"We'll call you," Lynch promised, surprising Rob. "And tell your Professor that I learned my lesson last time, after the fit he pitched when we moved that junk. If we find anything this time, we'll call him and ask for instructions before we move it. Okay?" She rocked back on her heels, arms crossed over her chest with a "what could possibly be fairer?" expression.
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"Thank you," Ssoriszs said, somewhat reassured, though Lynch's patronizing expression made it hard to credit her sincerity.
Morrow, too, stood. "If there are no further questions--" he began, but broke off as Kkintha ch'aait waved her little forelimh, "Just one, Jeffrey," she said. "I am relieved that you are confident that this problem can be contained and eliminated, but... what if you are unable to halt this radonium reaction . .. this
'breeding'? What then?"
Jeff gave her a crooked smile. "Administrator, my dad has a saying, 'Don't cross that bridge till you come to it.' You want the worst-case scenario? If we can't stop the radonium-2 from breeding, the reaction will start to spread rapidly. If such a thing were to happen, it would be too dangerous for anyone to stay here."
"You mean we would have to leave? Evacuate the students?"
"Unless you'd like to wind up as part of a pint-sized cosmic dust cloud, the answer's yes," Lynch said dryly. "Just in case, maybe you'd better check out how long it would take you to ship those kids out of here, Administrator."
For the first time, Morrow seemed to react to Lynch's mordant humor.
"Andrea!" He gave her a reproving glance. "That's nothing to kid about.
Kkintha . .." he hesitated. "Don't worry. At the moment all indications are favorable. But we'll report again as soon as we've done a more thorough analysis in a couple of days. If anything so ... drastic ... became necessary, you'd have plenty of warning."
Kkintha nodded, a gesture she'd picked up after years of association with humans. "Thank you, Jeffrey," she said. "I appreciate your frankness."
Rob stood up. "I'll walk you out," he said, and the three of them headed for the door.
Once through it, Andrea Lynch strode ahead, her long legs quickly outdistancing the two men. "She must be a real pleasure to work with every day," Rob said dryly, lowering his voice so the woman wouldn't hear.
Jeff's mouth twitched, then he gave a resigned sigh. "Andrea is a damned good crew boss and engineer," he said ruefully, "but usually I don't take her along when I talk to clients. She rubs everyone the wrong way."
"I'll say," Rob agreed fervently. "But if she's the best person for the job..." He shrugged.
"She is," Morrow said. "She definitely is the best." He sighed again, this time wearily. "God, I'm tired. Seems like it's been at
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least a month since I've had a good night's sleep."
"The insomnia's back?" Rob asked, remembering how tor mented Jeff had been by sleeplessness before he'd left the Acad emy. At the time, he'd recognized that it was a symptom of depression, and had treated it with hypno-therapy and medication. "Or have you just been overworking?"
Morrow ran a hand through his hair. "A little of both, maybe," he admitted.
Rob caught a glimpse of something metallic glittering amid the now-tousled strands of Jeff's hair, and when he looked more closely, the psychologist was surprised to realize that Morrow was wearing a teledistort. Lynch's wearing one seemed perfectly in keeping with her personality, but seeing Jeff wearing one struck Rob as odd. "Feeling paranoid today?" he asked, trying to keep it light. "Or has she infected you?"
When Morrow looked confused, Rob tugged at his own ear. "The distort," he explained.
"Oh ... that." Jeff rolled his eyes. "I forgot I had it on. I've been wearing it night and day since I left StarBridge Station for a series of meetings with one of our subcontractors. You've been in academia too long, Rob. This is S.O.P.
during business meetings nowadays," he said, touching the earcuff.
"Companies have taken to hiring telepaths to 'monitor' conversations."
"That's unethical!" Rob protested. "Blackmail is a natural result of such a practice!"
Morrow shrugged. "You're right," he agreed. "But how are you going to stop it?"
I hope nobody tells Heather Farley about that, Rob thought grimly. "I suppose you can't," he said. "But it's too bad that those telepaths are making a living abusing their talent, when we have such a crying need for them here."
When they reached the airlock, they halted. Rob's gaze searched Morrow's face, finding new lines as well as the shadows beneath the younger man's eyes. "Get some sleep, okay?" he said, putting a hand on his friend's arm and giving it a little shake. "You look like hell, Jeff."
Morrow gave him a crooked grin. "You don't look so hot yourself, Doc," he said, pretending to peer at Rob's hair. "You're getting as gray as an old dog I once had. This place is sucking you dry, Rob."
The psychologist gave him a rueful grin. "That makes two of my friends in two days who have reminded me I'm getting gray," he said, shaking his head. "Maybe I ought to dye it."
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Jeff's blue eyes narrowed. "Maybe you ought to get out of here," he said softly.
Startled, Rob started to laugh the remark off, then saw that Morrow was serious. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded. "You said you'd be able to contain the radonium--stop it from breeding!"
The engineer shrugged. "I wasn't talking about that," he said reassuringly.
"The school will be fine, don't worry. I was just..." He shrugged. "I don't know.
I'm too tired to make sense, Rob. I'm so beat I feel punchy."
"Sleep is what you need, Jeff," Rob said, relaxing. "Call me tomorrow, okay?
Maybe we can meet up at the station for dinner."
"I'm going to be out at the site," Morrow said grimly. "But I'll try to get some sack time ... if Lynch doesn't run me ragged."
"You're the boss," Rob pointed out. "Fire her if she gives you any static."
"I can't. I need her." Morrow hesitated, then said in a rush, "Rob, maybe I was stepping out of line just now, but, dammit, it seems as though you--and the other StarBridge staff--work your butts off, and all you get for it is more shit dumped on you. I read that editorial in the Times that pointed to your dropout rate and called for a new administration to run the Bridge. It's not fair!"
"You're right, it's not," the psychologist agreed soberly. "But the universe isn't a fair place, we both learned that long ago. I read that editorial, too. But that faction is definitely in the minority ... at least so far."
Rob took a deep breath. "Listen, Jeff, there's something I want you to know."
He hesitated, then took the plunge. "Back when you were a student here, I was going through some rough times, wondering if I'd made a terrible mistake taking on this job. I suspect that you were more observant than you ever let on ... that you picked up on my problems, and the self-destructive way I was dealing--or, rather, not dealing with them. Am I right?"
"Maybe," Jeff said, his face revealing nothing. "Why?"
Rob waited silently.
Finally Morrow shrugged, then nodded. "Yeah, okay, you're right."
"I want you to know that I've made peace with myself about 'all of that," Rob said earnestly. "It took a lot of soul-searching, but it was worth it. Jeff, this place... well, it's the best thing I've ever done. This school is worth all the hard work, all the
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sacrifice. It took me a while to realize that, but I know it now. Starbridge is important."
Morrow's blue-gray eyes were steady as they held his. "I'm glad to hear that you've come to terms with your choice," he said finally. "You're right in thinking that I observed you just about as closely as you studied me. Uh, I gather that you haven't.. . I mean, that there's been no, uh .. ." Raising his hand, he made a quick tipping gesture, as though pouring something.
"Not a drop, not in almost six years," Rob said quietly. He gave his friend a lopsided smile. "And I'm completely off medication, too." He sh
ook his head.
"Feels funny to talk about it out loud after all these years of silence, doesn't it? I knew that you knew, of course ... I've known for years."
"How?"
"Because whenever you'd come back and we'd have dinner or an evening together, you never acted surprised when I didn't join you in a beer. That's a dead giveaway."
"I guess so," Jeff said. "Is it still hard, staying away from it?"
Now it was Rob's turn to shrug. "I've replaced the old habits with new, but there are days when the urge still hits me. You can't ever let yourself believe,
'I've beaten this, and now I don't have to be on my guard anymore.' At times, when I get stressed, it's still one day--even one hour, or one minute--at a time."
Morrow nodded gravely. "I understand. Uh, listen ... I hope I didn't embarrass you just now. I just. .. well, you're one of my closest friends, and I want what's best for you."
Rob nodded. "I know. And I also know what's best for me, and StarBridge is it."
Jeff's eyes fell; the moment, Rob realized, was rapidly becoming too intense.
"I suppose you do," Morrow muttered, then he looked back up and lightly punched his friend's bicep. "But I still think you'd be better off as President of Earth!"
Rob rolled his eyes. "Jeff, you are punchy," he said. "Get some sleep."
"I promise, Doc," Morrow agreed meekly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow." As the airlock door slid aside, he gave his friend a ¦ thumbs-up salute and left.
Heather existed on two levels, neither one physical.
If she allowed herself to become aware of her actual surroundings, there was only darkness, glimpses of shining straight lines and angles, all of it studded with trails of electricity, winking on-off, on-off. Existence within the computer was like nothing
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she'd ever encountered before, but it had some of the same feel as playing a complex computer game--the perception of grids, organic crystals, multilevels ... and endless, tiny spaces.
On the other level, the imaginary one that she'd programmed herself, this illusional pocket of "reality," Heather existed inside a different body, wearing a pearl-gray suit and an emerald blouse. She sat behind an expensive desk, within a tastefully furnished office, gazing into a computer screen at a dark-skinned man with a formidable nose and straight, oily black hair. That's just like the business suit I saw in the catalogue, she thought with one part of her mind. It cost a bundle.
The broker, Mr. Shandra, glanced down at his own terminal, then cleared his throat. "I believe I have it all clear, Ms. Benson," he said. "Just let me check it over one more time . .."
Heather could tell he was racking his brain for a way to prolong their encounter, trying to get up his nerve to turn the conversation onto a more personal level. From the moment Rajahanipur Shandra had answered his call to find himself confronted by the lovely image of "Helen Benson," i.e., Heathertoo, it hadn't taken telepathy to realize what the broker had in mind.
Heather's thoughts moved Heathertoo's mouth into a smile, then words. "I appreciate your personally taking the time on such short notice to help me set up my account, Mr. Shandra. It was very kind of you."
"Not at all, not at all," Shandra assured her heartily. "It is an "honor to assist you, Ms. Benson. Tell me, if you do not mind my inquiring ... how did you come to choose me and my firm? StarBridge Station is a major trade hub, certainly, but, physically, it is a bit out of the way."
Heather hesitated, turning over possible replies. "I heard your cOame mentioned at a cocktail party last month," she said, hoping her pause hadn't been too long. "At the Terran embassy on Shassiszss."
"You are on Shassiszss?" Shandra was delighted. "Then on your way back to Earth, your ship is bound to pass through StarBridge Sector. I would be delighted if you could stop off at the station and meet with me. Then we could discuss your investment future in person." Now it was his turn to hesitate. Perhaps we might have lunch ... or dinner?" Oh, shit! Heather thought, but kept her consternation from showing on her imaged face. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Shandra, but my next assignment"--she'd given her occupation as
"writer" and had mentioned that her funds came from "royalties" when 140
she'd first spoken to the broker--"will take me in the opposite direction. But if I ever do get out that way"--Heathertoo flashed him a dazzling smile--"I'll be certain to let you know. Lunch or dinner would be nice. And by the way, Mr.
Shandra, that's a beautiful suit. Exquisite tailoring."
"Please, call me Raj," he invited, disappointment mixing with pleasure at the compliment. "And I thank you again, Ms. Benson."
Heathertoo smiled. "And you must call me Helen," she cooed sweetly.
"Thank you again .. . Raj. Goodbye."
The girl cut the connection, then relaxed with a mental sigh of relief. She'd done it! Shandra had bought the whole thing!
It was time to exit the program, but for just a moment, Heather let herself be distracted by the body she was "wearing." When she'd first slipped into it, it had seemed stiff, unwieldy, but now it seemed so real! Running her hands over her breasts, she wondered whether this was what having real tits felt like. For a moment she toyed with the idea of creating a program using an image of Serge, and having him meet Heathertoo.
She pictured him sitting beside her, holding her hand, tenderly kissing her mouth, then, greatly daring, she imagined him unbuttoning her blouse, gently stroking her breast. The thought was exciting, stimulating, but also embarrassing .. . and scary. From her telepathic snooping, Heather was well aware of what grown-ups did in bed together, but she'd never really comprehended the urge. Sex struck her as a lot of sweaty, sticky thrashing around and grunting over what boiled down to--at its best--a few seconds of pleasure almost as good as what she received from scarfing up a hot-fudge sundae.
Heather still giggled over what Aunt Natalie had really thought about while Uncle Fred had been panting and slobbering on top of her. Once, when he'd called her a "fat, unnatural little monster," she'd gotten mad enough to throw caution to the winds and tell the old son of a bitch the truth--in consequence earning herself an ass-burning from both of them. She'd been sore for two days.
I should get out, she thought lazily, looking around the office. But this was even more relaxing, more pleasant than sleeping late. Just a few more seconds, she promised herself. Just--
"Heather!" the voice spoke sharply in her ear--her real ear. She was being shaken-- who was being shaken? Heathertoo? No ... it was her real body, her physical body. She'd almost forgotten, she had one--
"Heather, answer me! Wake up!"
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With a rush that completely disoriented her, the girl found herself back in her own stocky little body. She opened her eyes to find Hing bending over her, pale and anxious. "Heather? Can you hear me?" the older girl shouted.
"Of course I can hear you," Heather said peevishly. "I just fell asleep, that's all."
"You sure did! I've been shaking you for more than a minute. Are you sure you're okay?" Hing peered at her suspiciously.
"I'm fine," Heather said. One of her arms and both of her feet had gone to sleep and she began flexing them cautiously, wincing. "When did you get back? I was ... I was worried about you."
Hing sat down on Heather's bed and smiled ruefully. "For a while I was worried about myself," she admitted. "But as you can see, I'm fine. Didn't the nurse leave a message for you? I asked him to."
Heather had completely forgotten to check messages on her Mizari voder.
She glanced down at the little machine strapped to her wrist, then swore softly as she saw the telltale light that indicated a message on file. "I never thought to check," she said ruefully.
"Have you seen Serge?" Hing asked. "They said he'd gone back to his quarters, but I went by there on my way back, and he wasn't there."
Memory came rushing back, and Heather was horrified to feel """Ifer eyes flood with tears. She struggled to hold them back. "I... didn't see him," she muttered.
"But--but. .."
"Heather.. ." Hing was staring at her, concerned. "What's wrong, honey?"
she asked, getting up and putting an arm around the girl. "What happened?"
The sympathy nearly proved Heather's undoing. For long moments she struggled, fists pressed to her eyes, fighting back the sobs that wanted to burst out. Finally, she drew a long, ragged breath. "Serge is pissed at me,"
she whispered, her voice harsh with the unshed tears. "He hates me."
"Why? What happened?"
"I--I read his mind. About his music. And---and he found out," Heather gulped.
"Oh . .." Hing shook her head. "That's the one thing that would really piss him off, you're right. C'mon out here, let's sit down and have some tea, and you can tell me the whole story, okay?"
Minutes later the roommates sat side by side in their shared living room, sipping tea from Hing's exquisite porcelain cups as Heather talked.
Finishing her account, the child leaned back,
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feeling exhausted. Afraid to meet Hing's eyes and see Serge's anger reflected there, too, she fixed her gaze on one of the holo-posters showing views of ancient Far Eastern temples and waited.
"Wow," Hing said finally. "Serge really called you a bitch?"
Miserably, Heather nodded.
"I don't think I've ever heard him curse," the older student said. "Maybe once, during a fight we had, but. . ." She took a deep breath. "If I were going to be a proper example to you, I'd shake my finger and say, 'I warned you.'
Telepathic snooping is very bad manners, and nobody likes an
eavesdropper. But beating yourself up about what's already happened won't help. You just have to make up your mind to do better in the future."
"I will, I swear it," Heather mumbled. "But it doesn't matter... Serge hates me.
I can't change that."
Slipping an arm around the child's shoulders, Hing gave her a hug. "No, he doesn't hate you. You owe him an apology, and you'll have to be careful to respect his privacy in the future. You'll learn from this, and go on."
Heather voiced her worst fear. "Hing, I won't be here in the future! Serge will tell Dr. Rob, and he'll send me back to Earth!"
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