Floating Worlds (15 page)

“Have you been on your ship all this time?”

“My ship and a couple of others.” He was still half-dressed. Sitting up, he peeled off his leggings and his shirt. Paula lay on her side, glutted from the hard sex. The blanket was wet; she threw it back over the foot of the bed. He lay down beside her.

“Did you miss me?” He slid his hands over her. His knee pressed between her thighs. “You didn’t go with anybody else, did you?”

She wondered why that mattered to him. His lust reassured her. As long as he wanted her, she could deal with him. Above his collarbones smooth hollows formed. She touched him, remembering him.

“I thought you’d like to go to Manhattan tomorrow. That’s an ancient city, under the ocean—the same people who built it built the first Styth cities.”

“What’s the ocean?”

“You’ll see.”

“And why should I want to see something those people made? They were monsters.”

“They were your ancestors.”

His hair had come half-unknotted, and he pulled it loose. Wavy from being bound up, it hung over his shoulders down nearly to his waist. He said, “Not really. They were the medium, perhaps, but it was Uranus who made Styth. Uranus and the Sun.”

She played with his hair. He lay on his back, his eyes half-shut, while she fondled him. The Committee would drop her as soon as they could do without her. She had to keep him her property. Bending, she licked his breastbone, and he draped one arm around her shoulders.

Across a smashed inlaid floor, fluted columns stood up into the dark. Deep inside the ruin, something rained down slowly from a great height. Paula climbed over a block of stone down into the vast room. The Akellar came in behind her.

“Look at this place.” He leaped across the broken stone of the steps down to the floor. “It’s bigger than the rAkellaron House.” He was speaking Styth.

Tanuojin came after him. Their voices echoed in the pitch of the ceiling, invisibly far above them in the dark. “There are hundreds of these buildings. Who could have lived here?”

“She says the Moon-people.”

“She’s lying. They never built anything like this.”

Paula put her hand out to the wall, covered with scale and dry moss. She had thought of telling him about the baby; she knew she should tell him, since it was his baby, but she was afraid of what he might do. Kill her. She imagined him scooping the baby out of her belly with his hands. At her touch the patina over the wall crumbled. There were letters under it carved into the brown marble.

hn Jaco

Some kind of incantation. She climbed up a pile of square stones to the door and went back to the street.

The two men followed her, talking. Ketac raced down the middle of the street toward them. “Pop! How big is that one? Fifteen hundred feet? What ruined them? Was there a war?” He rushed across the street to the foot of a towering wreck of a building. Paula stood with her hands in her pockets, watching the Styths. Tanuojin at the foot of the tower was so small she could not make out his face. She walked up the street away from them.

When they reached New Haven again, the Federalist house was empty. It was long after dark. A turkey was browning in the oven, but even the cook was gone. The Akellar swore. He went out to the backyard and whistled and got no answer. Paula opened the cold box. Ketac walked into the kitchen and she took out a beer for each of them.

“Where are they?” The back door banged open. The Akellar walked in. On his heels Tanuojin hit his head on the ceiling lamp and let out a gross obscenity.

“Where’s my crew?” the Akellar snarled at her.

“I don’t know. I’ve been with you, remember? Ask him.”

The cook was coming in the back door. He was a small man, tree-dark; under his arm he carried two gallon sacks of milk and a package of sweet potatoes. He said, “Thought I’d make a sweet potato pie,” and went to the cold box to put the milk away.

“Where’s my crew?”

“Halstead’s, I think.” The cook stooped to look through the oven window at the turkey.

Paula said, “That’s a roadhouse. Sweets, how did they get there? All the cars are here.”

“Walked.” The cook took the sweet potatoes to the sink to wash them. His white cat trotted in and leaped onto the counter.

“What’s a roadhouse?” the Akellar said. “Where are they?”

“It’s a bar,” Paula said. “Come on—we can go pick them up.”

“Come on.” The Akellar pushed her ahead of him toward the door.

She went out the back door into the dark. The wind blew in a low moan over the meadow. She climbed into the driver’s seat of the big bus. The cab was colder than the outdoors. The Akellar slid into the passenger seat. She thumbed the starter button. The engine growled sluggishly and she reached down under the seat for the choke.

Halstead’s was toward the southwest. She took the car up to 150 feet, watching the compass on the dashboard. “If you see a sign, tell me. I’ve never driven to this place before.”

She flew down the hill, over the woods, toward the long barrier hill in the east. The trees thinned. The fields below were planted in strips of corn and marijuana. They flew over the farmhouse and barn.

“This place is much more beautiful than Mars.”

“That’s because everything is alive.”

“There.” He pointed. “Is that a sign?” On the roof of a cattle barn ahead were white letters. She swerved to fly over.

Halstead’s
, the roof said,
Cave-cooled Beer
, and an arrow pointed off to the right. She turned the wheel and pulled back on it to ease the car around the curve. Ahead, a light shone in the blue night. She drifted down on it, holding the air car slightly into the wind. The three buildings below were Halstead’s. She settled down on the roof of the biggest.

“Let me fly back,” he said.

She slid out of the car. “Don’t you like the way I drive?”

“Not particularly.”

She went across the parking lot to the head of the stairs. “You don’t want your crew to see a woman driving you around.” The stairs were steep. She held on to the rail. He came after her down into the warm lamplight.

“I don’t want you to get used to it.”

At the foot of the stairs they went into the short end of an L-shaped room with a plank floor. There were people crowded around the open hearth in the middle and in the booths along the walls. The Styths were scattered at random among them. Paula went into the long part of the room to the bar. Behind it, a man with black wooly whiskers stood talking to two of the Styths.

“Hup!” the Akellar said, loud, behind her.

All around the room, the Styths bounded to their feet. The anarchists, turning their heads, stayed in their chairs.

“What are you doing here?” the Akellar said, in Styth. “Line up at the stairs. Who said you could come over here?”

Paula turned to the barman. “How much did they drink?” The Styths hurried to the stairs. The Akellar was cursing them individually and in mass.

The barman scratched busily in his whiskers. “Military discipline.” He took a piece of paper from his apron. “You owe me eighteen dollars and thirty-six cents.”

The Akellar crowded her off to one side. He dropped a plastic disk on the bar. “I’ve got a rating at the Luna Credit Bank.” He sidestepped into her again, shoving her away, and leaned over the man with the whiskers. “Well? What are you waiting for, a tip?”

The barman took the credit disk off the bar. He tossed it up high and caught it. “It’s on the arm, captain.” He flipped the disk to the big Styth. In his wooly beard his teeth showed yellow in a smile. “Part of the tour.” Along the bar, other people laughed.

The Akellar stiffened. Paula said, “Come on, the turkey will be done by now.” She went toward the stairs. He put his hand on her shoulder and steered her up the steps to the parking lot, where his crew was roaming around in the dark.

“I thought you said they wouldn’t fight.”

“Who fought?” She pulled open the air-car door and climbed up into the front passenger seat. The other men crowded into the back. There was sitting room for only four of them and the others crouched on the floor, their arms and legs all at angles. The Akellar got behind the steering deck. Paula showed him how to run the seat back.

He started the motor and took hold of the wheel. The car rose steeply off the roofs. Halstead’s sailed away. Paula found herself clutching the seat, her breath stuck in her lungs. He circled once, climbing steadily up into the domelight, and raced back up the tree-covered ridge. A creek glittered a hundred feet below, winding between two fields. Horses drowsed in a pasture.

“Is this your car?”

“The cars belong to the Committee. I can’t afford one. Please don’t crash it.”

“All the Martians have air cars.”

“The Martians are rich.”

He went straight across the ridge and swooped in a long descending spiral toward the Committee House. His sense of direction was perfect. She wondered if he were using the compasses. Ketac ran out across the yard, yelling and waving his arms. The Akellar set the car down on its skids at the edge of the meadow.

The men piled out through the side doors. Ketac cried, “You should have seen where we went!” The Akellar sat behind the wheel, his hands moving uncertainly over the lighted dashboard. The engine hummed, overchoked. “How do I turn it off?”

She turned the switch on the steering column. He caught her hand. The last of his men went inside, and quiet fell. Hissing through the meadow, the wind bent the high grass and rustled the leaves under the oak tree. His fingers tightened on her hand.

“This is not what I expected,” he said.

She had to smile. She liked him, even if he had made a fool of himself at Halstead’s.

“What’s funny?” he said, his dignity still tender.

“Nothing. You’re a nice man.”

“Am I. I never thought I was that ordinary.” He leaned toward her to kiss her. His mouth tasted pleasant. She slid her fingers down the nape of his neck. They nuzzled and caressed each other, moving around on the broad seat. The steering grips gouged her in the ribs. Her hand slid over his thigh and he parted his legs. His fingers rolled and pulled at her nipple. They kissed again hotly. Abruptly he put his head back. His hand pressed exploring over her breast.

“Are you pregnant?”

She jumped. The steering grip dug into her side. “How—what makes you think that?”

“I’ve had some experience. You are, aren’t you. Is it mine?”

She put her hand up to her face. Her fingers smelled of him. They moved apart; now she was behind the steering panel, her back to the door.

“You people are so damned smart,” he said. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to prevent things like that. Did you do it on purpose?”

“No!” Pulling her shirt closed, she fastened the clips. “Here all the men are—you don’t have babies by accident here. A boy has an operation. To close the duct. If you want a baby, the man has to go have another operation.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “It never occurred to me you’d be natural. It was just once.”

“That’s all it takes. Why didn’t you tell me before? I can probably arrange an abortion.”

“If I wanted an abortion I’d have gotten my own.”

Behind her, in the yard, the rhythmic crunch of footsteps came nearer. She twisted to see through the window in the door. Ketac stood there, stooped to look in, and she swung the window open.

“Sweets wants to feed you,” he said past her to his father.

“I’m talking to her. Serve Tanuojin without me.”

“Yes, sir.” Ketac went away. Through the open window the wind blew cool. She turned her hot face to it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said.

“I didn’t know what you’d do.”

“What should I do?”

“Nothing. Forget you know.”

“You’re going to have it and bring it up, all by yourself? Can I ask you a delicate question? Are you sure it’s mine?”

His tone of voice grated on her feelings. She swung toward him. “I’ve had about two hundred different tests. It’s half-Styth, a boy, and you’ll be gratified to learn that claws and scent glands and probably hot tempers are dominant. I didn’t plan this, you didn’t plan it, so why don’t you forget the whole thing?” The domelight lay in a bar across his shoulder. His face was invisible in the dark. She turned her face back into the wind.

“A boy. He’ll go mad here. How can you tell that it’s a boy?”

“They have a test for it.” She drew a deep breath. Clear light poured over the meadow. The shadows lay black and sharp under the elm tree and the wheelbarrow tipped up against the side of the barn. “I was going to have an abortion. I went to a doctor and he tried to talk me into letting him transplant the embryo into a—a kind of a plastic mama. So he could study it. It was grotesque. I guess it was funny, too. I realized the baby was there, and alive, and mine.”

“It’s impossible. A Styth, in this place.”

“He won’t be a Styth here, he’ll be an anarchist.”

He took her hand and turned it over in his fingers. “Do you have enough money? I could send you money.” He held her hand against his cheek.

“I’ll do all right.” She stroked his face. That was how Styths kissed. “I’m hungry.”

“Let’s go eat.”

She woke up shivering. The window was open and the curtains blew in; the room was freezing. She burrowed down under the covers. She was alone in the bed, and she began to doze off again, warm under the covers. The door creaked, and the Akellar sat down on the bed beside her.

“Are you awake?”

“Ummmm.”

“What did you dream about? You were moving around.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Get up.” He poked her through the covers. “I want to go out. It’s dark now, I can see better.”

“Out where?”

“In the trees. Get up.” He pulled the blankets off her.

She put her clothes on. She remembered the dream: the baby had been born in two halves, and they had lost one half. The Akellar had been there in the delivery room, which had looked like an observatory. It would have been simple to sew the two parts of the baby together if they could have found the other half. Dressed, she went down with the Akellar to the kitchen and made them coffee. He strolled around the darkened room eating bread and cheese and apples.