitude is, you will understand, not part of any deliberate effort to conceal," continued Ichiwara. "But rather a matter of politeness and protection for the welfare of the guest. It would be considered very ill-mannered to expose such an illustrious visitor to the more unwholesome aspects of our way of life. Japanese doors have no locks, but it is a point of honor that the guest should be gently guided for his own welfare. Thus, although all doors are open to him, he is normally protected by a body of devoted guides, whose business it is to ensure that those doors lead to the treasures and pleasures of Japanese life, rather than to the discovery of anything that might cause pain or discomfort to the guest."
Magnus nodded appreciatively. "In other words, my dear Joseph, it seems that if I allow myself to be feted as such a guest when we arrive at Kepler III, then it is highly unlikely that I shall be able to do the job for which I am expressly going there."
"That is so," said Ichiwara, unable to suppress a frown of disapproval at the directness of his superior's summing up, despite the fact that Magnus was only saying in his own words precisely what he himself had been implying so delicately.
"Then we must see that I am not feted, but rather treated as what I am, an official of little importance, doing a routine job of work," Magnus said.
"I hardly think the Keplerians are likely to be persuaded to take that point of view," Ichiwara pointed out "At this most important stage of their history they will consider it necessary to indulge in a certain amount of ceremony, and in that respect they will expect, quite rightly, a certain amount of cooperation from the representatives of United Earth."
"Your point is well taken, Joseph," Magnus said thoughtfully. "But there is still the matter of die job in hand. It seems to me that the best way of approaching this problem would be to ensure that our press releases are so arranged that my own importance is minimized."
"An investigating officer of the Explorations Division must surely attract at least some attention?"
"Possibly—but if we were to provide them with an alternative celebrity, who is apparently much more worthy of their attention, then this attention could be kept to a minimum," said Magnus. "In this respect, there is surely a person aboard this ship whose past record could quite easily be glamorized to such an extent in our releases that my own meager exploits will be completely overshadowed?"
Joseph Ichiwara smiled. "I think that is entirely possible," he said.
"Then see to it, Joseph—see to it," said Magnus, with some satisfaction.
The garden was a reminder of an Earth, a Japan, that Kenji Sato had never seen, but which was nevertheless dear to him as the birthplace of old ways and customs. That afternoon he had special need of the peace and serenity of the deep green shrubs and trees, of the gentleness of the small waterfall that trickled into a mossy pool where golden fish basked near the surface. When the official ministry car dropped
him
at the gateway in a quiet suburb ten kilometers east of Main City, he wandered there for a few minutes before going into the house.
The large, single-storied house was made of natural, unpainted wood, sun-bleached to a silvery gray. To the right of its main entrance the
sakura,
the cherry blossom, was beginning to spread its pale pink mist over the branches of a tree which he and his wife had planted together nearly twenty-two years before, soon after the birth of their only daughter, Yoko. He wondered if soon they would be able to plant another tree.
Allowing himself the emotional indulgence of a sigh, he composed his features and walked through the open front door of the house. Inside, he removed his shoes and placed them carefully in the cupboard reserved for that purpose; then leaving the polished wood of the hallway, he walked, feeling the comforting yielding of the
tatami
floor beneath his stockinged feet, towards the room at the back of the house where his wife would be awaiting his arrival.
Tana was seated on the floor in front of the flickering television screen, the sound of which was turned down low. As he entered she rose to her feet and bowed her smiling greeting. She was a pleasant-faced woman, still slim, wearing a pink and green flowered kimono.
"Kenji, my love." Her voice was gentle and low-pitched. She gestured towards the screen. "The Earth ship is expected to land quite soon at Rokoa field. This will be a historic day."
"Historic. . . ." He moved forward and held her hands in his own for a moment, gaining strength from the contact.
Her eyes searched his lined features. "You look tired. How was it with the President?"
He shook his head. "The same. He still refuses to recognize the seriousness of the position."
"We must have patience," she said quietly.
He avoided her eyes, gazing round the ascetically beautiful room, uncluttered by the kind of Western furniture that he was forced to use during the day at his office at the Ministry and in the hospital which he personally supervised. Chairs and beds had their uses in such functional places, but this was a home which preserved the living traditions of old Japan. His attention rested for a moment on the
tokonoma
alcove with its hanging picture scroll and a small dais on which stood a flower arrangement in a single, beautifully simple pot, a long stalk of red berries and a yellow gerbera, that was all.
"Yoko?" he asked.
"She is resting, but her thoughts are troubled. Have you any news that would comfort her?"
"Perfectly normal fetal development; both the radiography specialist and Mary Osawa are agreed on that."
"Praise to the Lord Buddha," she murmured. "Go ... go and talk with her. She has need of such reassurance."
The girl was lying on a thickly wadded
futon by
the open window which looked out onto the garden. The swelling of her body was evident against the loosely fitting blue kimono as she raised herself on one elbow and smiled up at him.
He squatted down beside her, the fear in her brown eyes tugging at his heart as he took her small hand in his. "Yoko, my dear..
"Father ... I had a dream, and there was this creature half-human and half-dragon ..."
"Only a dream, my child," he said, gently smiling. Repeated tests had shown Yoko's bloodstream to be completely free of the Johannsen's disease virus that had brought her first pregnancy to its tragic conclusion. Those tests and a series of X-ray examinations had indicated that there was no logical reason to suppose this birth would be anything other than normal; but the traumatic experience of having borne that first monster was still alive, seeping its poison into Yoko's thoughts. She was a sensible, intelligent girl, a statistician, who before her marriage had worked in a responsible position in the Ministry of Economic Affairs, but in the face of this obsessive fear that the creature lying within her womb might once again prove to be something less than human she had been reduced to the state of a semi-illiterate, superstitious peasant