"The X-ray plates?"
"Show everything completely normal for this stage of development," he said.
"Father . . . you wouldn't lie to me?" She was looking at him now, her head slightly to one side. The hint of mistrust in her expression was like a dagger in his side.
"Yoko, my dear," he said wearily. "I have explained a thousand times; the first time was due to the action of the virus during your illness—but now you are not ill, and there is
no
virus."
She bowed her head. "Forgive me,
papa-san.
I am a stupid, ungrateful child."
He reached out and raised her face, his finger caressing the smooth, golden cheeks. "You are my b?au
f;
ful
sakura,
and I promise on my life that no harm shall come to you. And ... as for the dragon dream—is it not said that to dream of dragons at such a time is a good omen, indicating that your child will be a brave
samurai,
strong as a lion and gentle in the arts of peace?"
"Papa-san,
you are so understanding." She smiled, and it was like the morning sun rising from behind a dark cloud. She held out her arms, and he helped her gently to her feet.
They walked together into the lounge where Tana was waiting. As they entered a muted fanfare burst from the television screen.
"The Earth ship is landing," Tana said, as she hurried to turn up the sound.
Sato and his womenfolk squatted on the
tatami
floor in front of the screen. This was a moment that he, they, the entire population of Kepler III had been awaiting for many long, hard years, but in the heart of Kenji Sato there was no joy, only a growing apprehension of what the next few months must bring to him with their combined burden of cooperation and concealment.
"What a great thing it is!" Yoko exclaimed in wonder. "Floating down like a feather . . . the pictures of it in space gave no real idea. It's like a complete world, all on its own...."
The screen showed the crowds around Rokoa, teeming and noisy, and hugely good-humored. At a hundred meters, the descending ship came to a stop and remained there, perfectly balanced on its invisible pillar of anti-grav. Then three great doors at a hundred and twenty degrees to the circumference, set fifty meters clear of the gigantic round plug-shape of the engines, opened up, and the telescopic legs began to descend. Upon each was a box-like foot, fifteen meters by ten by four, and each foot was capable by itself of holding the mighty ship steady.
The voice of the commentator went on tirelessly, describing the scene, and interspersing relevant background material with practiced skill.
"On Earth, at this moment,
Venturer Thirteen
is halfway towards completion, but, for the time being, this is the greatest ship of the Corps fleet; and remember, viewers, it is
our
ship, protecting us, helping us. Now the great feet are down, locking immovably on the surface of the field, and we wait next for the appearance of the two telescopic lifts which form the main entrances and exits to the ship. It is hoped to arrange for a visitors' schedule, but this will necessarily be limited. It has been suggested that whatever visitors' tickets may be available should be balloted, for, and ... ah, there goes number three camera truck forward under the ship to give you a better view of the telescopic lifts. Now the hatch doors are beginning to slide back. At any moment now, the telescopies will descend, and soon after that the first Earth visitor will step onto our planet. There is some speculation here as to who that first man will be—Mr. Magnus, the Explorations Division officer, in charge, or Commander Thomas Bruce himself, whose heroic record must be known to all of you____"
Like stiff pseudopodia, the telescopies came down, and locked as they touched the surface.
"I think, perhaps, that for an occasion like this, protocol may well be on the side of the Explorations Division officer ... ah, now the elevator lights are on . . . and a figure in uniform is emerging! It seems then that Commander Bruce is to be the first, after all. . . ."
The crowd on the field roared; and the picture zoomed dizzily as number three camera truck raced forward to get sound as well as picture of the historic first contact.
Crewman (GD) Albert Rate, of Peterborough, England, looked up in alarm. There was a bright light shining directly into his oddly round Western eyes, a microphone thrust under his nose, and someone was excitedly asking him questions in a strange accent.
"What?" said Albert He straightened up in his stained coveralls and ran a hand through his spiky, fair hair. "Eh?" Then the waiting millions of Kepler III heard his first historic words: "Chrissake! I got a job to do, mate. Got to check the elevator footings, haven't I? If I don't Thundergutsll have me balls!"
The men from Earth had arrived.
Now, with the elevators down and working,
Vertturer Twelve
was in business, and the to-and-fro was beginning. President Kido had arrived for a personal meeting with Magnus; Joseph Ichiwara and the members of his staff were already establishing liaison with representatives of the Kepler III government departments, with which they would be working during the investigation, the task proceeding the more smoothly because of Ichi-wara's ease in dealing with members of his own race.
On tenth level, Dockridge met Mia Mizuno in a corridor. He stopped and gave her a wary smile. "Hello, kid."
"Hey," he said, "what's this I hear?"
She smiled back. "Hello, Doc."
"You hear what Doc?"
"This baby..."
"Yes?"
"Accident, gel?" His kindly eyes searched her smooth face. "Long time about it if it was."
She looked back at him calmly, feeling that if she kept quiet and let him talk, she might learn something.
"Could have finished that almost as soon as it started, couldn't you?"
"Maybe." Her voice was carefully neutral.
"Ah, I thought so. This was love, eh? Accident or not." He shook his graying head, and once again, despite his strongly European features, he reminded her of her father. "That makes it all the tougher, doesn't it?"
Members of the crew hurried past them. Voices called on intercoms, buzzers sounded, ship noises came and went, distant relays chattered, and a hum and rattle of hawsers came from open hangars on the outside skin of the ship.
"Yes, Doc. I suppose it does." She knew that the sharp eyes were trying to weigh up her attitude, her thoughts, and not entirely succeeding. It came to her that if she couldn't fool
him,
then she might have to rely on his liking for her.
"Orders, gel—you got to obey orders. Always did say it's tougher all round for the women. You resigned to it, then?"
"Don't I look it?"
As they looked at each other, the gritty voice of Warrant Officer Panos was heard in wrathful communication with the entire ship. "All occupants of mess thirty-seven not actually on duty, report on the double to P.O. Patel, who will give them a lesson in basic tidiness and then put them on a charge."
Dockridge said: "No, you don't look it. .. not a bit. You should be in tears, ready to claw the guts out of the medic who tries to put you to sleep. . . . What's up, gel?"
Mia inclined her dark head to one side. "What should there be? And if there were, would I tell you?"
Dockridge grimaced. "Sometimes it helps to talk— strictly off-the-record. I ought to know—that's my specialty; listening. I'm old for crew. I seen 'em come and go. You name it, I've seen it, or been through it. And what I say in your case is this—if a gel starts a baby and keeps it growing for four months until she's found out, then she must
want it.
And if she wants it, then she ought to keep it, because God laiows there's little enough of that kind of love left in the universe, and maybe there never was enough to go round."
Two sweating crewmen scrambled by, heading for the nearest elevator. "I thought
you
stayed behind to tidy up!" Then they were gone.
"Mia," Dockridge said. "You, the young ones like you, are like daughters to me. I suppose I'm getting on, a sentimental old fool, but there it is...."
She looked up into his gnarled features, understanding his sincerity and loving him for it. But there was nothing he could do for her. Even his indulgence would fade quickly if he knew the real truth of what she had planned—and with whom she planned to do it
She smiled, her natural warmth reaching out to him. "No, Doc—you're not foolish, or sentimental, you're just human, and we appreciate it... all of us."
"But no dice this time, eh?" he said, patting her on the cheek. "Okay . . . have it your way, gel. But remember, if you need a shoulder to weep on, or just a friend to talk to, the door's always open."
"I know it is, Doc... and thanks."
He walked away, and for a moment she followed his limping stride, the smile lingering on her face. Then she looked down at her watch. Timing was important. She had diligently compared regular duty schedules with extra and deputy ones, and
this
was the time. She took an elevator up to officers' quarters.
She paused outside the door, aware of the pounding of her heart. If she was wrong, she could be throwing away her chances altogether by coming here. But she couldn't be wrong, she mustn't be wrong—so much depended on her being right.
She knocked on the door.
"Come in," called the familiar voice.
Mia entered, shut the door, and saluted. Standing smartly at attention, her face was calm, expressionless, that of a model Corpswoman.
Trudi Hoffman, just showered and changed into number twos, stared at the girl, a crease of disbelief and suspicion forming between the red-gold brows.
"Well?"
"Permission to speak, ma'am."
"Granted. And stand easy. What do you want?"
Mia took a deep breath. This was it. She had decided that directness only was the plan. No hedging, nothing. Just straight out. And the success of the plan depended completely on the correctness of her assessment of Hoffman's temperament—the assumption that, despite her all-Corps exterior, inside Trudi Hoffman still thought and felt like a woman....
"I want—ma'am—the chance to walk out of your life."
Trudi Hoffman came close to Mia, topping her by more than half a head. The icy-blue eyes looked down into the seal-brown ones. "Crewwoman, I didn't know that you were even in my life—but go on."
"I want my baby," Mia said. "But if I stay here aboard
Venturer Twelve
I shall lose it."
"That figures ... I understand there's a Comp. Ab. order in existence already," said the lieutenant "So what do you want from me?"
"A pass to get off the ship. I would be among my own people on Kepler III, once off Rokoa field I could disappear—"
"Desertion ..." Trudi's eyes narrowed.
"Call it that, if you like. All I'm interested in is having my baby. And ... he won't help me." No names —just the implication that she was no longer interested in Piet; that with her gone, Trudi Hoffman would have a clear field with no rivalry for his favors.
Trudi backed off and lit a cigar in a leisurely manner. "Why in hell should I do that for you?" she said coldly. "He'll lay me any time I tell him to, he has already—or hasn't he told you?"
The cold words seeped into her mind like icy water and Mia knew without doubt that they were true. Piet . . . Piet and this great blonde mare! He'd done it to shield her, to protect her, but the thought was so revolting that she was filled with nausea. What kind of a woman was this, that she could force a man to serve her in such a manner?
"No, he hasn't told me, because I haven't seen him, because I don't want to," she said, lying desperately. "All I want now is to get away and have my baby."
"Then, if it's over, why do you imagine that I would want to help you?" Trudi said. "Even if we were rivals in a sense once, we're not now, are we?"
Mia was lent cunning by her need. "Because I could talk. Only you and I know who the father of my child is, but if I were to go to Commander Bruce and tell him everything, tell him how Piet removed the contracapsule from my arm, how we deliberately made this baby together. ..." It was a desperate, untrue bluff; but a woman like Trudi Hoffman in similar circumstances would have the venom, the ruthlessness to do such a thing, to bring about the complete ruin of the man she loved; to see him stripped of rank and dishonorably discharged from the Corps, as he must be for such crime against sacrosanct regulations.
"You dirty, conniving little cow!" said Trudi Hoffman, with some satisfaction. "I really believe you would." She moved towards a drawer and took out a pad of forms.
She filled one in quickly, then passed it over.
Mia glanced down at the precious, pale green slip of paper. The signature at the bottom said:
Y. Maranne. Lt