—Don’t let it trouble you, dear.
Hi, Grandpere. It doesn’t exactly trouble me.
—What, then?
I’ve just never seen him look that wistful before.
—He’s never had to anticipate three solid years without you before. Without even the hope of hearing your voice on the radio.
Hm. Good point.
She moved up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He looked back over his shoulder, smiled, and went back to gazing down the access road.
I hope he isn’t rethinking his decision.
—Why not, dear?
Because I don’t dare rethink mine.
—Ah. I understand perfectly. But you can take some comfort in this, at least.
In what, Grandpere?
—He won’t enjoy the separation. He’ll worry himself sick over you each and every passing day. He’ll wonder what you’re encountering and what risks you're taking to explore it. He’ll agonize over whether one of your discoveries might keep you from returning to him. But he won’t die of it.
The reminder of the price her grandmother Teresza had paid for her love wrenched her out of her self-absorption. It was a reminder that she was not alone in having sacrificed, and that not every sacrifice that had been or would be made to advance her toward her goal would be hers alone.
Grandpere?
—Yes, dear?
When did you know? About the linkage of Grandmere Teresza’s life to yours, I mean?
Armand’s answer was slow in coming. Althea feared that she’d managed at long last to offend him.
—In all candor, Althea, I was never certain. I suspected after...let’s just say after a certain unpleasant incident on the Hopeless peninsula that you don’t need to know any more about. Teresza’s father claimed to be certain of it from the instant he incubated her zygote. I never was, until the moment her soul detached from her body.
That set Althea back on her mental heels.
You were aware of that?
—Few things happen on Hope that I’m not aware of, Granddaughter. It’s a consequence of my somewhat unique position.
Damn. So it’s all true, then.
—Careful with those long conclusion jumps, dear. You might land wrong and break an ankle.
Hm? What do you mean?
—Certainty about that which the natural senses cannot perceive is a bad idea.
But you just said—
—Perhaps I should have phrased it differently. I was aware of the instant when Teresza’s mortal life ended. The terms I used were meant to suggest, not to confirm.
Hm. Okay. But why suggest? Why not go with what you know for sure and be content with that?
—Are you content with that, Althea?
The question jarred her into an unusual state of consciousness. It coupled her awareness of mundane reality to her unique intercourse with Armand and infused them with a sense of needs she was internally inhibited against pondering, and had never dared to explore.
I never have been, have I?
—No, you haven’t. Not by my reckoning, at least.
So I suppose I shouldn’t dismiss it all so blithely, eh?
—Good policy.
“Martin?” she said. “Can we deal with the last few loads tomorrow morning?”
He turned in her embrace and returned it. “Sure, if you like. I just thought you wanted everything squared away before you launch.”
“It will be, one way or another,” she said. “My timetable is my own. But I want to use what’s left of the day for...something else. Did Alvah give you any idea what he has planned for dinner?”
He shook his head, and she grinned.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “I think I’ll get us into the kitchen a little early. We didn’t have much lunch, and there’s a dish he taught me that I’ve never had the nerve to try out.”
* * *
Althea scooped generous helpings of her concoction out of the large baking tray and onto her and Martin's dishes, brought them to the table and set one at each of their places. He looked down at the steaming mass, most of whose ingredients were still identifiable by eye, and frowned.
“This is dinner?” he said.
She nodded. “Trust me.”
“I will, but...noodles, a cream sauce, and fruit?”
“Come on, dig in.” She grinned wickedly. “If you really like it, I’ll leave you the recipe and you can hawk it at the Trading Bloc. Make back a few of the dekas I’ve squandered.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, spooned up a large bite, and tipped it into his mouth. His expression morphed immediately from dubious to pleasantly surprised.
“It’s good,” he said. “Really good. I wouldn’t have expected it. It’s like having dinner and dessert all in one. Does it have a name?”
She shrugged. “Only Alvah would know. I’m betting it doesn’t. The way he talks, you’d think his recipes fall on him from out of the sky. Anyway, I embellished it with some ideas of my own.”
They dug in with a will. When both plates had been emptied, refilled, and emptied again, Althea rose to clear the table, but Martin laid a hand on her arm.
“Whoa, darling wife,” he said. “Isn’t there a wee bit more in that pan?”
She chuckled. “Lots more than a wee bit, honored husband. But I’m afraid to let you have any more. I’ve got lovin’ on my mind for later, and I don’t want to have to listen to you groan about your indigestion.”
“Oh, all right, I suppose I should exercise some self-restraint.” He rose and made to help her with the cleaning-up, stopped and turned toward the archway. Chuck Feigner stood there, looking uncertain about his welcome.
Althea was first to recover. “Good evening, Granduncle. Hungry?”
Feigner nodded toward the west-facing window, through which the afternoon sunlight streamed clear and strong. “It’s still a little early,” he said. “I was just hoping for some coffee. Have you already had dinner?”
“Indeed we have,” Martin said, “and it was great. Have a seat.” He plucked a plate and a tablespoon from the drying rack, loaded a portion of Althea’s entree onto the plate, set the lot before Feigner, brought him a mugful of coffee, and slid into the seat opposite him. “Enjoy!”
“Hm.” Feigner peered dubiously at the creamy mass. “Noodles, cream sauce, and fruit?”
“Trust me,” Martin said. Althea suppressed a giggle as Feigner dug in.
“Rothbard, Rand, and Ringer!”
“See what I mean?”
“Hi, guys,” Emma Morelon murmured from the archway. “What’s that you’re eating, Granduncle Chuck? Isn’t it a little early for dinner?”
“Have a seat, Emma.” As she sat and Martin rose to get another place setting, Teodor Chistyakowski ambled in, scratching himself and yawning.
“What’s that aroma? I caught it all the way across the mansion,” the genesmith murmured. He settled himself at the table next to Feigner. “Smells really good. Warm and fruity.”
From the hallway beyond came a crescendo of footfalls.
“Have I created a monster?” Althea muttered.
“I’d say, and just in time for your big getaway,” Martin drawled. “You’d better leave me that recipe, space babe.”
* * *
“It’s really going to happen, isn’t it?” Martin murmured.
Althea felt him pull himself more closely against her back.
“Yes, it is,” she said. “Tomorrow afternoon or evening at the latest.”
“Why, love?”
“Because I’m ready, the ship is ready—”
“No, not why tomorrow.” He rotated her in his arms until she was facing him. “Why go at all? What makes it so bleeding important?”
She studied his face in the evening gloom.
“I’ve already told you,” she said. “It was my grandparents’ deathbed request. Grandmere Teresza said it was what she and Grandpere Armand wanted for me. They left me five million dekas�
�� seed money. But you knew all that. What else can I say?”
He took a moment to respond.
“Yes, you’ve told me all that,” he said at last. “But that just tells me it was important to them. What made it important to you?”
She started to reply, bit it back, and thought about it.
“You’re right,” she said. “There’s a missing step. It is important to me. It’s the thing I want to do most in all the world. It has been since I was eighteen years old. Even with all the expense and the effort and us about to be apart for three years. But I’ve never thought much about why that should be.”
He waited in silence.
She put her hands to the sides of his face, pulled it close, and rubbed her lips gently over his. His lips parted and she ran the tip of her tongue over their inner surfaces.
“Do you like that?” she whispered into his mouth.
“You know I do,” he said.
“But why?”
“What? Because—” He paused, drew a little back, and looked at her curiously. “I just do. It feels good. It’s you, you loving me. It's a little reminder of all the rest of our intimacies. Why do you ask?”
“Because,” she whispered, “I don’t have any better answer. I want to go to space, Martin. I just do. I want to wander the stars. I want to see other worlds, and rub their soil between my fingers, and learn to love them as I’ve loved this world. I need to know whether there’s life on any of them. I hope there is. It will mean more to see and learn...more to love.
“Grandmere Teresza once told me that I have the look of an adventurer. She said she expected that I’d be unsatisfied with a single world. I was very young, but I knew what she meant. When she told me about her and Grandpere Armand’s ambition for me, it became my ambition too, right then and there. The five million was just help getting started.
“Life is pretty pointless if you don’t have an ambition. If you have a really big one, complete with dreams of fame and fortune, and you have even a ghost of a chance of pulling it off, you’d be a fool to point yourself in any other direction. It’s got its downside, of course. If you succeed, you get the sense of fulfillment, and the fame and fortune, but if you fail, you have to live with big failure. There’s the what-next problem, too. The bigger your successes, the tougher it is to think of something to follow them up with. But the alternative is accepting mediocrity. Boredom. Doing what other people could do just as well, and never knowing what you could do with your full powers.
“This is my ambition, love,” she said after a pause. “It’s what I’ve meant to do since long before we met. I couldn’t be sure if you would come to share it. I certainly didn’t ever mean for it to separate us—”
“Which it will,” he interjected.
“I know. But not forever.” She squeezed him gently. “It’ll just feel that way.”
He pulled her close again. They clasped one another in silence as the gloom deepened toward the dark of night.
“I'm not the only one around here who’ll miss you,” he said into the stillness.
“I know.”
“I want you to promise me a couple of things.”
“Name them.”
“First, I want you back safe and sound,” he said. “You’re a risk-taker—”
“Martin,” she interjected, “this is strictly a there-and-back-again flight to prove out the drive and the nav systems. I won’t be landing on anything solid.” She snorted. “I’ll be safer out there than you will be on Hope.”
“All the same,” he said. “I won’t bother demanding that you avoid every little risk. But if they’re avoidable, would you please at least think about working around them instead of plunging straight ahead?”
She chuckled. “Okay. What else?”
“Second,” he said, “when you’re back from this first jaunt, I want you to plan your future trips with a crew in mind. No more gallivanting off alone.” He breathed once deeply. “And I want to be along from then on, no matter where you go or how long you expect to be in transit. No exceptions.”
“Martin—”
“That’s what I want, Al.” She felt his jaws clench against her cheek. “You can refuse me, but you can’t tell me not to want it.”
“I know,” she said. “And you will have it. But I want you to give me two things in exchange.”
“Hm? What?”
“First,” she said, “I want you to take the funds we have left, add our piece of the revenue stream from the fusion power system, consult with Doug and Patrice about how best to use it all, and build up our fortunes again. We’ll need a lot more than we have today to afford the trip to Earth.”
“Hm. Okay. What else?”
“Second...Martin, give me your fullest attention, because this is really important.”
He tensed against her. She ran her hand down his torso, folded it delicately around his penis, and caressed it gently.
“I want you to get it up again. I’m not leaving this planet without one more good tussle with my honored husband, and we’re going to be way too busy tomorrow morning.”
He laughed heartily. “Just one more, Al?”
“What, do you think you can manage more than one?”
“We’ll see.”
==
Part Four:
By Whatever Means Apply
Chapter 30: Octember 29, 1322 A.H.
Althea closed the last of the seals on her pressure suit, rotated slowly before her bedroom mirror, and nodded. Martin watched with his arms folded.
“Check my recycler, love?” she said.
He moved up behind her.
“Looks good. Pottet reservoir is full to the line, and the scrubber monitor shows solid green.”
She looked directly into his eyes.
“Let’s go, then.”
He nodded. They made for the staircase in silence.
He’s awfully terse this morning.
—Would you have expected anything else, Al?
I suppose not. But it’s making things a little harder. Grandpere? You know I’m going to miss you too, don’t you?
—I had assumed so, vain, self-centered sort that I am.
(humor) I’ll be back. Think of this as a really long shakedown flight. No side trips and no big risks. Trust me on that. The emissions source in Eridanus is just an excuse to stop by, yell “Hello the house,” and wait for the echo to die. And you keep Hope in tiptop shape! I might need it when I return.
—(humor) I couldn’t possibly do otherwise, dear. We planetary intelligences have our pride, you know.
I’m counting on it.
They found the entranceway impassably full of Morelons, every one of them wide-eyed and leaking tears.
* * *
Martin brought the hoverbike alongside the Morelon hangar, damped the ground-effect fans to zero, and killed the motor. Althea dismounted carefully, mindful of the integrity of her pressure suit, plucked her helmet off the tail of the bike, and pressed the button that opened the hangar door. It rolled back to reveal the nose cone of Freedom’s Horizon.
Martin was still on the bike.
“Martin? You’re staying to see me off, aren’t you?”
He dismounted, went to where she stood, and took her in his arms. She returned the embrace as best she could.
“I can’t quite believe I’m about to do this,” she murmured.
“I can’t quite believe I’m about to let you,” he replied.
She leaned back to look into his eyes. “I will be back, safe and sound,” she said. “I promised.”
“I will be here, lonely and anxious,” he said. “As you very well know.”
“Visit with Pat and Alvah a lot. Make sure Chuck has as much company as he can stand. Check in on Doug Kramnik every so often. Spend a lot of time with Bart and Nora’s Annelise. And sell a lot of reactors,” she said. “It’ll help with the worries.”
“I will,” he said, “but I doubt it’ll help all that much.”
She smirked. “Well, you could always have Claire Albermayer put you into suspension.”
He was silent for a long moment.
“Martin?”
“I did think about that,” he said.
Althea’s mouth dropped open. “No kidding?”
He nodded. “But Claire said the suspensee dreams. I decided that I didn’t want to lie down in a cryocapsule and dream about you for three years. I’d rather stay awake, miss you honestly, and pray about once every fifteen minutes for your safe return.”
She swallowed, momentarily without words.
“Prayer helps, Al. Give it its due. If nothing else, it keeps us mindful of how little we really control.” His hands rose to cup her face. “Can I persuade you to give it a try, now and then, while you’re out there in the dark?”
She nodded. “I’ll do it.”
“Sincerely?”
“Sincerely. I love you, Martin.”
He smiled wanly. “I love you, Althea.”
She kissed him. “Help me with the preflight.”
They strode into the hangar in silence.
* * *
Martin waited for Althea to lower the hatch before leaving the hangar. Althea waited until he was safely out and away, donned and locked her helmet, belted herself into her seat, ignited the kerosene engine, engaged the ground transmission, and rolled Freedom’s Horizon out to her starting position. She aligned the exhaust nacelle carefully with the ceramic baffle at the edge of the concrete, disengaged the ground transmission, killed the kero engine, ignited the main drive, and stopped.
Here I go, Grandpere. No chats for the next three years or so.
—I know, Al. Be not afraid. You’ve got a solid vessel, plenty of supplies, and a powerful fusion drive suitable for escaping solar winds and scorching planets. Point it away from Hope, would you please?
(humor) You betcha.
—Speaking of power, I’m very proud of how well you’ve mastered your telekinesis. It took me less time, but I never disposed of as much raw power as you have. But be careful with it. Sometimes power compromises delicacy. Practice fine handling skills while you’re in flight, if you have the time.
Freedom's Scion (Spooner Federation Saga Book 2) Page 29