"Thank you ... ma'am."
Trudi Hoffman's mouth twisted. "Get the hell out of here, you little whore."
Mia Mizuno, wearing a plain dark blue off-duty zipper suit with no insignia, and carrying a small overnight bag, stood waiting in the warm darkness of the mono-station at Shamari, two stops from Rokoa field. She had not realized that here on Kepler
in
it was the time of the
sakura.
The station platform was festive; its lamps were made in the old six-windowed style, their lights shining through panes of pink and pale green plastic, and tied to the top of each was a branch of artificial cherry blossoms. As she got off the train it was like stepping back into old Japan, a homecoming to the planet that lay many light years away across the wastes of space. The people who moved about the station, dressed in gay, bright colors, were her people, and their voices as they chattered together, sometimes in Japanese, sometimes English, were those of friends.
Looking to the east, away from the city, she could see the great, illuminated dome of
Venturer Twelve,
towering above Rokoa field; but that world was already far away. She wondered if the crewwoman on duty at the top of the down elevator had thought anything about the pass; she had clearly been envious of the fact that Mia had been granted planet leave so quickly after arrival. There would be no such questioning of Piet—as an officer. .. . She passed her hand over her stomach in response to a sudden qualm. Of course he would come . . . why shouldn't he? Had it not been arranged between them?
There was a mono every five minutes. Five minutes. . . . She looked down at the illuminated clock to the right of her, beyond the
bento
stall, and then down at her watch, and realized that they were different. The watch was made for Earth, for ship time. Here on Kepler III, with its twenty-eight-hour day, the watch would not do. It was a curiosity, and at the same time a liability, indicating her origin. Even though it was a gift from her beloved elder sister, she did not dare take the chance of keeping it.
Slipping the watch from her wrist, she glanced at it for a moment with regret, then, with symbolic firmness, she dropped it to the concrete of the platform and ground the face beneath her heel.
A succession of westbound trains came and went, and still she waited. The crowds were thinner now, and she was gradually feeling more and more alone. She looked back again "towards the ship, praying that he might come soon. All she had was the clothes she stood up in, and in her small bag, the papers with the family tree carefully inscribed, and her gift for the head of the Kepler III branch, a small, exquisitely dressed Hakata doll. Such dolls had been made for over five hundred years in the old port city of Fukuoka on the island of Kyushu, but surely none had before traveled so far to find a home. In the pocket of her zipper suit she had notes totaling about sixty United Earth credits—each credit worth something like one and a half Kepler III credits—enough to keep her in food and somewhere to sleep for about a week, according to what information she had been able to glean so far. Piet, when he arrived, would probably have slightly more, but even so they could hardly be independent for very long. Clearly everything hinged on finding the family before the money ran out.
When he arrived .... Just as a tiny fear began to nudge her, another train glided smoothly into the station. She watched as the doors hissed open, and Piet stepped out onto the platform, outrageously tall among the other alighting passengers. She felt as though her
heart would burst with its sudden weight of relief and happiness.
"Piet, love, Piet!"
She was fast in his arms, and this whole new world was suddenly perfect. -s
The mono on which he had arrived left, and the crowd dwindled. She peered up at him, searching his face in the patchwork glow of the lanterns.
"Your hair—did you dye it?"
"Not all—just what shows under here, and at the sides," he said, touching his cap. "And a bit of pencil on my eyebrows."
She smiled. "I can see
that
—you look like a
Kabuki
lion dancer."
He grimaced. "Thank you very much; is that bad?"
"It'll do, for the time being, and under these lights," she said, reassuringly. "In the morning I'll get some cold-water dye for your hair, and tone down the eyebrows."
They walked along the platform towards the shelter near its end. There, in false but welcome security, they kissed deeply, holding each other close.
"We're staying here all night?" he asked, at length.
She nodded. "I thought that would be best—then we could take the first workers' train in the morning into Main City. All right?"
"Yes—I suppose so. The question is, when will they miss us?"
"Well, I'm not due on duty until oh eight hundred tomorrow morning—how about you?"
"That's the trouble—if there should happen to be any kind of emergency, I could be called at any time," Piet said.
"There won't
be
any emergency," she insisted. "Stop worrying yourself, Piet. We've made it—we're away!"
But he was still frowning. "I wonder how theyH go about it? Bruce certainly wouldn't fancy getting in touch with the local police right away—the Corps image
and all that stuff. I think that first he'll try to find us through his own efforts, maybe sending out a squad to search..."
"A squad, to search a whole planet?" She giggled. "That sounds a pretty tough assignment, even for the Space Corps."
"Be serious!" he said, sharply. "This isn't some girlish prank; we're gambling both of our lives, our futures, here..."
"Not just
both,"
she said, quietly, touching her stomach. "All
three
of our lives."
"Of course—three of us," he said, suddenly happier.
She looked up at him. The dim light of the shelter deeply etched shadowed lines of worry on his face, and she found herself wondering whether he was already regretting the irrevocable step they had taken. Everything had gone according to plan, so far, but somehow there was not the joy of freedom she had expected. Before he had come there had been hints of that joy, the cherry blossom on the lanterns, the sound of Japanese voices . . . but then, for him, such things did not speak of home; he was still a stranger here. She felt a sudden, protective wave of tenderness towards him. For the time being, at least, she would have not just one child to care for, but two, and he must be humored.
He looked at her with widening eyes as she rose to her feet. "What is it?"
"Wait here," she said, smiling her reassurance. "I will get us some food, and something to drink. Then you will feel better."
He sat, awkwardly hunched forward, watching her go, stifling the impulse to call her back. Without her he would be so completely alone, here on this strange planet, among these strange people. . . . But then, what had he expected? He was tired, and hungry . . . suddenly very tired. Placing his zipper bag as a pillow, he stretched himself out on the bench.
"Citizen." It was a man's voice. "Citizen!"
He jerked out of his doze. A figure was silhouetted against the checkered light of the lantern. A peaked cap, the gleam of a uniform button. It was a cop.
Panic hit Piet in the middle of his stomach, and seemed to freeze him.
"You all right, citizen?" the policeman's voice sharpened.
He swung his legs off the bench and stared upwards, blinking. "Sure, Fm fine. Just tired." His voice, making a meal of every vowel sound, was a deliberate imitation of the accent he had heard coming up in the mono.
"Working late?"
Piet yawned, his heart pounding. "Or early. Six television repairs in a row, current surge. Some people can't even change a fuse." It was a wild improvisation, the first thing that came into his head, but it seemed to satisfy the cop.
"Don't have to tell me that," he said, with a flash of white teeth. "Get that kind of thing all the time in my job, helping people too stupid—or too idle—to help themselves. Still, it's a steady living. You on your own?" The question, policemanlike, was tacked onto the end of the casual chatter.
"No. My wife has just gone along the platform for some food."
"The
bento
stall? Well I hope she doesn't buy any of their
tempura
—that fish is in and out of the freezer too many times for my liking." He glanced at his watch. 'Twenty-seven-thirty; I'd better be getting along. Goodnight"
Piet said goodnight, and watched the cop go. He saw him say a word to Mia as she passed him, and then carry on down the platform, a little brown man, in a pale uniform, walking with the slight swagger that would brand him as a cop anywhere in the universe.
Mia came into the shelter, and deposited two cardboard boxes and a small stone bottle on the bench.
"You had a visitor."
"God! I thought he was going to ask to see my papers," Piet said.
"But he didn't, and everything is all right—and now it's time for supper," she said, laughing. Squatting on the floor in front of the bench, she opened the bottle and poured sake into two small paper cups.
"Here's to our new home," she said, handing him one of the cups.
Piet sipped the drink. It was mild and sweet, not unlike sherry, and with a pleasant aftertaste.
"You like?" She smiled up at him.
"I like fine," he said, draining the cup.
"And now for food," she said, opening up the cardboard boxes. One was filled to the brim with plain, boiled rice. The other contained a mosaic of carefully arranged tidbits, the nature of which she explained to him in detail. There were two pieces of broiled fish, some slices of fiercely red sausage, a tidy knot of seaweed, pickled roots of vegetables, some bright pink shrimps, and a miniature plastic bottle of soy sauce. Unwrapping one pair of
Hashi,
featherweight wooden eating sticks no longer than a pencil, she began to instruct him in their use.
He was clumsy at first, and they both laughed at his efforts, but somehow he managed to get a fair proportion of the food into his mouth. He found that, despite his early misgivings, it was surprisingly tasty, and certainly superior to the greater proportion of ship's meals aboard
Venturer Twelve.
Afterwards, when the food was gone, they sat close together and drank the rest of the sake. Piet was feeling much more relaxed now, the knotted feeling in his stomach gone, a warm glow permeating his body from the deceptively sweet wine.
Placing the remains of the
bento
boxes in a litter receptacle outside, Mia returned and snuggled up close to him on the bench. "The first train is at five-thirty," she said. "We'll get off at the Honshi Gardens stop, then I'll buy some dye when the shops are open, and you can use it in the men's room. After that, looking like real Keplerians, we'll go along to the public archives building—it isn't very far away."
"Archives?"
"To look up my relatives."
"You really think you'll be able to find them?"
"Piet, love, of course. The people here haven't forgotten their links with Earth." She cuddled closer to him.
The sun was well up in a cloudless sky when they stepped out onto the gaily decorated platform of the Honshi Gardens station. Piet, according to plan, bought a newspaper, and sat on the first seat inside the vermilion-painted
torii
gateway, hiding himself behind the sheets. He felt more relaxed now, but still far from comfortable. From behind the newspaper he surveyed the passers-by. The gardens blazed with flowers, many of them in strange color combinations which he had never seen on Earth, and the avenue was lined by cherry trees covered in delicate pink blossom. Gradually the light, warm breeze and the sunlight lulled him to sleep.
He awoke with a start to find Mia standing beside him. "Hey, sleepy-head." She thrust the paper-wrapped bottle into his hand. "The toilet's over there."
Dyeing his hair was a messy job, but finally he was satisfied. He rejoined Mia, who pronounced herself pleased with the transformation, and they strolled out of the gardens in the direction of Sol Square. The city streets were already busy with traffic, and the sun was beating down with a fierce, dry heat. They crossed the one-way traffic circuit of the square, scrupulously observing pedestrian rules; large notices warned them that they could be fined on the spot for infringements.
Mounting the white stone steps of the Planetary Museum and Archives, they were glad of the cool shades of the pillared entrance.
"Oh, look!" Mia stopped to look at the large panels of pictures and print around the entrance hall. "Who's Who in the Independence Negotiations." There were pictures of President Kido, of Charles Magnus, of the various governmental ministers, and one, in heroic stance, of Commander Tom Bruce, the green eyes staring penetratingly out at the onlooker.
Piet said, nervously, "Let's go, shall we? Find your family and get out of here."