The World At The End Of Time Part 6

Viktor saw Reesa sitting there cross-legged on the spiky Newmanhome gra.s.s, sharing a blanket with Billy Stockbridge. That was displeasing; he hadn't really taken his mother's remarks seriously. He was no more pleased to see Jake Lundy in the cla.s.s. Viktor didn't really like Jake Lundy-hadn't since they had first met, in the long-ago school days when Lundy was the older kid sometimes stuck with supervising the young ones, and something of a bully. It didn't help that Jake, a little older than Viktor, had managed to land one of the coveted jobs as aircraft aircraft pilot, instead of being stuck with a surface s.h.i.+p. It also happened to be true (as Viktor knew) that Jake Lundy was the father of Reesa's older child-not that that had anything to do with Viktor's feelings about the man, of course. pilot, instead of being stuck with a surface s.h.i.+p. It also happened to be true (as Viktor knew) that Jake Lundy was the father of Reesa's older child-not that that had anything to do with Viktor's feelings about the man, of course.

When Viktor approached the group his father paused in his lecture long enough to give him a combination of a welcoming nod and a peremptory gesture to take a seat. Viktor sat near enough to Reesa so that she could talk to him if she wanted to, yet far enough away that he wasn't obviously seeking conversation. She gave him a quick, absent smile and returned to the lesson.

Viktor's father wasn't looking well. Though his artificial limb was a high-tech device as close to the real thing as any machine could be, he limped as he moved around the teaching machine, and his voice was hoa.r.s.e as he explained the natural sequence of star types Hertzsprung and Russell had described centuries earlier. It seemed to Viktor that the old man's hands were shaking, too. But he paid attention to the lecture, and when it was finished and Pal Sorricaine asked for questions, Viktor's hand shot up.

"What's this about s.p.a.ce piloting?" he demanded.

The dozen students grinned tolerantly at him.

"If you'd stay around Homeport you'd know these things, Viktor," Pal said. "We'll have rocket fuel soon, from the gas-liquefying plants they're building for the freezers. The council decided weeks ago that as soon as New Argosy New Argosy arrives we'll start s.p.a.ce exploration again. So I volunteered to give a refresher course on astrophysics, for anyone who wants to try for astronaut training." arrives we'll start s.p.a.ce exploration again. So I volunteered to give a refresher course on astrophysics, for anyone who wants to try for astronaut training."

"Why astrophysics, though?" Viktor asked his father. "I mean, why not something useful, like navigation?" It seemed to him a natural and harmless question, but his father scowled.

Pal rubbed his lips. "It's my course, Viktor," he said, his voice hostile. "If you don't want to take it, go away."

Unexpectedly, a female voice spoke up. "But I think your son is right, Pal," the woman said, and stood up on the far side of the crowd. It was Ibtissam Khadek, looking older than Victor remembered her, and quite determined. "We know that your personal interest is in such things as theoretical cosmology and your so-called Sorricaine-Mtiga objects," she went on, looking around for support, "but for most of us here, what we want is to go into s.p.a.ce. go into s.p.a.ce. To explore this whole solar system, of which we know so little-and to do it now, please. In my case, before I am too old to be accepted for a s.h.i.+p's crew." To explore this whole solar system, of which we know so little-and to do it now, please. In my case, before I am too old to be accepted for a s.h.i.+p's crew."

Pal Sorricaine looked astonished, and then resentful, and then surly. "There's nothing to keep you from starting a course of your own, Tiss," he pointed out.

The astronomer shook her head. "We shouldn't be competing," she said sweetly. "We should be working together, don't you think? For instance! When my grandfather first described this system, he of course marked Enki"-how like the woman, Viktor thought, to insist on calling familiar Newmanhome by its Babylonian name!-"as the most habitable planet, but he specifically listed the brown dwarf, Nergal, as the one most important to observe. It's our plain duty to take a good look at it, for the sake of science!"

"We're looking at Nergal all the time," Pal Sorricaine protested. "We've got millions of pictures. Ark's Ark's instruments are covering it routinely." instruments are covering it routinely."

"I am not speaking of routine," routine," Khadek cried. "I am speaking of a dedicated Khadek cried. "I am speaking of a dedicated mission." mission."

"But why Nergal?" Jake Lundy put in. "For that matter, why don't we look at Nebo? I think that's even more interesting, because we all know it's been changing! Your grandfather said it had almost no water vapor in its atmosphere, but now it's so clouded we can hardly see the surface-why is that?"

"You are right," Tiss Khadek conceded graciously. "Of course we should do both. But, I think, Nergal first-after all, it is the first brown dwarf anyone has had the chance to observe."

Viktor started to open his mouth to get into the discussion, but Reesa's warm hand pulled him toward her. "Look what you've started!" she whispered, while the argument raged around them. "Why did you come here?"

"I've got as much right to be here as you do," he whispered hotly back, and then was compelled to add, "Anyway, I was looking for you. I, uh, I thought I'd spend a little time with Yan today. I mean, it's my birthday."

"Of course it is," she said testily. She looked at him closely, then nodded. "I'm going back to feed the kids as soon as this is over, then I'll bring them back up here for the fireworks and the dancing . . . if you want to come."

"All right," Viktor agreed-and then saw that his father had quelled the discussion and was looking at him dangerously.

"We're going on with the cla.s.s now," Pal Sorricaine said loudly. "Anybody has anything to say on any other subject, we can take that up after the lesson. Now! Are there any questions about stellar evolution?"

Viktor walked his father back to their home-helped him, actually, because the old man's artificial leg was giving him trouble again, and besides he had disappeared into the dome for a moment by himself before he was willing to leave. Viktor didn't have to ask his father the reason. He could smell it on the old man's breath.

"Dad?" Viktor offered, halfway down. "I'm sorry if I messed up your cla.s.s."

His father gave him a discouraged look. "That's all right," he panted gruffly. "Ouch!" He stopped to rub his thigh, then put a hand on Viktor's shoulder and limped on. "It's not you," he said. "It's that Tiss Khadek mostly. She keeps trying to get the whole bunch fired up about her pet Nergal." He winced. "Would you mind if we didn't talk right now? This is hard work-"

"Of course, Dad," Viktor said, but not happily. It was difficult, looking at this shrunken old man, to remember the strong man with the laughing blue eyes who had tossed him in his arms on New Mayflower. New Mayflower. When at last they got to his parents' home, Pal Sorricaine sank wearily into a chair. When at last they got to his parents' home, Pal Sorricaine sank wearily into a chair.

Viktor was shocked to see even more weariness on his mother's face. Nevertheless she greeted him joyously-put up her face to be kissed, told him he looked as though he wasn't eating enough, and winked that there was a surprise waiting for him. He didn't have to guess at the surprise. He knew his mother would have seen the s.h.i.+p in dock and would long since have baked a cake for his birthday.

But she was beginning to look tired and, well, almost old. old. When he said something she said firmly it was just that she'd had a hard day. The two new children drained a lot of her energy, coupled with the demands of her job-it was a busy time for agronomists, she told him. "Agronomists?" Viktor repeated, startled. "I thought that was just your, you know, kind of hobby." When he said something she said firmly it was just that she'd had a hard day. The two new children drained a lot of her energy, coupled with the demands of her job-it was a busy time for agronomists, she told him. "Agronomists?" Viktor repeated, startled. "I thought that was just your, you know, kind of hobby."

"It started out that way, Vik," she sighed. "But I've switched over. I did have undergraduate courses, you know, and-well, feeding people seemed more important than building more machines. And now, with new cultivars to clone and test every time someone starts planning to plant a new microenvironment, they need all the help they can get."

"And then she helps me, too," his father put in, looking slightly recovered.

Viktor blinked. "Teaching your course?" he guessed, incredulous.

"No, of course not teaching my course. Except in a way, maybe-I mean, she's been helping to download the data banks from Ark Ark and and Mayflower. Mayflower. We've set up new storage by the power plants and the freezers, so in case anything happens to those s.h.i.+ps-" We've set up new storage by the power plants and the freezers, so in case anything happens to those s.h.i.+ps-"

"Nothing can happen to the s.h.i.+ps," Viktor said, shocked.

"Something might," his father said firmly. "Then we'd be screwed for fair. Do you know how long it would take to get everything retransmitted from Earth? But we've already got most of the astrophysical files duplicated here," he finished, looking pleased for the first time. "That was a big job. Do you know, I think that calls for a drink."

And they had one . . . except that his father had two. And Viktor began to understand what put those worry lines on his mother's face. It wasn't just hard work. What was aging her was worry about her husband.

Viktor was glad enough for the little birthday party and the company of young Edwina and the two brats, but he was even more glad when he got away.

When he got back to the top of the hill it was dusk, and the dancing had already begun. Viktor searched the dancers. They were in a double circle of couples, men and women singing softly to themselves in Spanish as the three-piece fiddle-guitar-and-drum band played something with a Mexican lilt. It was a corrido, corrido, and Viktor saw Reesa in the inner circle, holding right hands at shoulder height with-h.e.l.l, yes! He scowled. It was Billy Stockbridge again. and Viktor saw Reesa in the inner circle, holding right hands at shoulder height with-h.e.l.l, yes! He scowled. It was Billy Stockbridge again.

But Reesa was not the only young woman among the dancers. When the next tune started Viktor grabbed a pretty young tractor driver and whirled her through a square dance. And then he was caught up in the fun of the dancing itself. He hardly noticed when he found himself with Reesa as his partner, swinging her around wildly, her laughing and panting, leaning against his arm around her waist. They did the krakowiak- krakowiak-hop, click heels, stamp; stamp; they did the macho Greek dances and the slow Israeli ones. When Reesa sat out one dance to nurse the baby, Yan, Viktor didn't even miss her, though when it was over he came to where she was sitting on the blanket, the baby at her breast. It was only a little annoyance that Freddy Stockbridge was sitting there, too. Freddy wasn't dancing. He wasn't reading his prayer book, either, because it was too dark for that, but Viktor noticed with irritation that Freddy had put on a clerical collar for the occasion. they did the macho Greek dances and the slow Israeli ones. When Reesa sat out one dance to nurse the baby, Yan, Viktor didn't even miss her, though when it was over he came to where she was sitting on the blanket, the baby at her breast. It was only a little annoyance that Freddy Stockbridge was sitting there, too. Freddy wasn't dancing. He wasn't reading his prayer book, either, because it was too dark for that, but Viktor noticed with irritation that Freddy had put on a clerical collar for the occasion.

Reesa looked up at Viktor, her face flushed and happy. "They're going to start the fireworks in a minute," she said. "Why don't you sit with us? Freddy, go get us some wine."

Viktor eased himself down to the blanket beside her, watching the sleepy little mouth of his son sucking absentmindedly at Reesa's breast. He glanced after the disappearing Freddy.

"I thought priests were supposed to be celibate," he said.

"Mind your own business," Reesa told him. Then, relenting, she said, "I guess Freddy is. He just likes children. He's real good about baby-sitting for me."

"Doesn't take after his brother, then," Viktor observed, but the way Reesa's face tightened told him not to pursue the subject. Anyway, a pistol-shot sound in the air and a gasp from the crowd marked the first of the fireworks. They quieted to watch the display as Freddy came stumbling back with three cups of wine. Viktor helped Reesa cover his sleeping little son, tucking him in next to her already sound asleep toddler. Viktor was beginning to feel really good. The fireworks were brilliant and lovely to look at, under the warm Newmanhome sky. And then, when they were over, they did the last few dances, ending with the sweet, slow Misirlou. Misirlou. Misirlou means "beloved" in Greek. Perhaps that was why, when the last dance was over, Viktor looked around. Neither Jake Lundy nor Billy Stockbridge was nearby, so he offered quickly, "I'll help you get the kids home, if you want." Misirlou means "beloved" in Greek. Perhaps that was why, when the last dance was over, Viktor looked around. Neither Jake Lundy nor Billy Stockbridge was nearby, so he offered quickly, "I'll help you get the kids home, if you want."

Reesa didn't object. Freddy looked annoyed but drifted away. The two of them shared the sleeping children, Viktor carrying the toddler and Reesa the baby, Yan, as they walked down the hill. They didn't speak for a while, and then Viktor remembered a question on his mind. "What's this astrophysics cla.s.s all about?" he demanded.

"It's just what your father said it is," she said shortly. She looked at him with curiosity. "I noticed today you're all sunburned," she accused. "What do you do, lounge around on the deck all day to get that he-man tan for the girls? Do you want to wreck your skin?"

He refused to be diverted. "No, really," he insisted. "Do you think knowing how to tell a Wolf-Rayet star from an ordinary O is going to help you get to be a s.p.a.ce pilot-twenty years from now?"

"It might," she said seriously. "And it might not be twenty years; Argosy Argosy has small s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps ready to go, you know, and it's due pretty soon now." has small s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps ready to go, you know, and it's due pretty soon now."

"Sure, when Argosy Argosy lands," Viktor scoffed. It was what everybody said when they didn't have something they really wanted: it would certainly be somewhere in the third s.h.i.+p's limitless treasure of stores. "What makes you think they won't have their own pilots for their own s.h.i.+ps?" lands," Viktor scoffed. It was what everybody said when they didn't have something they really wanted: it would certainly be somewhere in the third s.h.i.+p's limitless treasure of stores. "What makes you think they won't have their own pilots for their own s.h.i.+ps?"

She shrugged. "We still have our own landers," she pointed out. "We'll have more fuel for them, once they get the freezers going. And anyway-" she hesitated, then plunged on. "Anyway, I think it's good for your father to be doing something. He's, uh, he's drinking a lot these days, you know."

"I do know," Viktor said stiffly. As an afterthought, he added, "It's his business."

Reesa didn't challenge that. They walked in silence for a moment, then Viktor said tentatively, "I thought if you weren't doing anything, later this evening-"

She stopped and studied him, s.h.i.+fting the sleeping baby from one shoulder to the other. "What is it, this is Wednesday so it must be Reesa's turn? Isn't your girlfriend on the s.h.i.+p keeping you happy?"

"I only said-"

"I know what you said." She started walking again, silent for a moment. Then, she said, "Well, why not? After all, it is your birthday."

It took eight days to pump the grain out of the s.h.i.+p's hold and reload it with the new cargo for the South Continent. Viktor had to be there for the last of it, because the last things winched aboard were fourteen pregnant cows and a wobbly but feisty bull calf. "Do cows get seasick?" Alice Begstine asked the handler.

The woman wiped her sweating forehead. "How do I know? Are you going to have rough weather?"

"I hope not, but you never know."

"Well, then you'll find out," the woman said grimly. "Anyway, you'd better lash them down if you do. They could fall and break their legs or something."

"It sounds like it's going to be a fun trip," Alice observed. And then, when they were actually putting out to sea and she was on the bridge next to Viktor, she said, "Shan was asking after you."

"Oh, yeah," Viktor said, concentrating on setting a course while the wind was fair. "I'm sorry about that. I meant to come and see him, but-how's he doing, anyway?"

"He's learning to talk," Alice informed him.

"That's wonderful," Viktor said, guilty but pleased. "Well, it's your watch. I think I'll look around below. And then I think I'll hit the teaching machines."

The revived talk about s.p.a.ce travel, at least, had been an interesting development of his leave, but on the whole it hadn't been entirely a happy one. Viktor was beginning to worry a little about his family. His mother was certainly working too hard, and his father . . .

Well, Pal Sorricaine wasn't the man he had been on New Mayflower New Mayflower anymore. He was drinking again. It was because of the pain of his missing leg, he said. But what Reesa said-not right away, but reluctantly, and after keeping silence for a while, and then only because she never lied to Viktor-was that the course in astrophysics was a joke. Oh, the story about starting s.p.a.ce travel again soon-maybe-was true enough; the council had voted it a medium priority. But the real purpose of the course was simply to give Pal Sorricaine something to do. Viktor himself had seen that the machines did most of the real teaching. They were far more patient than Pal Sorricaine, and fairer. Especially with the younger students who had never studied astrophysics before. The teaching machines were not put off by teenage sulks, or cajoled by teenage flattery. Probably the younger ones got something out of the course, but the others-well, everybody liked Pal Sorricaine, and they were willing to go to a little trouble to please him. anymore. He was drinking again. It was because of the pain of his missing leg, he said. But what Reesa said-not right away, but reluctantly, and after keeping silence for a while, and then only because she never lied to Viktor-was that the course in astrophysics was a joke. Oh, the story about starting s.p.a.ce travel again soon-maybe-was true enough; the council had voted it a medium priority. But the real purpose of the course was simply to give Pal Sorricaine something to do. Viktor himself had seen that the machines did most of the real teaching. They were far more patient than Pal Sorricaine, and fairer. Especially with the younger students who had never studied astrophysics before. The teaching machines were not put off by teenage sulks, or cajoled by teenage flattery. Probably the younger ones got something out of the course, but the others-well, everybody liked Pal Sorricaine, and they were willing to go to a little trouble to please him.

Viktor felt a small, lasting ache at the thought of his father being humored. humored.

And he felt a certain irritation with Reesa, too. Although she had seemed happy enough for them to spend much of his time ash.o.r.e together, she hadn't seemed particularly excited by his attentions. Nor had she tried to conceal from him (that same d.a.m.ned honesty!) that there were others more attentive, and more often around.

All in all, he was glad to be back at sea.

Even that, though, wasn't as exciting as it once had been. When Viktor had first s.h.i.+pped out, as soon as he was big enough to do an adult's job, everything had been thrillingly new. They hadn't just cruised back and forth, as though on tracks; they had gone where, literally, no human had ever been before. They visited islands that they populated with earthworms, insects, algae, and flowering plants, as well as the seedlings that, they hoped, would one day be great forests of oak and apple and pine. Then they returned to those islands, a few Newmanhome years later, to seed them with second generations of fish and birds and small mammals-and a few years after that, with a couple of pairs of foxes to keep the rabbits down, and sheep to start earning the islands' keep. He was too young to have been involved in the spreading of trace minerals in the soils of some of the lands, so that Earthly crops could grow, but he helped dig out the muck where recurrent marsh flooding had drowned thousands of years of colonizing plants, creating a sort of mulch that was almost as good as guano. He was even part of an expedition a hundred kilometers down the coast, once, when an explorer broke a leg in the jungle and had to be rescued from deep, ferny, swampy tangles of Newmanhome's native vegetation.

All that was in Viktor's apprentice days. His current job was crewing one of the giant grain s.h.i.+ps that fed the growing city on the North Continent from the new farms on the South. Food for Homeport's people could be grown nearer the city and a lot was. But clearing the tangled, ropy vegetation of that part of the North Continent was hard work. Worse, the stuff refused to stay cleared. The princ.i.p.al native vine was more tenacious than crab-gra.s.s or kudzu, and harder to kill. Its root systems went down a dozen meters and more, and the stuff was quite content to grow up right through a field of corn or soy from the vestiges of its roots.

At some point, the leaders.h.i.+p council decided, a new city, or a dozen of them, would have to be planted in the hotter, wetter south. The location of their first town, Homeport, had been chosen at long range, from probe imaging and the hurried studies of the Ark Ark officers as they were busy inserting themselves into orbit, and it had been a minor mistake. But, like many such mistakes, it perpetuated itself. Every new building that went up was one more inducement to stay there. The buildings couldn't easily be moved. officers as they were busy inserting themselves into orbit, and it had been a minor mistake. But, like many such mistakes, it perpetuated itself. Every new building that went up was one more inducement to stay there. The buildings couldn't easily be moved.

The grain could, easily enough. Great Ocean was generally placid, and the prevailing winds were strong enough to drive a grain s.h.i.+p's rotor sails without at the same time raising storm waves big enough to be a nuisance. Navigation was no problem. Viktor's navigating talents were largely wasted. There were no icebergs to collide with, because there wasn't any ice. There were few other s.h.i.+ps, and hardly ever any nearby; there were very few reefs or shoals. In fact there was no bottom closer than three hundred meters for the next week's sailing. The signals from the derelict interstellar s.h.i.+ps in orbit gave them accurate positions at all times, so between ports the crew was largely honorary.

So Viktor and his s.h.i.+pmates did what everybody on Newmanhome did when they had leisure time. They watched TV, most of it rebroadcast by the orbiting s.h.i.+ps from transmissions from distant Earth. (That didn't make them homesick. Watching the stories about crime and violence and overcrowded cities made them grateful not to be there.) Or they made some more babies. Or they tuned in on the transmissions from the third s.h.i.+p, New Argosy, New Argosy, late because of the funding squabbles but now well on its way-and, oh so eagerly awaited! It held so many things they didn't have-grand pianos, and a submarine, and even a complete installation for making more antimatter with a prefabricated near-Sun solar-power satellite-and, wow, what they could do late because of the funding squabbles but now well on its way-and, oh so eagerly awaited! It held so many things they didn't have-grand pianos, and a submarine, and even a complete installation for making more antimatter with a prefabricated near-Sun solar-power satellite-and, wow, what they could do then! then!

Or they studied.

In Viktor's case, after hearing what the Homeport council had decided, study came first. He spent half his waking hours at the s.h.i.+p's teaching machine, going over and over the fundamentals of orbital transfer and astrogation and celestial mechanics. He didn't seriously believe he would ever get into s.p.a.ce, even to help deploy the antimatter manufactury when it arrived. But even an outside chance was worth fighting for. And he even did some refresher studying on his father's particular interest, astrophysics and cosmology. It wouldn't ever be important important to him, in any way. He was sure of that-wrong, as it turned out later, but to him, in any way. He was sure of that-wrong, as it turned out later, but sure. sure. Nevertheless it was interesting. Nevertheless it was interesting.

The people of Newmanhome didn't usually think hard about being happy to be where they were; they had gotten used to it, even the ones who remembered anything else. It was as good a planet as they hoped, and better than they had feared. There was no such thing as "continental climate" on Newmanhome. The biggest continent was smaller than Australia and looked more like a fat question mark than a more or less symmetrical blob. There wasn't much in the way of seasons, either. They'd given up the idea of "months" in their new calendar; they divided the year into Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall, with fifty-odd days in each of the divisions, but there was less difference between Winter and Summer than between two successive weeks in most Earthly climates. An axial tilt of only six degrees and a nearly circular orbit disarmed the cycle of seasons; Newmanhome was more like Hawaii than like Chicago or Moscow.

The shorter day helped even things out weatherwise, too. The night didn't have time to cool down as much as on Earth, so extremes of temperature were moderated still more. And the Newmanhome day was close enough to Earth's twenty-four hours that even the people who were grown up when they landed had long since readjusted their diurnal rhythms.

There was plenty of native life on Newmanhome, but not a single native animal to compete with human beings and their stocks. There were things that almost seemed like animals, because they moved about during the day, but they sank roots at night. There were things that ate other things, like terrestrial saprophytes and carnivorous plants, but they all photosynthesized, as well.

Some of the plants were warm-blooded or warm-sapped-and some of the mobile eating things liked to eat the warm ones. That was as close to a danger as the colonists had found. If one of the free-ranging predators, particularly the marine ones, found a sleeping human being, it was likely enough to try to eat him. The predators fed by lancing the prey with hollow things like thorns and injecting digestive saps, then sucking back the resulting soup when it was done. The process didn't work on human beings. Their tissues resisted the lysing enzymes of the predator plants, and anyway after the first itching stab or two the human prey would certainly wake up and go somewhere else. But they could get a h.e.l.l of a painful wound in the process, and sometimes people died.

Sometimes people died from other causes, too. They were a young population, there on Newmanhome, and deaths were rare. But they happened. Drowning. Accident. Even once or twice the great scandal of a murder and suicide in a quarrel. But Newmanhome was benign to its colonists. Certainly people wore out early from hard work, and there were always those handicapped older ones who had come out of cryonic suspension with a kind of freezer-burn that slowed them down, or limited their abilities, but otherwise people were pretty healthy. The only diseases they encountered were the ones they had brought with them, and years of selection, therapy, and prophylaxis had kept those diseases few.

Until the first week of Winter in the thirty-ninth Newmanhome year of the colony.

There was no warning of trouble.

The harvest was the most bountiful yet in the grain fields of South Continent. Viktor and his first mate, Alice Begstine, had had a good time while the s.h.i.+p was loading. They had borrowed a rolligon and gone exploring in South Continent's high country, beyond the farm lands. The s.h.i.+p's cook, who was one of Alice's other part-time lovers, had elected to stay ash.o.r.e that trip, so she and Viktor bunked together on the voyage, enjoying it, too-though Viktor still secretly fantasized about Marie-Claude sharing his bed. They even, halfway home, saw a Von Neumann nautilus swimming st.u.r.dily toward their port beside them, to turn itself in. It was one of the first to have acc.u.mulated enough metal to trigger its return reflexes. It looked to have at least fifty chambers, each one bigger than the one before it in its spiral sh.e.l.l. "It's got to be a ten-tonner," Alice guessed. Viktor couldn't doubt it. Ten tons of valuable heavy metal soaked up from the thermal springs at the bottom of Great Ocean-what was the point of mining, when you could send the roving Von Neumann automata out to do the job for you? And the holds bulging with grain. And the colony growing. And new lands being explored-why, things were really going splendidly! splendidly!

So they thought, right up to the moment of landing at Homeport.

As Viktor's s.h.i.+p slid gently in to mate with the floating dock he saw his father standing there, waiting for him.

That was a surprise. As he finished the docking drill, Viktor saw with a critical eye that his father was freshly shaved, but his hair was s.h.a.ggy; he wore a clean, pressed blouse, but the cuffs of his pants were mud stained, though the streets were dry. Viktor easily read the meaning of the signs.

His father had been drinking again.

The s.h.i.+p was lashed to the floating dock. The huge snout of the grain pipe swung over the deck, slipped down through the open hold, and began snuffling up the cargo. Viktor picked up his kit bag, slung it over his shoulder, and swung himself down to the dock. His father, standing right where he landed, said at once, "Your mother's sick."

Just like that. No "h.e.l.lo, son," or even, "I've got some bad news for you." Just "Your mother's sick," and a thumb jerked to the waiting tandem bike.

Amelia Sorricaine-Memel was sick, all right. The first thing the doctors told him, as gently as they could-but they had very little time to be gentle or considerate just then-was that they were pretty sure she was dying.

It wasn't pneumonia or emphysema or the flu. It was something the surveyors had brought back from Continent Delta, way on the other side of the planet, just really being explored for the first time.

What they brought back was a mold. It had thrived there as a parasite on some of the warm algal organisms of the tidal flats, but it had found a new home in human lungs. For the algae of the littoral it was a benign enough parasite. All it did was slow down their growth a little. For humans it was worse. It killed.

Viktor's mother lived seventeen painful hours after he reached her bedside. She was wheezing and strangling for breath the whole time, even when they put a mask over her face to give her oxygen, even when they put her in a hyperbaric chamber under enough pressure to force the oxygen into her lungs. Even when they drenched the air she breathed with antifungals strong enough to threaten her life.

Probably the antifungals did threaten it. They probably took it, in fact, because when she died her face was pink again, instead of the cadaver blue of oxygen starvation. But she was just as dead.

Amelia Sorricaine-Memel wasn't the only one to die. Twenty-eight hundred of the colonists died in sixty days, just under half the population of Newmanhome, before the frantic biologists discovered-not a cure, no, but an antifungal agent that, sopped onto a gauze mask, killed the spores before they could get into the respiratory system. The agent smelled like rotting manure, but that was a small enough price to pay for the survival of human life on Newmanhome.

It wasn't just human life that was at risk. All the carefully bred and preserved livestock-fish excepted, actually, but all the sheep, goats, cattle, dogs, horses, deer-had to be forcibly fitted with halters and masks of their own. They all fought it, but they survived- All but the cats.

No one could make a cat leave a wet gauze mask in place over its mouth and nose. They maintained the cat tradition to the extinction of the species: the cat who has no master and acknowledges no law but its own, even if it dies for it. Die they did.

When Viktor got back to his parents' home he pushed open the door and stopped.

The place reeked of stale beer and vomit. His father was sprawled beside the bed, snoring raggedly, impossible to wake. He had fouled himself, and there were stains of urine and vomit on bed and floor. He had taken his artificial leg off and lay with it clasped in his arms, like a beloved woman.

It was not the first time Viktor had seen his father drunk, but it was a long way the worst. Viktor would not have believed that he could have felt such hatred for the old man. He did not fear that his father was dying. He almost wished it were true. He set his kit bag down on the table, pus.h.i.+ng aside empty bottles, and stood over the drunken man, listening objectively to the rattling, choking sounds of the snores.

You dirty old b.a.s.t.a.r.d, he thought.

A shadow from the doorway made him turn, and there was Billy Stockbridge peering in, his mother behind him.

Even at that moment Viktor felt a tingling shock in his groin at the sight of Marie-Claude. She had cut her hair short since the last time he had seen her, and there was a certain soft thickening of the flesh under her chin that he didn't remember seeing before. She was wearing a short, thin dress that did nothing to flatter her-the kind housewives put on to clean their kitchens-and she was carrying a bucket and a mop.