The Starfarers Quartet Omnibus

by Vonda N. McIntyre

  On a whim, he crossed the grass and stopped beside Senator Orazio. At first, she did not notice him.

  Maybe I’m invisible again, Griffith thought.

  She turned toward him.

  “Good evening, Mr. Griffith.”

  “Want to dance?”

  “Yes,” Ruth said. “I think I would.”

  He was a stolid, unimaginative dancer. Ruth noticed a few guarded glances from the people around her.

  I shouldn’t be surprised at their suspicion, she thought. Maybe I was Starfarer’s best defender in the Senate, but now I’m dancing with a spy. Maybe Mr. Griffith hopes my good karma will rub off on him.

  “Senator —”

  “Call me Ruth,” she said. “Under the circumstances, formality is silly. People call you Griff?”

  His back went rigid under her hand. “How did you know that?”

  “They don’t send us out completely unprepared,” she said.

  “Then you know who I am — you know I didn’t crash Arachne! Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because you’re still being Mr. Griffith, the invisible accountant from the Government Accountability Office —”

  “I am an accountant, dammit.”

  “— and you weren’t in danger.”

  “Forget it. Look. You’ve got to help me get this starship back to Earth.”

  “Do I?”

  “There isn’t any reason to stay longer! They’ve proved what they came out here to prove. Don’t you want to go home? You’ve got a position, a lover —”

  “They don’t send you out unprepared, either, I see,” Ruth said sharply.

  “And the quicker we go back, the quicker you can prove you were right all along.”

  Griffith’s sources of information could not know just how much she did want to go home. Yet she had supported the deep space expedition. It would break everyone’s heart, especially J.D.’s, to return to Earth now. Once Starfarer and Nautilus entered the solar system, they would be stranded until the cosmic string came back. In a hundred years. Or five hundred.

  It occurred to her that Nautilus and Starfarer did not have to return together. J.D. could take her alien starship and go wherever she wanted. Supplies would be a problem, until she could terraform it. But she could do it.

  And, Ruth thought, she will, if she thinks the government is going to be hard-nosed about her keeping Nautilus. Why couldn’t Jag keep his mouth shut?

  “Why are you asking me for help?” Ruth asked Griffith.

  “Because I didn’t want to ask Senator Derjaguin to dance.”

  “People would have thought you were his spy, that’s true,” Ruth said.

  “That isn’t quite what I meant... but you’re right.”

  “So now everyone’s confused. You think you’ve made them wonder if they can trust me after all.”

  “Maybe I think I’ve made them wonder if they can trust me.”

  “It’s beside the point,” Ruth said. “I don’t have any authority to tell them to go back home. Even if I weren’t more or less a hostage.”

  “Some hostage,” he said. “As for authority — who does have any, in this bunch of anarchists? You have as much as anybody.”

  “Then I’m inclined to give Victoria and her colleagues more time.” As much as I can bear, she thought.

  Griffith stopped, a few bars before the waltz ended. As the other dancers took one final turn, parted, laughed, applauded, Griffith pulled back from Ruth.

  “Thanks for the dance,” he said. He walked away, his expression as bland and gray as usual. It was impossible to tell whether he was disappointed or furious.

  Or, Ruth wondered, glad?

  He strode directly through the image of Esther Klein. Esther, and Kolya Cherenkov too, noticed his rudeness; Esther stepped back as if she, rather than her projection, were standing in his way.

  Within the expedition tent on board Nautilus, Esther glared at Griffith’s retreating image. It faded out as he left the circle of Arachne’s attention.

  “Hell with him,” Esther muttered.

  The holographic image of the party swirled around her. People danced and talked and laughed. But Esther was sealed inside this tent while J.D., all the way back on Starfarer, directed Nautilus. Esther had no control over where she was going, no freedom to leave the tent. Nautilus, with Starfarer in orbit around it, travelled toward Largernearer, and Esther was only a passenger.

  The passivity frustrated her. She wanted to spend more time exploring the interior.

  I’ll have a talk with J.D. about this, Esther thought. Keeping us inside while Nautilus accelerates is false security.

  She let a holographic orbital schematic fade into view. It traced the course change. But try as she might, Esther could feel no difference.

  “If J.D. can run this damned thing long distance,” Esther said, “why do we have to be here?”

  Kolya watched the party instead of replying.

  “I bet it’d be safe to be outside,” Esther said. “Or even inside. In the tunnels. Find out more about this rock.”

  “What everyone wants to know is how its power works,” Kolya said mildly. “If Civilization knew that, they wouldn’t have to scavenge the other ones’ castoff starships.”

  “Yeah,” Esther said. “Not something we’re likely to be able to figure out.”

  Restless, she strode to the window. Walking in such low gravity felt awkward.

  She propped her hands against the wall on either side of the window. It was nothing more than a transparent patch in the plastic wall, no sill, no frame.

  “Esther.”

  She looked over her shoulder. Kolya stood close behind her.

  “Would you give me another dance?”

  The last dance had been loud, raucous. This one was slower, rhythmic, three-quarter time. The Blue Danube waltz. A close dance.

  “I —” She hesitated only a moment, then decided to put up with the close-range smell of tobacco. “Of course.”

  She had to reach up to put her hand on his shoulder, and he was too tall to put his arm around her waist. His hand rested on her shoulder blade. He could easily have picked her up in the low gravity, brought her to his level, and twirled and dandled her like a little girl. For a moment Esther feared he might. To her relief, he did not.

  They danced.

  Esther giggled. “It wouldn’t be so awkward if I were leading.”

  “True.” He smiled down at her, and switched his hand to her shoulder. She slid her arm around his waist. They danced more comfortably.

  “Richard Strauss is spinning in his grave,” Kolya said.

  “So’s my grandmother,” Esther said. “She made me go to dance classes when I was a kid.”

  “You dance well.”

  “I hated it,” Esther said. “I guess the partner makes a difference.”

  They danced, passing among the other holograms as if they were solid and real. Esther touched the tent’s computer, faded the images to half intensity, and lowered the lights.

  She liked dancing with Kolya. Tentatively, she let her cheek rest against his chest.

  To her surprise, he did not smell like tobacco. And he did not reek with the sour odor that afflicted him when he tried to give up nicotine.

  “You don’t —” Esther cut off her exclamation. Good grief, what great manners, she thought. I almost told a friend I was surprised he didn’t stink!

  Kolya smiled down at her. “No smoke!” he said. “I cured some of the tobacco Petrovich found for me. I’m still trying to quit, but in the meantime I can chew it instead of smoking it.”

  Esther could not imagine eating the stuff; but, then, she could not imagine inhaling it, either.

  They spun. Esther’s feet left the floor. She tensed, then realized that Kolya, too, had risen into the air. They touched down. Each time they whirled, they levitated for half a turn.

  The music ended. They stopped, and moved into a spot free of images, and held each other’s hands a m
oment.

  “Thanks,” Esther said. Her heart was pounding. It’s only a dance, she told herself. One waltz.

  “You’re most welcome,” Kolya said quietly.

  She drew her hands from Kolya’s; he let her go. She hesitated. Flustered, she returned to the window and stared outside. The change in course had no affect on the angular momentum of the planetoid. It still spun. Esther watched a rapid dawn, sharp-edged shadows creeping back to their sources like a dark receding tide.

  She put her hands flat on the window plastic and rested her forehead between them.

  “There’s time,” Kolya said. “Plenty of time to discover Nautilus’s secrets. No need to put yourself in danger.”

  The protective tone in his voice verged on condescension. It startled her. It annoyed her. It scared her, and that was worst of all.

  She snapped a command to Arachne and stopped transmitting their image back to the party.

  She turned around and leaned against the wall, folding her arms across her chest. She gazed at Kolya belligerently; he looked back at her quizzically.

  “There’s lots of good reasons to put yourself in danger,” she said. “As you well know.”

  “I thought I did, years ago...”

  “You went out after the missile.”

  His bushy eyebrows bristled as he frowned at her. “Esther, what does that have to do with anything? What is the matter?”

  She turned away again. Outside, nothing had changed. The surface of Nautilus was gray and empty, the horizon very close, space near and black. Starfarer was on the other side of Nautilus, but rotation would soon bring it into view.

  “Sometimes I think... my whole life... is a fake.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Courage.”

  “Is it the transport?” Kolya asked.

  Esther shuddered involuntarily. She remembered the draining fear of trying to decide what to do.

  “It is, I think,” Kolya said.

  “I should have undocked!” she said. “No matter what they told me, I should have known Starfarer would go straight into transition.”

  “You did what you thought best at the time.”

  “Following orders!” Esther said with disgust. “I was just fucking following orders. I can’t believe I did that.”

  “It’s all right,” he said. “It worked out. Most of the people who were on the transport would rather have remained on Starfarer anyway. They’re all delighted...” He hesitated. “Perhaps ‘delighted’ isn’t the proper word.” His voice held a smile.

  “It doesn’t matter!” Esther cried. “The results don’t matter! I should have done what I thought was right, whether it was to stay with Starfarer or undock like I planned. That doesn’t matter. What matters is I did what they told me to, I didn’t even question —” She shouted an inarticulate sound of anger and disgust. “I could even pretend I did what I did on purpose. But I’d know — !”

  He touched her shoulder.

  Esther forced herself not to fling herself around and into Kolya’s arms.

  Every time he comes near me, she thought wildly, I start thinking in clichés. Next I know, I’ll dream about him running toward me through a field of flowers!

  She strangled the laugh that bubbled out of her.

  “Did you have any reason to oppose your superiors before?”

  “I knew nobody agreed with anybody else about what Starfarer should do. I should have thought — I should have planned —”

  Kolya chuckled.

  “What’s so damned funny?”

  “Members of our profession aren’t renowned for our foresight.”

  “No,” she said, even more bitterly. “We’re supposed to think on our feet!”

  “You made a mistake,” he said quietly. “In your own eyes it was a serious mistake. Can you learn from it and put it aside? Or will you let it drive you crazy?”

  “Beats the hell out of me,” Esther said angrily.

  o0o

  J.D. and Zev joined Victoria and Satoshi at the edge of the dance floor.

  “You look wonderful,” J.D. said to the partners. Victoria wore the gold scarf and vest and the black silk skirt she had brought back from Earth on her last trip. Satoshi wore slacks and a honey-colored suede shirt. J.D. had never seen him in anything but faded cargo pants and a tank top.

  “You do, too,” Victoria said. “Zev, that shirt is very flattering.”

  She pressed her cheek to Zev’s. J.D. stood back, unwilling to settle for a cool, formal embrace.

  “A party’s always a good excuse to dress up,” Victoria said.

  “I don’t get much practice at it,” J.D. said.

  “Stephen Thomas is here,” Satoshi said.

  Across the courtyard, Stephen Thomas stood bathed in decorative light. The pastel colors dappled the smooth black of his tuxedo.

  His hair curled loose around his face, the mutualist a silver highlight. He wore a sapphire earring the same color as his eyes. His dark skin and his blue eyes gave him an ethereal appearance. He looked like the hero of a romantic spy movie.

  Stephen Thomas let his gaze pass over his partners as if he did not see them.

  It’s dark over there, Stephen Thomas thought. I might not have seen them. His heart twisted with desire and fear and love.

  “I must say, Stephen Thomas.” Gerald Hemminge stopped beside him. “I’m amazed by this appropriate behavior. You look quite splendid.”

  “I thought this was a formal party.” Stephen Thomas waited for Gerald’s usual verbal needle. He expected the assistant chancellor to find something to complain about. A compliment put him off balance.

  “The sandals are an... interesting... touch.”

  “I didn’t have much choice of footwear,” Stephen Thomas said. He flexed his toes. His claws scratched against the leather.

  Gerald stared at Stephen Thomas’s feet longer than idle curiosity required.

  The music paused; the first few notes of a waltz began.

  “May I have this dance?” Fox appeared between the two men. Stephen Thomas searched for a way to turn her down without hurting her feelings, again, not to mention Mitch’s feelings.

  “Yes,” Gerald said. “Certainly.”

  Fox glanced at Stephen Thomas, her eyes cold.

  Her expression was friendlier when she glanced at Mitch. “Hi,” she said offhand.

  “Hello,” Mitch whispered.

  Gerald took Fox in his arms and swept her to the center of the courtyard.

  They danced. Other couples joined them. Gerald and Fox were the best dancers, Gerald the veteran of a thousand university fund-raisers, Fox the product of a three-generation political dynasty.

  Forlornly, Mitch sighed. “What chance do I have, if it’s Gerald Hemminge she’s interested in?”

  “Fuck it, Mitch,” Stephen Thomas said, annoyed as much by his fur, rubbed the wrong way beneath his cummerbund, as by his student’s attitude. “They’re only dancing. Maybe she’ll ask you next. If she doesn’t, you ask her.”

  “She’d turn me down.”

  “Shoot yourself in the foot, why don’t you?”

  “What do you know about it?” Mitch snapped. “Nobody ever turns you down! You get whatever — whoever —” He caught himself. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean —”

  “Maybe I don’t know how you feel,” Stephen Thomas said. The muscles in his jaw were so tight that his voice came out angry and hard. “And maybe I do. But you asked — I figured you wanted an answer.”

  Mitch started to apologize again. Too aggravated to listen, Stephen Thomas stalked off along the edge of the courtyard. He wanted to dance. He wanted to dance with Victoria and Satoshi. He wanted to take off his tuxedo, which had always been comfortable before he grew the damned pelt, and dance naked in the grass with his partners.

  But I’m afraid, he thought. I’m afraid they’ll turn me down. Christ in a conga line, I’m worse than Mitch.

  Mitch started after Stephen Th
omas, but when Stephen Thomas disappeared into the darkness, he decided he had better wait to talk to him until they had both had a chance to cool off.

  He overreacted, Mitch thought. How could he know how I feel, I bet nobody in his life has ever turned him down.

  Mitch wandered back toward the dance floor, to torture himself for a while longer by watching Fox dance with Chancellor Gerald Hemminge.

  I’m going to have to apologize to Stephen Thomas, Mitch realized. No matter whether I was wrong or he was, I’m going to have to apologize. He’s my adviser, after all. Maybe he doesn’t have life or death power over me, but he sure has it over my career.

  Fox and Gerald waltzed past. They looked wonderful together. Even the disparity in their dress, Gerald businesslike, Fox casual, gave them a dashing and adventurous presence.

  Mitch waited through two dances, before his nerve coincided with a moment when Fox was free. He hurried to her as she flung herself into a rock-foam chair, flushed with the last fast dance.

  “Would you dance with me?”

  “Oh, gosh, Mitch,” she said. “My dance card’s pretty full, I was going to sit this one out — Oh, okay.”

  She grinned, jumped up, grabbed his hand, and pulled him onto the dance floor. His pulse raced, as it did every time — every rare time — that Fox spoke to him, noticed him, even looked at him. They danced, winding around each other, sliding and twisting to the music. Mitch wished they were four-footed like the Largerfarthings, that they could dance, close together, like the quartet.

  When the music stopped, Fox wiped the sweat from her forehead, raked her hair back with her fingers, and grinned again.

  “See you,” she said in that dismissive offhand way she had.

  “Wait — Dance with me again?”

  He caught up to her, slipping through the crowd, sweat cooling on his face.

  “Nope, I asked Gerald for the next one.”

  “Is that a good idea?”

  He was still following her; he nearly bumped into her when she stopped short.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just — it’s kind of dangerous, don’t you think?”