CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"The Sister of Misfortune…"

"We'll get him," Harry said. "It may take a while. Ron gets spooked easy."

Oliver Brown nodded. "Well he might. I'm not overly anxious to have him seen here, for that matter."

"We'll be careful." Harry and Jenny left, and Oliver barred the door.

"Do authorities watch this house?" Gordon asked.

"We don't think so," Oliver said. "Helga and I are better known for fantasy. And the SCA."

Alex shook his head. "SCA?"

"Sorry. Society for Creative Anachronism. The Current Middle Ages. I was king, once."

"I think I will let Alex explain later," Gordon said. "May I read now?"

"Certainly," Oliver said. "What would you like?"

Gordon grinned and swept his hand to indicate the disorderly piles of books everywhere. "I think I will find something--I will remember where, and put back there."

"Thank you. Use my big chair if you like, the light's good there; very good, it's a comfortable place. Alex, you look tired."

"Heh. Considering that I weigh almost a hundred kilos--"

Oliver patted his ample bunk. "Alas, so do I. So do I, but I am more accustomed to it. Perhaps you would like to rest in the spare room?"

"Yes, please."

Oliver led the way. "I'm afraid it will be a bit cold," he said. "We don't heat this room. Hydrogen is scarce." He ushered Alex through the door.

"Hydrogen?"

"Yes, the Greens like to use hydrogen. They pipe it through the old natural gas lines. Alas, much leaks, and is wasted, and since they shut down most of the power plants there is little electricity to make hydrogen."

"But they do make it?"

"Oh, yes. Here we are. As I said, the room is cold. I'll get you a blanket."

The room was cluttered as well as cold. In the habitats, a space this cluttered would be a death trap: masses could crush a man from any direction. Here, gravity… then again, gravity was part of the problem. Loose objects had to rest all against the same surface.

There were the inevitable book cases, but here odd tapestries hung on one wall. They showed scenes of dogs chasing deer. Two large steel swords hung in the corner, and below them were two almost identical swords made of wood. A day couch near the window was piled high with--"Costumes?" Alex asked. "Armor?"

"Yes. I mentioned the SCA? We still meet, we still hold tournaments. It is an allowable activity. Indeed, many of the Greens come."

"But what do they--you--do?"

Oliver Brown grinned. "Why, we dress up in medieval costumes and pretend we live in the Middle Ages," he said. "What else? It used to be fun to learn medieval skills, how to live on common, cheap food, fight with swords and spears, and run a civilization with low technology. Now--"

"Yeah. I see."

Oliver piled the stuff from the couch onto a chair. "We don't go often now," he said. "I am afraid someone will get drunk and forget that the Greens are listening." He handed Alex a heavy wool cloak. "Use this as a blanket. I'll call you for dinner."

The window looked out onto gray, mean streets. Other apartment buildings, identical save for their graffiti, lined both sides of the block. The cars were old and in disrepair. One was up on blocks; another, stripped. Street lights flickered uncertainly, then brightened in the growing dusk. Alex looked to the sky, but found it overcast with low-hung, gray clouds. A solitary figure, heavily bundled, walked quickly down the street on the opposite side. He--or she--clutched a cane not needed for walking, and glanced warily left, right, behind.

Get used to it, Alex, my boy. From now on this is home.

Maybe not. Phoenix! He remembered the program. A low-cost system, not merely reusable but savable. It could get to orbit even with one engine out. Ran on liquid hydrogen and liquid oxygen.

They make hydrogen. If they make hydrogen, they must have oxygen as well. But-

There was a tap at the door. "Come in."

Gordon came in, frowned at the costumes, swords, and tapestries. "I thought perhaps you might want company."

Gordon found a pair of cushions and lowered himself to the floor, slowly, carefully. "It is tiring, standing upright so long. But, every day grows easier. Perhaps I will like it here. The people are… interesting."

Alex smiled and sat on the bed beside Gordon. "Remember what they do to interesting people."

"Is criminal. Alex, is no objective evidence for the effectiveness of psychoanalysis. Just replaces conscience, original sin and confessor with superego, id and analyst. In Stalinist times, was used in same way to deal with dissidents. Our way is so obviously right and good that if you disagree you must be crazy."

"I never heard you talk this way before, Gordo."

"I sound angry? I am angry. I like these people, Alex. I am half-Russian. Mental health clinics… I know what they are risking to help us. You saw Cole. I don't wish that to happen to Sherrine, or any of our friends."

"Neither do I. It's simple enough. We let them go home, and we keep moving. No more dreams."

"You must always have dreams." Gordon craned his neck and looked at him. "You do not wish to remain down here, do you?"

Alex rose and walked to the window. He studied the shrouded sky once more. "No."

"Yet, you were born here. This was your home."

A shrug. "That was a long time ago."

"And if we go back? Colonies are doomed. We all know this."

Alex looked around the room.

"You think they listen?"

"No. If these people are listening without permission it would be more than--no. But don't say that where they can hear, Gordon."

"Is pravda, though. More than pravda. Is true."

Alex nodded slowly. "Yeah, I suppose it is, over the long haul. We're running out of everything. The resource base is too small." He laughed bitterly. "Ninety percent of the resources available to the human race, easily available, aren't on Earth, and we have them. But the resource base is too small. Not enough people, not enough chlorine, nitrogen--"

"Dr. Lichinsky says give him few more years, he will make chlorine and nitrogen."

"Fusion synthesis. Yeah. And his people have been saying they'd have that Real Soon Now since before you were born, Gordo. Face it, even with chlorine and nitrogen and more genetic materials, there are just too damn few of us!"

"Yet you are eager to return."

"Hell yes! I fought to make Freedom a home. Home is the place you would die to save. And that's not the bottom of the Well. Not that it matters. We can't go back."

"I think this, too," Gordon said. "But--is not so bad."

"Yeah, yeah," Alex said. "But dammit, the Downers are on a downward spiral, too. They turned their back on the future, and now they've got no more chance than the habitats! Every decade, every year, they're less able to cope. It won't be long before conditions will be like that song, 'Black powder and alcohol. When your states and cities fall--' "

"Orbital decay."

"Eh?"

"Is like Mir and Freedom, nye pravda? Spiralling downward. Every decade atmosphere drag eats velocity. But perhaps a timely boost can still save them."

Alex scowled and looked away from him. "It's not that easy. We're not talking about a space habitat you can strap booster rockets to."

"No, trajectory of people is harder to change. So. What do we do now? Do you believe in this Phoenix?"

Alex worked his lips. "No, but--if there's even the slightest chance."

"Why?"

"Why not? We have to go somewhere. Steve said California was our best chance for going underground, anyway."

"And when Phoenix fails to rise from her ashes, you will chase after the next rumor and the next."