He was walking slowly so that she could keep up; he gave her a long look sideways. “Ymma asked me not to bring you. Or Tanuojin.”
“Tanuojin wouldn’t go anyway.” That rankled. She thought of Leno. “Ymma took my advice in Luna, didn’t he?”
“That was different.”
“I guess so. I just talked to Merkhiz, and he says he won’t support the Luna Agreement unless I resign.”
“Oh? Somebody must have gotten beside him.”
What Leno said in the Chamber would sway people. She wondered darkly if Saba had already sold her away. Saba stopped to look at a table of plants, each in its ball of dirt wrapped in plastic. She decided to write Newrose as nasty an answer as she could. Saba turned away from the little garden.
“I’ll hold the Agreements back out of the Chamber for a while. Come to my wedding.”
“I’m not going where—”
“I need you. Somebody has to stand forward for me. It’s supposed to be my best friend, but Tanuojin won’t do it. He hates Lopka. You do it.”
Her gaze flew up toward him. “Stand forward for you? You mean be in the ceremony with you?”
“They’ll all be there,” he said. “Leno, Bokojin, everybody.”
“Hunh.” She nodded. “Oh, yes, I will.”
Ymma’s hacked face hid whatever he thought. He spoke the rote words of the ceremony in a voice without feeling. He and Paula stood facing each other before a bilyobio tree. The wedding guests made a ring around them; beyond Ymma she could see Bokojin, looking angry, and Machou, looking drunk.
They were all men, these guests. The women would be watching from the windows of the buildings beyond, except for one, who sat inside the left-hand of the covered chairs by the bilyobio tree. Paula was terrified of forgetting her answers to Ymma’s questions. The ring of witnesses never looked at Ymma; they all stared at her. David was here, too, behind her. Her mouth felt frozen, her lips numb.
“Who are you, coming here as my guest?” Ymma recited. “Tell me your name and your purpose.”
She lifted her voice, so that none of them could say later that he had not heard her. “I am Paula Mendoza. I am the Earth Akellar. I come for the sake of peace, for the Prima’s sake, to take his wife to him.”
Nobody moved. She wondered if they had expected it. Ymma’s voice sounded choked. They exchanged another prescription, and he led her to the gorgeous covered chair, worked in filigreed metal.
His daughter looked no older than David. Pretty as a doll, she sat dressed in a robe woven with gold and gem crystal, her eyes shining with fear. Ymma said, “Daughter, go with this man—” and bit his teeth together. After a moment, he said, “With this Akellar, to live under your husband’s rule.”
The child’s name was Melly. She put her hands out, and Paula took them. At the touch the two women looked surprised at each other. Melly’s hands were icy cold.
There were three oaths, one for each of the steps to the other of the chairs. Once Melly flubbed her answer and Paula prompted her in a whisper. Except for them the place was silent. Saba was waiting in the right-hand chair. He spoke some words and the child replied, her eyes downcast, mumbling. When Saba put his hands around theirs, Melly almost would not let Paula take hers away.
The bride sat down in the chair beside her husband. Paula backed away, lighter by a burden. She had done it perfectly. For the first time, she realized that she had been frightened of botching a Styth ritual. She shut her eyes, smiling.
Finally the door shut on Saba and his bride. The wedding guests let out their breath in a gust of noisy conversation. Paula went after some of them down a strange hall in Ymma’s house.
Most of the people in the sitting room were still standing up. Slaves brought them liquor. Dakkar and Ketac were talking by the far wall. Paula avoided them. Dakkar reminded her of Pedasen.
“I think we’ve just been taken,” Bokojin said. He tramped into the room. “The Earth Akellar.”
“Cool off,” Leno said.
“I don’t care if she hears me.” Bokojin was plowing through the mass of standing men toward the banquet table. The crowd yielded to him, third-ranked in the rAkellaron. His voice boomed. “Is Ymma sure this wedding is legal?”
Paula stood just behind Leno. They had all seen her. She went over to the table for something to eat. Bokojin turned away, his back to her. Dishes covered the table: skewered meats, fruit soaked in liquor.
David had come in. She put a sliver of pala fruit into her mouth, watching him cross the room. His shoulder-length hair was too long to keep neat, and to his horror it curled at the ends. He spoke to Ketac, and Ketac bent to listen, turned, and tapped Dakkar on the arm. They followed David out of the room.
Paula ate the sweet fruit. She went through the crowd and down the hall after her son.
They led her into a darkened stretch of hallway, and she lost them. While she was going back toward the wedding party, she heard a sharp stranger’s voice through a window.
“Just like a nigger, running for help!”
The window was over her head. It seemed to look over the courtyard. She stood under it, looking up at the patch of barred light on the ceiling. Outside, David said, “They’re to watch. I’m tired of getting jumped just when I’m beating the shit out of one of you.” Paula walked away down the dark hall.
She went back into the room where the wedding guests were drinking and talking in a din. As she came in, a voice was shouting, “Suppose what would have happened if Yekka had been here,” so she knew what the main subject of talk was. At the end of the table there was a pump. She pumped a thin stream of Lopkit beer into a cup. Leno came over to her.
“Somebody brought this for you.” He gave her a folded paper.
She put the cup down to open the message. It was from Newrose, sounding desperate. With three Styth ships cruising mysteriously in their immediate space, the Council of the Middle Planets had decided to disband after all, but they still refused to ratify the Luna Agreement. That made no difference, as long as they disbanded. Leno was watching her from his advantage of height. He had read the message. She folded the paper in thirds and put it away in her sleeve.
“Of course they accepted it,” Saba said. “I told you I wouldn’t have any trouble.” They were in his office in the House, and he leaned back in his chair and spread his arms out. “Just the same, I want you to stay out of the Chamber. Unless there’s an emergency.”
“You don’t have to convince me. I have too much to do anyway, to waste my time sitting around with those politicians.”
“Good.”
She put her elbow on the broad arm of her chair. They had been back from Lopka six watches, but she had seen little of him. He spent most of his time with Melly. “How is your marriage?”
“Ah, Paula—” He smacked his stomach with one hand. “I’m getting old.”
“That bad?”
“It’s that good. I—” He looked up, beyond her, and his whole face smiled. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you the long watch.”
Paula turned. Tanuojin was coming in the door. He had a three-cornered coat over his shoulder. She sat back into the corner of the couch. His height even now sometimes surprised her. He and Saba hugged each other in greeting.
“You’re getting fat, being married.”
“It’s good for me. I’ve just been telling Paula, you should try it.”
Tanuojin snorted with laughter. He glanced at Paula and turned back to his lyo. “You know the probe we sent to Lalande in Melleno’s Primat—”
“No.”
“Melleno 372. The planetary spectra are coming in now. Come up to Oberon with me and look at them.”
Saba went back behind his desk to his chair. “When?”
“Now.”
“I can’t—I told Melly I’d take her to the Akopra next watch.”
“I’ll go,” Paula said.
Tanuojin flung his arm out. “To the Akopra. Here? Jesus, you’ll ruin her taste, if she
has any. Bring her down to Yekka. These are the first accurate composition bands we’ve ever gotten from another solar system. Why wait?”
“Go on. Take Ybicket. Vida can fly you.”
“I’ll go,” Paula said again.
Tanuojin gave her a sour look. “With you inboard, it would take a watch and a half just to get there.” He turned to Saba, across the desk. “Go to the Akopra some other time.”
“I promised her.” Saba shrugged. “Come see me when you get back. Let Paula go with you. She’s having another one of her fits.”
She left the couch and started toward the door. Tanuojin stayed to argue with Saba. The waiting room, as large as the office, was crowded with men waiting to see him. She lingered a moment, in among the Styths, and Tanuojin came out, looking sullen.
“Are we taking David?” she asked.
“I can’t fly Ybicket by myself,” he said.
Lalande was a Class M star eight light years from the Sun, with a family of twenty-six planets. Under Melleno, the rAkellaron in a rare constructive moment had sent out six probes to nearby stars. Two had failed. Three were still in course, but waves from the Lalande probe had begun to reach the radio-pans on Oberon, outermost of Uranus’ moons. Paula strapped herself into the middle of Ybicket’s three seats. Tanuojin hooked her suit into the lifeline.
“Don’t forget,” he said to the front of the cab. “She can’t take too much acceleration, even in this fancy suit that eats up all the energy in the ship.”
“Yes, I know that,” David said.
“Don’t mouth off at me, little boy, you won’t like it.”
“How long will it take?” Paula asked. She looked up at the window, covered with the dark shutter, reflecting a red light winking on a dial on Tanuojin’s radio deck. He put the dark helmet over her head.
“Six hours.” Round inside the helmet, his voice came from over her head. He and David climbed into their places.
The ship butted down five miles of the chute into the Planet. In the holograph, Vribulo was a fibrous wall to the right of the ship, streaming long threads of tunnel. They left the city and traveled off through the magma. A thick yellow wave rushed on them. Ybicket slid in a long swoop down its crest.
“Why did he get married?” Tanuojin said. “He’s making a fool out of himself with that baby.”
“Let him alone,” Paula said. “He’s having a good time.” The ship rolled from side to side, barreling through a stretch of clear green. Ahead of them lay the Vribulo Stormbank, five thousand miles of turbulence. She remembered thinking once that two hundred kilometers an hour was a breakneck speed. David drove as fast as Saba.
The ship hurtled through the edge of the storm. She clutched her harness with both hands. Her stomach churned. If she were sick inside the helmet they would be all the way to Oberon cleaning up the mess. Tanuojin, navigating, talked steadily in her ears, guiding David through the layers of the storm. His voice was quicker than usual. She changed her mind about his lethargy. He was wound up tight as a set trap. Waiting, she thought. Waiting for something to happen.
The ship bucked and swerved, and she gulped. She had been sick once and they had teased her mercilessly for three watches. Grimly she fought against her nausea all the way to the surface of the Planet, until they escaped into space.
Oberon, second biggest moon, and farthest from Uranus, kept one face always turned to the Planet, but now, with Uranus in its variant season, the Sun seemed to rise and set. They reached the observatory in early morning. David set Ybicket down on a pad in the landing field and they got out and walked through the light gravity toward the group of buildings. Paula looked around them. Beyond the buildings of the observatory complex, with their clear domed roofs, stood the ruins of ancient houses built by the first settlers of Uranus. They had been stripped down for material to make the laboratory and the spherical houses for the telescopes. Only the foundations remained.
They went into the observatory. Through the clear domed ceiling she could see the black of space, scattered with stars. She unbuckled the wrist straps of her gloves and took them off.
Three or four men in long coats converged on them. Tanuojin greeted one by name and was introduced to the others, who bowed to him. She went slowly across the huge room before her. The floor was inlaid with a schema of the solar system. She walked down a gap through the Asteroids.
The technicians took Tanuojin off to a long bench against the circular wall. A light switched on above it. He swore at what he saw. Paula went over to his side. The technicians backed away, letting her through. The bench had a light in it, and a screen for viewing: a strip of colors was running across it. The colors ran the brilliant clear range of the spectrum. The technicians pointed to different areas and talked about calcium and hydrogen and compounds of oxygen.
She leaned on the bench, her eyes on the stream of colors, the clear deep violet and snapping yellow, pictures of worlds light years away. She glanced around the spacious, circular room. A man in a long coat came in a far door and sat down at a desk on the opposite wall. Her face was stiff with cold but the pressure suit kept her body warm. She looked up through the ceiling into the stars.
“Very good,” Tanuojin said. “Good, good, good.”
The technicians, all but one, wore white coats; the one wore a green coat, and he turned to the others and dismissed them in an important voice. Bending over the spectra, he pointed to a mass of yellow. “Akellar, let me point out the sodium lines here.” His claws were clipped short. Probably they got in his way. On the wall above the bench compasses hung, in several sizes, clear plastic shapes to measure with, clippers with toothed edges. She still had her gloves in her hand and she stuffed them under the strap on her shoulder.
“Those are rho lines,” Tanuojin said.
The film stopped moving with a sharp double click. “Some malfunction in the pulse source,” the technician said. “We noticed them right away, of course—I thought they’d been removed.” He stooped and pulled down the underside of the bench, which swung outward on curved hinged arms. The film ran along it on sprockets. “The probe fixed itself—the interference is just in this series.” He shouted over his shoulder and another man came quickly toward them. Paula moved out of the way. Brimming with apologies, they brought in another piece of film and replaced the first.
“The computer reconstructed the series awfully well.” The technician pushed the film train back into the bench.
“What’s a rho line?” Paula asked.
Tanuojin’s head turned. He spread the discarded piece of film out on the bench to one side of the screen. Without the lights behind it the film looked dull. He pointed to a band of yellow. “These spectra show which elements make up the Planet—each of the elements absorbed a characteristic wavelength of the light. These—” his claw tapped a broader gray space, “that’s a rho line. Radio interference in the transmission.” He went back to the corrected film. “Have any of the photographs come in?” he asked the technician.
“Not yet.”
“What are these?” Paula asked. A row of dots ran along the edge of the film under the spectrum.
He was bent over the bright rolling film; he did not take his eyes from it. “Pulses. Rate of emission.” He and the technician talked about ferric salts. She looked down at the strip of defective film beside her hand. Those stripes of color bounded her experience. Lalande’s light fell mostly in the infra red; people there would see a world invisible to her. Perhaps inaccessible to her. The Styth astronomer was writing down a formula on a pad of paper, explaining something to Tanuojin. Tanuojin nodded. His interest in this impressed her. He was curious about everything. Her gaze fell again to the ribbons of color on the bench by her hand. The rho lines made thick breaks in the loom of colors. She counted the pulses between them.
“It’s a message,” she said.
The two men swiveled their heads toward her. “What?”
“The spaces between these rho lines,” she said. “Four, ni
ne, forty-one, thirty-six. The number of pulses between them.” She struggled to keep her voice even; she was filled with excitement. “They’re perfect squares, see?”
“Forty-one?” the technician said. He glanced at Tanuojin. “Is she crazy?”
He shook his head. “Sixteen plus twenty-five.” Pushing her away, he stooped over the film and counted dots.
The technician said, surly, “It’s a dysfunction in the transmitting laser.” He scowled down at Paula, a round-faced, smooth-skinned man, who never fought. “What does she know about spectroscopy?”
“Nothing,” Tanuojin said. “That way she doesn’t get confused by facts.” He rolled up the film and shoved it in under the edge of the bench. “You ought to write illusion serials,” he said to her. “You have a full-round imagination.” He went back to the rolling color band.
Paula retrieved the film and spread it out again. He did not want to believe it, but she did. She counted the pulses between the nine rho lines in the spectra: 4, 9, 41, 36, 13, 16, 25, 36. So there were two rho lines missing, mistakes in the mistake. She looked up through the ceiling at the stars, wondering which was Lalande.
“Akellar, I hate to keep mentioning this, but nobody else in the Chamber takes our work seriously—”
“You need money,” Tanuojin said. They crossed the complex of buildings toward the landing field. David went ahead of them and opened the hatch into Ybicket, standing on her tail.
“We’ve had to give up some very important work because we just haven’t got the equipment.”
“I’ll talk to the Prima.”
Paula stood beside the slender ship, put her hands on the lower edge of the hatch, and hoisted herself up to the opening. In the light gravity it was easy. David helped her across the narrow aisle, now vertical, between the hatch and the middle seat. Inside her helmet she could still hear the technician’s pitch. Tanuojin filled the hatchway, blocking out the faint sunlight.
“I’ll fly back,” he said to David. “You take the kick-seat.”
David wheeled around in the drive seat ahead of her. “But—”
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