"Does the Ministry pay a kickback to my ancestors?" Joan asked.
Dr. Chertok laughed. "If you maintain your sense of humor for the next three years, you'll do just fine. Thank you, Ms. Darris, that's all. You can pick up your induction orders at the main desk up front."
That evening after the family's dinner, Joan cornered her sister alone, reading in the discotheque. "I want a straight answer," Joan said. "Did you arrange to have me drafted?"
Vera shut off her reader. "What ever gave you such an idea?"
"Did you think I wouldn't find out? With the vivarium's registration report on my pregancy in my draft file?"
"A pregnancy registration? What in the world are you talking about? Are you saying you're pregnant?"
Joan looked Vera straight in the eye; Vera met her gaze straight on. "You know very well I am," Joan said. "and in what manner and for what purpose. The registration report on my impregnation was on file with the Federation where only a judge would have had legal access to it."
"So you jump to the hasty conclusion that I must be that judge?" Vera said haughtily. "Do you think that Wendell's political enemies wouldn't have judges of their own they could use?"
"If you knew I was pregnant with Mom's surrogate, it would have been a natural move for you to stop me any way you could."
"And on this circumstantial evidence, and amateur psychology, you build a case against me?"
"I see that you're not surprised when I mention that I'm pregnant with Mom's surrogate."
"It was a logical conclusion when you mention 'pregnancy' and 'the vivarium,'" Vera said. "Honestly, Joan, you'd never make a lawyer. You try to badger me into admitting that I'm involved somehow in getting you drafted, just because some report is on file in the wrong place, without even bothering to research the simple fact that no evidence pointing to the source of the file would be allowed to be entered--" Vera suddenly stopped.
Joan smiled.
Vera took a breath and smiled back. "I withdraw that last opinion," she said. "You'd make an excellent lawyer. I've never seen a more skillful cross-examination."
"Shall we cut out the compliments and get down to business?" Joan said.
"We have no business to discuss," Vera replied. "You know as well as I do that you were planning to escape back to the colonies before your draft notice. I was merely doing my duty as an officer of the Upper Manor--regardless of any family sentimentality."
"That wasn't your motivation and you know it."
"I know no such thing, so how can you?"
"Why don't we tell Wendell and let him decide?"
"Go right ahead, if you wish to make more of a fool out of yourself than you're already doing. Do you think that even His Gaylordship won't recognize that I was merely saving him from political scandal? Scandal which still could lose him the election, if you talk?"
"I won't argue that point," Joan said, "since both of us know that Wendell is the only other person walking around on this planet, aside from me, who sees right through your self- deceptions. I'll offer you a straight trade. You withdraw your objections to transplanting Mom's brain into a surrogate body that I'll supply as soon as I get out of the service, and I'll not only go through the Peace Corps without a peep like a good little girl, but I'll never mention to anyone, including Dad, who was responsible for turning me in to Universal Service."
"You can go right to the caldron," Vera said.
"I'll fight you, Vera," Joan said. "I'll make a big stink about it in court. You'll find yourself with my father on one side and me on the other, crushed between a meteor and the moon."
"Go ahead," Vera said. "Your father is just as aware as I of why it's better that our mother not be revived so long as he and I are living together. As for court, you'll find out that this is one squatball course where I own the squatball, the nets, and the lariats."
Vera turned on her reader again, but held down the pause control. "Enjoy the service, dear," she said. "I think it will do you some good to think of something other than your selfish desires for a change. And I definitely think it's about time you had to give up your childish obsession of playing with colored lights, for once, and learned what it means to be a woman." Vera released the pause control and began reading the disc again.
Joan took the lift up to her bedroom and prostrated herself on her bed. She wished Vera hadn't sounded so cloneraping much like her mother.
Chapter 20
ONE MORE ACT was left that Joan Darris felt she had to perform before her induction in two weeks, and she went about it--as she did everything else--wholeheartedly and systematically. In some respects it was an archaic and futile gesture, of the sort she had seen in countless period holodramas, with no meaning anyone on Earth could take seriously these days. But Joan lived her life by injecting her own meaning into empty symbols, and there was one more symbolic act that she decided she owed herself.
The Federation Peace Corps might very well be impressing her into working its fields for the next three years, but she was not going to hand over droit du seigneur as well. Her mind, her spirit, and her soul were her own, and by the time the lord came to claim his harvest, Joan would make sure that the best he could hope for was damaged goods.
The only question was whom she liked well enough to gift-wrap her virginity for as a present.
It was not an easy problem. Living at Helix Vista in virtual purdah, she just did not know that many single commen. If Moshe McCoy had been on Earth, she would probably have asked Astrid if she could borrow him for the night. She considered Jack Malcolm, age difference and all, but decided that no matter how much she liked and respected him, to try shifting him from the role of teacher to that of lover not only would place a strain on their friendship, but would imply promises she was not willing to make. Incest was out for similar reasons: Mark might just as well go back to the squatball course. Finally, she was not about to attempt a blind pickup, for reasons involving both taste and prudence. Not only did she have no experience in making a line decision on that field, but it would be too much like granting the world's premise without a fight.
She thought about it for a few days, then decided on a course of action. There were built-in problems, and it was not sure that she would reach her intended outcome, but there were secondary and tertiary aspects that appealed to her, so she proceeded full speed.
On Saturday night, June 6--approximately thirty-six hours before her scheduled induction--Joan made her move.
Getting away from Helix Vista turned out not to be any problem. Her father and Vera were going hunting that night, and were taking Stanton's company limousine; the family's pink Artemis was left at home. Since the skymobile was not preprogrammed to accept voice instructions from her, Joan simply told the Helix Vista domestic computer--which was--to relay orders to the Artemis that she would be taking it out that evening. Inasmuch as neither Helix Vista nor the Artemis had been instructed to disobey such an order, she got use of the family limousine without a hitch. And since Mark was away at Yale, the twins had their own wings, and Zack was sitting for his younger brothers that night so Gramps could take the evening off, there was no competition.
Joan didn't think her father would particularly mind if his daughter flew out for a fling before leaving to the service; but if he did, what could he possibly do before she left on Monday? Ground her till she left?
She found the comman she was looking for sitting in the cannabistro of a roga cabaret called The Dichroic Scale in the avant-garde section of the Bronx. She was sure it was he even though he had grown a moustache since the holograms she had used to find him had been taken; still, she recognized him. It had not been hard to track him down once she found his home address: he had left a message on his apartment's computer telling any callers where he would be for the evening. Joan guessed he didn't consider himself a target for burglary.
The Dichroic Scale had both cover charge and minimum; Joan also had to show her false birth-record printout before she could get in. The
roga wasn't scheduled to start for another hour, so it was not yet crowded. Joan found a small table facing her target and sat down. When he caught her glance, he smiled.
"Do you come here often?" he asked, then laughed. "Goddess, that's a stupid cliché. Shall I try again?"
"Why not?" Joan said. "In squatball there's five down before you're out. You've asked two questions, so you're down two."
"Let's see. 'A lot of weather we're having lately'?"
Joan shook her head. "The amount of weather is a constant; it just changes forms."
"Ah, a Linguistic Analyst," the comman said. "I can see I'll have to upgrade my approach. How about 'What would you say are the metaphysical implications of the early-Renaissance philosopher Carson's statement that "If you buy the premise, you buy the bit"?'"
"I would say--and do--that if you're going to start calling early-Renaissance television comics philosophers, you might start by asking whether McMahon was Carson's Boswell. You have one more down," Joan said.
The comman looked at her thoughtfully. "How about 'May I buy you a toke?'"
"You see?" Joan said. "That wasn't so hard, was it? My table or yours?"
"Yours," he said, moving over and signaling to the cannabist.
"I'm Joan," she said.
"Andrew."
"Do your friends call you 'Andy' or 'Drew'?"
"The commen call me Andy, the andros call me Drew."
"What do women call you?"
"Mostly, they don't."
"Self-pity?" Joan asked.
"Self-honesty," he answered.
"Well, Andrew," Joan said. "If you'll allow me to ask you some questions without asking any in return, your luck will have changed."
His eyebrows raised.
"Just one question," he said.
"All right, one."
"You're not working for the Monitors--or anyone else--as a police siren, are you?"
"No, I'm not," Joan said. "And you don't get to ask why you're so lucky tonight. Just leave it that I think you're acute. Deal?"
"Deal."
The cannibist arrived and took their orders.
"What do you do for a living, Andrew?" Joan asked.
"I teach guitar," he said.
"Do you like it?"
"It keeps the rent paid."
"I gather you'd rather be doing something else."
"You gather correctly."
"Then why do it?"
"Because the only strings attached are on the guitar."
"Seven points," Joan said.
The cannibist arrived with their tokes. Andrew paid him.
"You remind me of someone," he said.
"Someone you liked?" she asked.
He nodded. "Someone I could never have."
"Someone whom you would have allowed strings," Joan said.
"Someone who wouldn't have pulled them," he said.
He and Joan toked simultaneously.
"You've been bitter for a long time, Andrew," Joan said.
He nodded again. "Twelve years."
"What happened twelve years ago?"
"I was fired from the only career I'd ever wanted."
"Did you deserve to be?"
"Yes," he said. "I failed in a trust that had been placed in me, and let my employer down very badly."
"Why did you do this?"
"I fell ill," he said. "I've never wanted any responsibilities since."
"My skymobile is outside," Joan said.
"My flat is two blocks from here," Andrew said. "I live alone."
His apartment was a studio, medium-sized, comfortable, but not very modern. A pair of music stands in the corner, and a guitar hanging on the wall, attested to his current livelihood.
After they got inside, and the door was closed, he turned to look at Joan. "Sing a song for me, Andrew," she said.
"All right." He went to the corner and took the guitar off the wall, spending some seconds tuning it. "What would you like to hear?"
"Do you know Going to St. Clive?"
"Is the President andro?" he asked.
He began singing,
"As I was going to St. Clive
I met a man one-hundred-five
Who's with his ma, one-hundred-thirty,
Who's with her pa, one-hundred-sixty.
Sixty, thirty, hundred-five--
I hear they're living in St. Clive,
But how long can they stay alive?"
He sang it in a clear Irish tenor, with perfect intonation, and had no trouble at all with the words, singing them faster and faster until finally, out of breath, he hit a final chord on "alive" and stopped.
He took a moment to catch his breath, then said, "Any other requests?"
"Show me your bed, Andrew."
"Bed," he ordered, and a section of the floor opened up to show a bed sunken into the carpet.
"Anything else?"
Joan smiled. "If you don't mind, I think I'll let you take the initiative from here."
"Have you had your shots?" he asked.
"I'm already pregnant," she said.
"This is going to be interesting," he said, rehanging his guitar.
They spent the next twenty minutes caressing each other and undressing, raising each other's passion, until there came a moment when both were naked, and as ready as they were going to be.
At his first attempt to enter her, he found his way blocked, and Joan gasped.
"But you said--"
"No questions," Joan said. "Again!"
"But--"
"You're the only comman I'll trust, Andrew."
"You don't even know me," he said.
"You told me your entire life tonight," she said. "Please?"
"I think I could love you," he said.
"Tonight will be your only chance to," she said.
When he thrust again, she screamed and dug her nails into his back, then gradually relaxed and fell into his rhythm. It was warm, and tender, and marvelous, and went on for almost an hour, but every time she neared release, she pulled back out of his reach. Finally, he reached his own climax and fell asleep with his head on one of her breasts.
She managed to disentangle herself from him and get dressed again without waking him. Just before she left, she ran her fingers through his light-brown hair one more time and kissed him tenderly on the cheek.
She paused in his doorway and thought that she had lied to him: she still couldn't trust him enough, even though she now knew it hadn't been his fault. But she had no time to grant third chances, knowing that his strength didn't match hers and she could never carry him to the stars. "Good night, Mac," she whispered as she left. "And thank you." But he was asleep and never heard her.
V.
5600Å to 5900Å
Chapter 21
"RAISE YOUR RIGHT HAND, place your left hand above your ovaries - like this--and repeat after me..."
In the assembly hall of the Poughkeepsie branch of Universal Service, forty-six young women between ages seventeen and twenty- five--varying in face, figure, dress, ethnic background, but not in their universal trepidation--stood in five uneven ranks, nine women per row except for ten in the first. In front of them stood an imposing brunette woman in the pink uniform of the Federation Peace Corps, with a silver ankh on each collar, who a few moments earlier had introduced herself as Mistress Selene Cooper. Behind Mistress Cooper stood the Flag of the World Federation--the old United Nations Flag with its stylized white world map circled by olive branches, backed by a light-blue field -- but the Federation had colored the olive branches pink and lavender.
In the front rank of draftees, owing to a surname beginning with the letter "D," Joan Darris raised her right hand along with the other young women, and placed her left hand across her lower back.
Mistress Cooper said, "I--state your name--"
"I, Joan Darris--"
"--do solemnly swear--"
"--do solemnly swear--" Joan and the other forty-five repeated in unison.
&
nbsp; "--faithfully to execute the duties required of me as an Officer of the World Federation Peace Corps--
"--to obey the lawful orders of the Federation First Lady and all Superior Officers--
"--to perform the feminine biological functions required of a Corporal to maintain a free and peaceful world of men--
"--to love, honor, and cherish all commen--
"--without stint, measure, or reservation to this end I pledge my troth--
"--so help me, Goddess," Mistress Cooper finished.
"--so help me, Goddess," they repeated.
"Congratulations," Mistress Cooper said. "You are now Cadette Corporals in the Federation Peace Corps. From now on, you will address me as 'Mistress Cooper,' 'Mistress.' or 'Ma'am.'"
She began walking back and forth across the first rank as she talked. "For the next six weeks, you will be known collectively as 'Taurus Twenty-five Sorority.' You are being sent to the Federation Peace Corps training facility at Camp Buffum, Long Beach, Pacifica, leaving here at oh nine hundred hours--that's nine A.M.--which is thirty minutes from now. After you are given the order to fall out, you may use those thirty minutes to retrieve your belongings, say any goodbyes, and learn how to gynuflect, inasmuch as you will be expected to know how to deliver at least a passable gynuflection to your Drill Instructor when you arrive at Buffum. You will regroup in front of this building, where your bus will be waiting. You will know it is your bus because it will say, 'Taurus Twenty-five' on the front. From the time you are ordered to fall out to the time you arrive at Camp Buffum, you will be subject to the orders of your Temporary Harem Leaders--whom I will appoint--and to the orders above all of your Temporary Drill Instructor, whom I will also appoint." Mistress Cooper handed out five harem rosters to the inductee at the farthest left of each rank. "You five are the Temporary Harem Leaders. You will be responsible for making sure that each member of your Harem--the women in your row--is on that bus on time. You will be subject to the orders of your Temporary Drill Instructor until you report to your permanent D.I. at Camp Buffum."
The Rainbow Cadenza: A Novel in Vistata Form Page 20