Where Jan Snyman was golden-haired and had matured into a strikingly handsome man, his wife was plain and considerably older, and she showed it most convincingly in the frown lines in her face. The fact that Jan, who loved his wife dearly, never noticed and wouldn't have cared, alternately pleased and irritated her.
Anton Vereshchagin thrust his head through the doorway. ”Natasha, may I interrupt?”'
“You are not interrupting. I expected to see you at three, so you are only six hours early.”
Despite having worn a military uniform for nearly twenty years, Natasha Solchava was the most thoroughly unmilitary person Vereshchagin knew. He shook his head and allowed her to thump and probe him. “And the verdict?” he asked.
She shrugged. “No different.”
“I will not complain. I have not had the opportunity to thank you for coming along. I was not certain you would agree to do so.”
“Jan and I discussed the matter and finally reached a decision in a calm. rational manner,” she explained, methodically checking her instruments, “although I am sure that Jan would describe it differently.”
“I believe that he has done so,” Vereshchagin said diffidently. “You have been known to see things in a different light.”
A momentary smile lit up Solchava's face, taking years off her age. “We only broke off our engagement three times “
“Jan says four.” Vereshchagin's smile faded. “Natasha, you and Jan do not have to go if you do not want to. I could still take Degtyarov in Jan's place, and Commissioner Mutaro speaks highly of Dr. Miyagawa, who was his personal physician.”
“And I am your personal physician. I thought about making Jan stay, but he would not have been happy. He and Hans are a little like small children these days.” Her smile also dimmed. “The Tokyo mission was an opportunity for them like no other, but this is almost as important.”
“At least as important.”
“I think that he has always felt that he has had some special destiny, and he believes that this is it.” She sighed “His family had their annual gathering, and it was pathetic. He was like a caged bird”
“A caged falcon,” Vereshchagin said. imagining the encounter.
“While I stood in the comer, talking to the wives, he did nothing but pace. He can't even be bothered to remember his cousins' names from year to year. I am always afraid for him, you know.”
“Yes, I do.”
“And now that fear is back.” She closed her eyes.
“Have you spoken with Dr. Miyagawa yet?” Vereshchagin asked, changing the subject
“He appeared mildly surprised to find that he would be sharing his facility. Although it was a struggle, we managed to work matters out. You know how disorganized civilians are.” Although not known for her sense of humor, Solchava winked solemnly. “There was, however, a serious matter on which we failed to find agreement. Normally, one takes no special precautions against importing alien diseases. Although I am not aware of any instances here, I do know of instances where pathogens have ravaged various animal and plant species on other worlds. While the risk of direct transmission is somewhat remote, bacteria exchange plasmids of all types dwing conjugation, and Earth microbes occasionally exchange genetic material with alien microorganisms. This sometimes results in rather deadly new strains.” She paused. “Even healthy human beings harbor huge reservoirs of microorganisms. While I do not foresee any substantial risk to expedition personnel--the body's defense mechanisms are quite effective--- I do see a possibility that we might unintentionally infect Neighbor’s inhabitants. The results would potentially be devastating.”
Vereshchagin frowned. “What do you suggest?”
“I recommend that all expedition personnel undergo a ten-day treatment with an antimicrobial and a wide-spectrum antibiotic. This would significantly reduce the number of organisms to which we play host. The quarantine procedures for equipment brought back from the planet’s surface should also be applied to equipment sent down.”
“The last will drive Karaev to distraction, but it should not represent a major difficulty,” Vereshchagin said, thinking aloud “What was Dr. Miyagawa's objection to the ten-day treatment?”
“A significant check on the reproduction of antibiotic-resistant strains of pathogens is competition with other microorganisms. There is a small risk that in attempting to avoid an epidemic on Neighbor, we may in fact cause one on board ship. It will also occasion logistical difficulties in that we will not be able to place soldiers in artificial hibernation until the treatment is complete.”
“Can it wait until we arrive?”
“When stressed, bacteria increase the rate at which they absorb scraps of DNA and patch it into their cells. Delaying until arrival would increase the risk to personnel sent to the planet’s surface.”
Vereshchagin frowned. “Can we shorten the treatment?”
Solchava shook her head. “Shortening the treatment would increase risk and provide little or no benefit. While the risk of causing a pandemic on Neighbor is slight, flushing our systems would reduce it I have convinced myself that it would be unconscionable to expose the people there.” She closed her eyes.
“You always had a strong streak of idealism in you. All right then. Go ahead, and tell Hans to adjust his schedule accordingly. We need our idealists desperately.”
Solchava opened her eyes. “Anton, you are a complete fraud. Despite your cloak of hardheaded pragmatism, you are the most confirmed idealist I know.” She reached for his arm. “I might as well get you started.”
Friday (1174)
IN THE COURTYARD, A SMALL FIRE WAS BURNING, AS SOLDIERS leaving sorted through the possessions they had accumulated: to be burned, to be given away, to be stored, and a precious few to be taken along.
Meri Reinikka and Piotr Kolomeitsev watched. “How are matters aboard Zuiho?” The Iceman asked.
“The ship's chief engineer and I keep having minor professional disagreements. He keeps using words like 'impossible' and I keep saying, 'Just let me show you,' and adding, 'you silly little pip-squeak' under my breath.” Reinikka had given up command of one of the reserve battalions to come. He shook his head. “And now, I am a staff officer of all things.”
“It is a job rarely done well. We will do it well, I think.” Reinikka gave him a curious look. “Is it true on Ashcroft you offered a three-day pass to anyone in your company who accidentally shot a staff officer?”
“Certainly not,” The Iceman replied, scandalized. “I would never reward someone for shooting anything accidentally. In any case, the story originated on Cyclade.”
Reinikka laughed and leaned his weight on the railing. “I still remember my old engineer platoon--what a thumb-fingered bunch they were. The only thing they did well was football, and fifteen years later, I still love them all”
“Despite dilation, time has a way of catching us short, Meri. Why did you agree to come?”
“I suppose I got tired of building roads designed by idiots for people I didn't much like, which includes my wife's family. I dido't want to end up like Lebanik, who is working to become a full-time lush. I'm not sure I'll have a home to go back to after this mission. It frightens me to think that things will go so smoothly that I might as well have stayed.”
“I suspect you have littleneed to worry,” The Iceman said distantly.
“Piotr, you were married once, weren't you?”
“Ages and ages ago. I carry her picture, but the only time I can see her anymore is when I am in space,” Kolomeitsev said, vouchsafing some private secret. He looked at Reinikka “Is she
married?”
“What?”
“The one you left your wife for. We are not skilled at keeping secrets from one another.”
Reinikka looked shocked. Then he laughed. “Yes, she is.”
“Do you have regrets?”
“None.”
“The best thing about time dilation,” T
he Iceman said, “is that by the time we return, no one will remember.”
“Or care,” Reinikka added.
“I sometimes think to myself how anachronistic it is to travel to a far-off star with men carrying rifles, but men are territorial creatures, and stripped to its essence, war is a little man with a rifle sitting on a patch of ground until politicians finish arguing over who it belongs to. Because any place where we have a man with a rifle is ours,” The Iceman said, “until someone wishes to pay the price for taking it away.”
Saturday (1174)
IN THE EAST WING OF THE STAATSAMP, MATTI HARJALO PROPPED an assault rifle in the comer and threw a blanket over it to avoid offending visitors, and then began unloading items from a box. Ornate bookshelves trimmed in brass covered one wall of his new office.
The young student who had appointed himself Harjalo's secretary stuck his head inside. “Matti, there is a Captain Karaev here to see you.”
“Ship him in.”
Karaev-whose prename was Gennadi, which he hated-had straight, black hair and vaulted cheekbones that made him look strikingly oriental. He looked around the room. “Fancy place you have. What will you do with those bookshelves?”
Harjalo reached into the box and pulled out an old football. “Center right” He dropped it on the floor and followed through. “Swish! And score.” He caught the rebound off the wall.
Karaev nodded. “I like it.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Late tomorrow, if nothing else runs amuck.” Karaev took the ball and tried a shot “I have decided that I have no intention ofbeing an intendance officer in my next life. I am beginning to see sacks of freeze-dried mtions in my sleep.”
“I haven't talked to Saki Bukhanov in years, but I'm still surprised he isn't going.”
“Saki would have been Anton's first choice, but his wife now prefers murder to divorce, and either of the two to leaving.” Karaev added wistfully, “I would have preferred a combat assignment, but combat assignments belong to younger men.”
He unzipped a brown leather case he was carrying and pulled out a lutelike musical instrument. He pulled away the protective plastic and ran his hands over the smooth wooden surface. “My grandmother was a Khant, from Siberia. I inherited rny strikingly good looks from her, as well as a sankvyltap, a sound maker.”
“It looks like a Finnish kanatele,” Harjalo said. taking it and handling it reverently.
“Finns and Khanty are distantly related, although a sea of Slavs separated them millennia ago. There is little left of my gmndmother's people, which is why it came to my father and eventually to me. It is old. very old. The Mansi --another forgotten people who merged with the Khanty---used them for their bear festivals. It should be strung with reindeer tendon,” Karaev explained. “I also have these.” He pulled out a pair of kees, soft boots, ancient and stiff, made from reindeer skin and similarly encased in protective plastic. “I thought of giving them to a museum, but museums are for dead things.”
“What do you want me to do with themr' Harjalo asked, accepting the items.
Karaev smiled, a secret smile. “Keep them for me. I do not think they should go with me, and I cannot think of anyone else to give them to. If I don't come back, burn them.”
Harjalo nodded slowly. ”If that’s what you want. What about your umbrella?” As a platoon leader, Karaev had carried a battered black umbrella with six carefully patched bullet holes, which had earned him a reputation for eccentricity in very eccentric company.
“You never know when it might rain on one of these ships.” Karaev stretched out a hand. “This is good-bye.”
“For a while, anyway.” Harjalo took Karaev's hand limply, with all a Finn's distaste for displays of emotion.
Karaev laughed and wmpped him in a bear hug. “I would love to stay and chat, but I'm not going to get any sleep tonight as it is. Besides, you have another visitor waiting to see you.” He called through the door, “Anton?”
Vereshchagin walked through the door. Karaev said, “I will leave you two,” and left.
“Have a seat” Harjalo looked around. “Somewhere. It’s been a while.”
“It is good to see you. I like your bookshelves.”
“You came to say good-bye?”
“Among other things. I would like to make peace with you before I go. I am also in hiding for the moment.” Vereshchagin picked the ball off the floor to read the names written on it. “Maria and Simon Beetje have separated--at least Simon thinks so--and I just approved Maria's request to come along.”
“Simon is going to be very surprised.”
“To say the least.”
“They're both in the same field, so they're going to have to work closely with each other. A transport is a pretty awkward place to have a war break out. Are you sure they're not going to try to kill each other?”
“Not entirely, but Natasha Solchava and I interviewed Maria at some length, and I consider the risks acceptable.”
“And you need her, I imagine. I remember Rikki telling me that Simon's lab technique is terrible.”
“This is correct.”
There was an awkward silence. “I suppose I should say that history is repeating itself,” Harjalo said. “You're flying off to glory, and I'm here picking up the pieces.”
“Is that really the way you feel, Matti?” Vereshchagin asked quietly.
“No, not really.” Harjalo thought for a minute. “I've decided that the problem with saying horrible things you can't take back is that even after other people forget, you don't.”
“I did not wish to leave without seeing you. I am glad that you are willing to see me. How are you and Rikki getting along?”
Harjalo snorted. “Better than you might expect I made her promise to go out on a date.”
“What did you promise her in return?”
“That I'd go out on a date. Apparently one of the campaign workers I ran through the grinder took a liking to me, although for the life of me, I can't put a face to her name.”
Vereshchagin allowed himself to smile. “Does Rikki have plans for you?”
“She asked me to take over the interior ministry until she finds someone else for the job.”
“Is she looking for someone else?”
“I suppose not.” Harjalo grinned, then his face grew serious. “I spoke to Betje Beyers. You knew that Rikki was one of the few people I couldn't say no to, and you put Betje up to pushing my name forward.”
“I suggested you, yes. Are you sorry that I did?”
“No. But you use people damnably hard, Anton, and you know it.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You used Hendrik Pienaar. You used Raul and Hanna. And now you're using Rikki, which makes three generations of the same family. Isn't that a bit much, even for you?”
“Matti,” Vereshchagin said, suddenly tired, “I have asked Sergei to watch over her. I would ask you to do the same. I do have a conscience.”
“Too much of one sometimes. I'll do it.” Harjalo reached over to embrace the man who had been his closest friend. “Take care of yourself, Anton. Take very good care of yourself.”
Sunday (1175)
AS SIMON BEETJE MOVED FORWARD TO FlND A SHUTTLE SEAT, HE jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, hello, Hans. You surprised me.”
Coldewe patted him on the back. “Sit here with me. We only let really green herring sit in the two rows. Fewer people get thrown up on that way.”
Feeling really green and fishy, Beetje obediently strapped himself into the seat beside Coldewe, who gave him an odd look. “'That’s right, you were born here, weren't you? Is this your first flight?”
Beetje nodded. “Are there other novices on board?”
“Not many. We try to send all of our people up to practice drops as often as we can arrange. I did notice one of your colleagues up there stuffing himself with motion-sickness pills.”
“That
would be Connie Marais, professor of linguistics.” Beetje swiveled his head around. The soldiers in the seats behind him were relaxed. Many of the older veterans were already asleep.
“Anton and Piotr ought to be along in a minute. Try and relax, we still have more cargo to load, so we'll be here another fifteen minutes.”
“I am all right. I didn't expect us to be delayed.”
“Final departures are never on time-- it’s a long way to Tipperary.” Coldewe grinned. “An attractive young woman from the landrost’s office came by in a black dress cut down to her navel to take testamentary instructions. I'm not sure she realized it, but her dress was loose and every time she bent over to apply her seal. you could see her knees and points in between. I think some of our lads had their laundry lists sealed and may have gone through the line more than once. Are you sure you're all
right?”
“Oh, I am fine,” Beetje lied, as his wife left her seat and sat down in the seat to his left with a stony expression. “There are diamonds in stardust, so I was thinking about plucking a few as
we go by.”
Coldewe opened his eyes. “Eh?”
“Tiny carbon motes crystallized by the heat of a sun. Of course, they're only about twenty-six angstroms across, so we aren't exactly going to get rich from them.” Beetje babbled.
“I suppose not.” Coldewe looked up and snapped his fingers.
“Father Nick, over here! I want you to meet someone.” Father Bosenac elbowed his way forward.
Coldewe made introductions. “Father Nick, this is Dr. Simon Beetje and Dr. Maria Beetje, two of our biologists. Father Nick is our specialist in comparative theology. He also plays a good hand of skat.”
Bosenac blinked his eyes. “I'm still a little stunned to be here.”
“I should have warned you. Although Anton almost always tells the truth, he never tells all of it.”
Coldewe assured Simon and Maria, “You'll like Father Nick. Good skat players are hard to find.” He turned his attention back to Bosenac. “Insofar as we have a table of organization, you belong to Simon.”
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