Страница 5 из 84
The thin, older man blinked, wiped a hand over his shaved skull. “Ag specialist.”
“I’m biology,” Gutierrez said. “Not a bad mix.”
Others talked, a sudden swelling of voices; and someone swore, which was what Gutierrez wanted to do, to break the rest of the restraints, to vent what had been boiling up for three long days. But the words refused to come out, and he walked on with Hill–26, 24, the whole string down past the crosscorridor and around the corner: 16, 14, 12… He jammed the keycard in with a hand shaking like palsy, opened the door on an ordinary little cabin with twin bunks and colors, cheerful green and blue colors. He stood inside and caught his breath, then sat down on the bed and dropped his head into his hands, even then feeling the tiny prickle of stubble under his fingertips. He felt grotesque. He remembered every mortifying detail of his progress across the docks; and the lines; and the medics; and the tape labs and the rest of it.
“How old are you?” Hill asked. “You look young.”
“Twenty two.” He lifted his head, shivering on the verge of collapse. If it had been a friend with him, he might have, but Hill was holding on the same way, quietly. “You?”
“Thirty eight. Where from?”
“Cyteen. Where from, yourself?”
“Wyatt’s.”
“Keep talking. Where’d you study?”
“Wyatt’s likewise. What about you? Ever been on a ship before?”
“No.” He hypnotized himself with the rhythm of question and answer…got himself past the worst of it. His breathing slowed. “What’s an ag man doing on a station?”
“Fish. Lots of fish. Got similar plans where we’re going.”
“I’m exobiology,” Gutierrez said. “A whole new world out there. That’s what got me.”
“A lot of you young ones,” Hill said. “Me–I want a world. Any world. The passage was free.”
“Hang, we just paid for it.”
“I think we did,” Hill said.
And then the swelling in his throat caught Gutierrez by surprise and he bowed his head into his hands a second time and sobbed. He fought his breathing back to normal–looked up to find Hill wiping his own eyes, and swallowed the shamed apology he had had ready. “Physiological reaction,” he muttered.
“Poor bastards,” Hill said, and Gutierrez reckoned what poor bastards Hill had in mind. There were real azi aboard, who went blankly to their berths wherever they might be, down in the holds–who would go on being silent and obedient whatever became of them, because that was what they were taught to be.
Lab specialists would follow them in three years, Gutierrez knew, who would bring equipment with which the new world could make its own azi; and the lab techs would come in expecting the fellowship of the colony science staff. But they would get none from him. Nothing from him. Or from the rest of them–not so easily.
“The board that set this up,” Gutierrez said quietly, hoarsely, “they can’t have any idea what it’s like. It’s crazy. They’re going to get people crazy like this.”
“We’re all right,” Hill said.
“Yes,” he said; but it was an azi’s answer, that sent a chill up his back. He clamped his lips on it, got up and walked the few paces the room allowed, because he could now; and it still felt u
vi
T‑12 hours
Aboard Venture
docked at Cyteen Station
“Beaumont.” Co
“Just.” Ada Beaumont sighed, settled, and took a seat. Her husband took one by her. “They pulled me from Wyatt’s and I had a project finishing up there…then it was kiting off to Cyteen on a tight schedule to take the tapes I guess you had. They just shuttled us up, bag and baggage.”
“Then you know the score. They put you somewhere decent for quarters?”
“Two cabins down. A full suite: can’t complain about that.”
“Good.” Co
“Number six.”
“That’s good. Friendly faces–Lord, I love the sight of you. All those white uniforms…” He looked at the pair of them, recalling earlier days, Cyteen on leave, Jean with him… Jean gone now, and the Beaumont‑Davies sat here, intact, headed out for a new world. He put on a smile, diplomat, because it hurt, thinking of the time when there had been four of them. And Davies had to survive. Davies, who lived his life on balance books and had no humor. “At least,” he said charitably, “faces from home.”
“We’re getting old,” Beaumont said. “They all look so young. About time we all found ourselves a berth that lasts.”
“Is that what drew you?”
“Maybe,” Beaumont said. Her seamed face settled. “Maybe there’s about one more mission left in us, and one world’s about our proper size about now. Never had time for kids, Bob and me. The war–You know. So maybe on this one there’s something to build instead of blow up. I like to think…maybe some kind of posterity. Maybe when they get the birthlabs set up–maybe–no matter what the gene‑set is; I mean, we’d take any kid, any they want to farm out. Missed years, Jim.”
He nodded somberly. “They give us about a three year lag on the labs, but when that lab goes in, you’re first in line, no question.–Can I do anything for you in settling in? Everything the way it ought to be?”
“Hang, it’s great, nice modern ship, a suite to ourselves–I figure I’ll take a turn down there and see where they’re stacking those poor sods below. Anyone I know down there?”
“Pete Gallin.”
“No. Don’t know him.”
“All strange faces. We’re up to our ears in brighteyed youth, a lot of them jumped up to qualify them…a lot of specs out of the state schools and no experience…a few good noncoms who came up the hard way. Some statistician, fry him, figured that was the best mix in staff; and we’ve got the same profile in the civ sector, but not so much so. A lot of those have kin elsewhere, but they know there’s no transport back; blind to everything else but their good luck, I suppose. Or crazy. Or maybe some of them don’t mind mud and bugs. Freshfaced, the lot of them. You want kids, Beaumont, we’ve got kids, no question about it. The whole command’s full of kids. And we’ll lose a few.”
A silence. Davies shifted uncomfortably. “We’re going to get rejuv out there, aren’t we? They said–”
“No question. Got us rejuv and some crates of Cyteen’s best whiskey. And soap. Real soap, this time, Ada.”
She gri
“And the neighbors,” Davies said. “We’ve got neighbors.”
Co
Davies’ face had settled into its habitual dour concern. “They said there wasn’t a likelihood.”
“Isn’t,” Beaumont said.
“They said–”
“Alliance might even know what we’re up to,” Co
“And if that link‑up with Sol does come about–then where are we?”
“Sol couldn’t finance a dockside binge. It’s all smoke.”
“And we’re sitting out there–”
“I’ll tell you something,” Co