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 end of the passenger quarters would be in sight. If she was thinking of changing her mind, better do it now.
They came to the lettered bulkhead. Paul slid the hatch open and ushered Jan through. Instead of heading aft down the corridor with its bilious green paint, Paul made a sharp left turn. At the second door along he paused. “It’s not up to the captain’s quarters, but it’s home to me. Welcome.”
Jan found herself in a room maybe twice the size of hers. It had been furnished with a surprising delicacy of taste. The chairs were light and frail in appearance, suitable for a ship where acceleration would rarely exceed half a gee, but their lines were elegant. The walls had been finished in a pastel pink (which Jan actually didn’t much care for) and two of them bore half a dozen paintings which she suspected were originals. That was confirmed when she saw a neat P. Marudini in the lower right corner. She glanced at him, and he shrugged. “I was young when I started to paint. I thought Marudini sounded a bit more like an artist. Now it’s too late to change.”
He was over by a small table in one corner, opening two conical bottles each of which wore a misting of condensation. Next to them was a vase of roses. The lighting level in the room was dimmer than in the rest of the ship.
Jan said, half question and half statement, “You were expecting that I would come here with you.”
He coughed. “Weil, no. Let’s say that before dinner I was hoping. But then I learned that we were at different tables and I couldn’t do anything to change that, so we wouldn’t have much chance to talk. I’m sorry. I must have seemed a bit abrupt.”
“I didn’t think so.” Jan accepted one of the bottles. She had learned to drink in micro-gravity, but a delicate trial sip was beyond her. She squeezed too much into her mouth and had to swallow hard.
“All right?” Paul asked.
“Just choking. The wine is very good. Like an Earth wine.”
“As it should be. It was made in southern Chile — not too far from where you lived.”
So he knew where she had come from on Earth. Paul had done his homework.
“The roses, too?”
He nodded. “From Punta Arenas. Flower city.” He took a sip from his own squeeze bottle, savoring the aftertaste and looking thoughtful. “I guess everything went well with Dr. Bloom?”
“You spoke with her?”