"You're welcome. For future reference, if someone offers you dinner, discuss intentions first. On a social basis, it frequently implies sex," he warned.
"Ohh!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."
"I knew that, which is why I phrased the offer the way I did. That way, if you were aware of that particular cultural thing, you could graciously decline. If you didn't, you weren't trapped. Although," he tossed his head and looked at her, "I'd be delighted if you accepted."
She smiled back, feeling slightly threatened. How to politely decline? What were the rules here? She decided he knew she was a stranger and to be direct. "I'm flattered, but no, thank you. I'm not ready for sex my first day here."
Nodding, he said, "I didn't think so, but it never hurts to ask. Don't feel obligated to anyone, even if there's a misinterpretation of signals." The advice seemed genuine.
"Is casual sex really as common as it appears to be?" she asked.
"It's not casual," he denied, with a shake of the head. "It's as serious as anything else, but very common. If you recall, the only health concern at Freehold System Entry is venereal and bloodborne pathogens. Everyone, every time, including diplomatic personnel, gets tested. There is no risk of infection here."
"That's . . . amazing," she replied, stunned. Then a thought occurred to her. "What about smugglers?" she asked.
"Who would smuggle when there is no restriction on merchandise and no duties?" he asked rhetorically. "Everyone goes through Orbital because it's cheap and easy."
"
No one
ever tries to skip in unreported?" she asked incredulously.
"Occasionally," he said. "And they wind up as ashes before touchdown. Since there's no reason to blow System, anyone who does is assumed to be an enemy invader and gapped by Defense. I got called to nail one they missed when I was on active duty, just as they hit the swamps in the Hinterlands, but Orbital dropped the bar on them and all I had to do was recon the crater."
That
was a startling discovery. Bring in anything you want openly and freely that's fine; try to do it clandestinely and wind up a wisp of vapor. And a planet where all sex was safe.
On Earth, even rapists wore barriers against infection.
They reached their building again, Kendra wobbly from gravity and fatigue and alcohol. She found herself leaning against McKay as they climbed the stairs. She was beyond exhausted; she was drained.
At the top, they were greeted by a large black cat. "Hi, George," McKay replied, reaching down to scratch the creature's ears as it buzzed and bumped his ankles.
"No pet licenses either, I assume," she said, reaching to scratch George's shoulders.
"
Pet licenses?
" McKay exclaimed, shocked at last.
They continued to his door, which was closed but not locked. He walked in, dropped his extraneous gear and escorted her next door.
She unlocked her door and the cat headed inside. "Oh, damn!" she exclaimed.
"Don't worry about it," McKay advised "Unless you're allergic?"
"No."
"I recommend fresh air, despite the chill. You take care and I'll see how you're doing in the morning."
"Okay," she agreed.
He put his arms around her again and stared levelly at her eyes. She stared back. His were a curious sea green with flecks of gold foam. She wondered what his heritage was besides Scottish. He really was attractive. Still, the attention was unnerving. "Look . . . why are you being so nice?" she asked, and was embarrassed by asking.
He withdrew from her space a few centimeters and moved his embrace to a simple light grip on her forearms. "I'm interested in you," he said, honestly. "But you're not obligated for anything. If all you want is advice from a neighbor, that's fine." He looked faintly disappointed at that prospect. "But we do try to help guests, and strangers here, and it never hurts to have friends. I'm sorry if I'm encroaching too much." He cocked his head and looked at her, waiting.
Nodding, she leaned forward and kissed him briefly and lightly. He broke it before she got too uncomfortable and she felt less intruded upon. She'd have to consider this, among hundreds of other cultural issues.
"Later," he said, stepping back.
"Uh-huh," she agreed, distractedly, and went inside. The whole exchange had felt odd and a bit forced.
She closed and locked the door, felt the heat of the day swat her like that of an oven, and looked for a thermostat. She didn't find one. Verbal commands didn't work. She forced herself to open a window on the wall next to the door slightly. Crime was supposed to be rare.
Her new possessions she hung in the closet then looked around at the comfortable but sterile room. She thought a shower would help her muscles relax, but was too exhausted. Undressing to underwear, she crawled into bed and was asleep in seconds.
Starting, she became aware of an intruder in the room. Then she realized it was that damned cat. Her adrenaline rush gradually lowered and she noted the time: 1:30. Then she tried to convert Freehold's twenty-eight-plus hour day with its decimal clock into a time she could understand, and was unconscious again before she determined the hour.
"I would say that my position is not too far from that of Ayn Rand's; that I would like to see government reduced to no more than internal police and courts, external armed forces—with the other matters handled otherwise. I'm sick of the way the government sticks its nose into everything, now."
—Robert A. Heinlein, as quoted by J.
Neil Schulman in
The Robert Heinlein
Interview and Other Heinleiniana
Kendra woke to bright sunlight. It hurt. A lot. Her legs and feet were a pounding, itching ache, her sinuses felt like cotton bales and her stomach insisted it was hungry, but the thought of food was horrible. She lay there, barely able to breathe, for three hours, more than a div local time, drifting in and out of consciousness. Iota glared painfully through the window, but she was too morose to even reach the polarizer.
"Hello," McKay's voice said softly through the window. "May I come in?"
She groaned and said, "Yeah." She heard him try the door, which was locked. "Door unlock," she croaked, then remembered that the latch was manual only. Standing made her head throb, so she crawled and unlocked it.
At her height and mass, she was shocked when, in this gravity field, McKay scooped her up in his arms and put her back in bed. He slipped into the bathroom and returned a moment later with a warm, damp towel. "Breathe through this," he advised and disappeared out the door. He returned shortly with an athletic bottle of clear liquid. "Drink this. It's good for you. Trust me."
"That's what you said last night," she complained as she complied.
It did seem to help and the damp cloth cleared her sinuses of most of the ache. Becoming less fuzzy, she said, "Thank you. Do you have any painkillers?"
"Painkillers are a bad idea. You might strain something worse if it doesn't hurt. You'll feel better in a couple of days and fine in a week," he told her.
A Freehold week was ten twenty-eight-plus-hour days. Not a pleasant thought. "What is wrong with me?" she asked weakly.
"Newcomer's hangover," he said, ticking off points on his fingers, "composed of muscle aches from higher gravity, upper respiratory infection from different viruses than you're used to, compounded with much drier air than you're used to, plus a strange diet. No way around it. The best way through it is to embrace it hard and fight it quick."
It did feel like the one hangover she'd had, but— "The food can't have that much to do with it. I eat hot food back home all the time," she argued.
"And aren't you glad? Or else you'd feel worse. Take it easy today. Stay here this morning, but keep the windows open for fresh air. Don't use cooling, as you need to become acclimated. I advise minimal clothing during the midday, unless you do go out, then wear your cloak also, to protect you from Io. When the temperature drops this evening, bundle up again. In the meantime, this will keep you occupied," he handed her a wrapped package.
She tore off the paper and revealed a book entitled, '
A Cultural Primer for the Freehold of Grainne.'
"Thank you," she said, surprised. The book was printed on a tough polymer and bound into a heavy cover. Not an expensive process, but requiring more thought and attention than a simple ram or throwaway. She opened it and saw it was inscribed "To Kendra, good luck in your new world, Robert."
Before she could say anything else, he was leaving again. "Got to run," he said. "Things to see and people to do. If you make it to Liberty Park, I'll be there most of the day. If not, I'll stop in this evening to see how you're doing." The door closed and he was gone.
Kendra drifted in and out of sleep for a while longer, finally deciding she was alive enough to rise. She spent several uncomfortable minutes on the toilet before taking a warm shower, sitting on the floor of the stall rather than fight gravity, and felt considerably refreshed. Her sinuses were much clearer, her muscles down to a dull ache, and her feet—
Well, she did feel better, on the whole.
A glance in the refrigerator reminded her that she would need to shop for food. It also added to her minimal resolve to venture outside. Perhaps she would take a look at more of Liberty Park or seek out this "bazaar."
She sat down on the bed and glanced through the book, then became absorbed. It contained a detailed description of the Iota Persei system, including planets, satellites, planetoids, habitats and resources, among other things. She noted again the local time system. It seemed straightforward enough: ten divs per day, ten segs per div, one hundred seconds per seg. A Freehold second was approximately one Earth second, so it wouldn't be too hard to get used to. The kilogram was about eighteen percent heavier here due to gravity, but was still the same mass. Since the measure was based on the mass of a liter of water, that made more sense than adjusting all other measurements to fit. One chapter listed colloquialisms of the dialect of English spoken on Freehold, some of which she'd already picked up from context. There were maps, both geographical and political, for the planet and the "Halo," which was the name given to the space environment. The census figures were estimated, since the government made no effort to account for anyone who did not report their existence. Other than the annual fee she would pay to the Freehold and to the city of Jefferson, there were no taxes of any kind, and that fee was
voluntary
, she read. She used her comm to make pages of notes for later access. She read, engrossed, for about three hours, then realized the time that had passed.
Considering McKay's advice on dressing took five seconds. She wore her pumped-up shoes, a pair of shorts from her travelbag and one of her new halters. A few seconds' inspection revealed how to remove the lining from her cloak and she was ready to go. ID and cash—one ID, little cash. That went into her pouch, along with her useless, until she got paid, credchit. She took it from force of habit. Before leaving, she ran a staticbrush through her hair, snapping it up into a horsemane. It had worked the night before and she wasn't familiar with local styles. She stepped out into the glaring daylight, which was reminiscent of the American Southwest even at the almost 40 degrees latitude Jefferson occupied.
She found Liberty Park by asking at a charge and fuel station and confirmed that the bazaar was in the park. Several minutes' walking brought her to the same entrance they'd used the night before and made her realize that she would need some more items, UV shielding among them. Iota Persei was brighter than the Sun and beat down through the clear, dry air like a hammer on an anvil. She kept her hood up with a hand shielding her face and still had to squint.
Freeholders seemed to regard a park as
the
place to hang out. Hundreds of small groups, tens of entertainers and vendors, pets of all descriptions filled her vision in every direction. The simple geometric beauty of the park's architecture fought a fierce battle with chaos and lost. She found the central fountain, which was even fuller of bodies than the night before, and took the main path to the right and west. She shortly located the bazaar.
The previous discordance paled in comparison. Tents, awnings, parasols, trailers, vehicles and the ever-present bicycles looked to have been tossed out of a bucket en masse. She wended her way in slowly, unconsciously keeping a hand on her pouch, and examined the signs (of those vendors who had them) and the wares (of those who didn't).
Several merchants were selling UV-damping contact lenses. She compared prices on them, came back to the stall that had the best price on a style she liked, and was reminded to haggle by the actions of the customer ahead of her.
"Okay," she began to the seller, "I like these, but fourteen just isn't in the budget of a bum like me."
"Well, you get what you pay for," he returned, casually running a hand through his hair. "I've got the best price around and I really can't go much lower without a bulk sale. If you want three or four colors or different-shaped pupils, I'd be glad to drop ten percent," he hinted.
"I'd like to," she agreed wistfully, nodding, "But I just unshipped and can't throw the dough."
"All right," he said, "I'll drop them to thirteen, but only because you have such incredible eyes I'd hate to see them burned."
She bit her lip, considering. It sounded like a good offer, but she really needed to be stingy. She also needed to protect her eyes. She haggled a bit lower, wasn't sure if she got a deal or not, but was satisfied for now. That was another thing to learn about. Task accomplished, she took possession of the contacts and popped them in her eyes. They cut the glare, deepened the blue of her pupils and were plain otherwise—no odd-shaped irises or strange colors or effects. He handed her change, receipt and a business card with a polite scan that told her it wasn't just her eyes he liked. Thanking him, she pushed on.