“How did your community grow?” I asked. “From what I know it wasn’t supposed to be permanent.”
He smiled. “People married. Others sent for their loved ones, had kids. There was no plan. Earth Authority administrators ran us on a rotational basis, but in time that was left to us. It was too hard for ambitious career types, who came and left as soon as they could.”
“So you run yourselves?”
“Almost, but the strings are still there—long, but we feel them. How could all this happen? I can see the question in your faces. Well, toward the end of the last century people finally understood that to have a humane culture on Earth they would have to go out into space. But they began to take for granted those who went out to run their industry and get their resources for them. Not all problems are material; some are organizational, political, helping injustice exist in the midst of plenty.”
“People never learn,” I said.
“They do, individually, but societies forget. It was thought that Sunspacers would take care of themselves in everything. Until people live forever, each generation will have to learn things fresh.”
“There’s tradition, institutions, history,” Ro said.
“But reminders are needed.” He looked over his shoulder at the big screen, then back at our group. “Can you all find your own way? I have some work to do.”
“I think we can,” I said.
“Oh—here’s my son, Bob. He’ll go with you.”
Robert Svoboda, Jr., looked like his father—thinner and slightly taller, but with the same black hair and dark blue eyes. He had come to the common area a few times, and I had liked him immediately, though he seemed to worship his father too much.
We followed him out from the control center.
The miners grew very busy as the Sun climbed to its noon position; this was the time of maximum energy reception, use, and storage.
While the great robots ripped ore from the pits, while nuclear charges were set to open still more holes, while people struggled to repair aging equipment in the underground garages, and while the sluices ran rivers of liquid metals into molds, the support army prepared food, cleaned quarters, nursed the injured, kept records, and planned shifts. Children were being raised and educated at the same time. Many were about my age. Many seemed terrified that they would never finish school—that the next quake would stop them. The whole society was at war with time and the Sun, hurrying to mine and smelt as much metal as possible during the three months of light.
I felt guilty eating, sleeping, and waiting nervously while all this work was going on. A few jokes were made about us; some of the people our age were openly hostile; but grudgingly the idea took hold that we were being saved for other work. Mercury’s gravity, only about thirty-nine percent of Earth’s, made us much stronger, though we had to keep up our muscles with daily exercise and take some care in how we moved around.
People live longer on lower-g worlds like the Moon and Mars. Fighting Earth’s gravity wears out your muscles, deforms your stomach and gives you backaches. Your heart lifts tons of blood through endless miles.
Here that strain was reduced by sixty-one percent, and a human being could clear a hundred even without medical help, if the quakes didn’t get him first.
“They hope so much,” Ro said one day.
We spent a lot of time in the common areas, playing cards and listening to music, or just talking, but it was only a way of waiting. I tried to study some of the required technical material, but the delay and the constant thought of danger were getting to me.
Bernie tried to stay away from the room, to give Ro and me some privacy, and that was a relief; but both of us were beginning to feel oppressed, closed in. The miners felt this way all the time, I told myself, but it didn’t help.
“It won’t be much longer,” Ro said one afternoon. “The asteroid has been in sight for days now.”
I kissed her for a long time.
“Miss zero-g?” she asked softly.
“Sure.” I got out of bed and put on my coveralls and boots.
“What is it, Joe?”
“Nothing.” I was beginning to lose the sense of being myself again. “We may be here much longer than we expected. It’s beginning to sink in, I guess.”
“We decided to come,” she said firmly.
“If we could just get started—instead of all this waiting.” The light flickered as I zipped up my boots.
“It won’t be long now.”
I looked at her. “It’s dangerous here—some of us might never see home again. Did you see how many injured they treat in the hospital?” I had a sudden vision of Ro lying there with every bone in her body broken.
“I’ve spent time with the patients too,” she answered. “Only a few were really bad, and not from quakes—not recently anyway.”
“You heard, didn’t you?” I insisted. “They can’t freeze anyone. If it’s a bad injury you don’t have a chance. What if it were me? Or you? It’s ten days back to Earth, when you can get a ship!”
“I know,” she said in a low voice. “I’m afraid, too.”
I sat down on the bed, and we held hands, as if afraid to let go. I had the feeling that I was about to fall apart, and the pieces wouldn’t recognize each other. Ro was looking at me very carefully as she lay warm and soft in the sleeping bag. We were quiet for what seemed a long time.
“There’s always a bit of you I can’t see,” she said finally. “I know that you love me, you’re helpful and caring about people, and you work when you think the job is worth doing. But there is always a part of you that you hold back. Oh, I don’t mind, but someday I hope you’ll tell me about it.”
She was right. There was always a part of me that longed for the clean, cold beauty of the stars. I still wasn’t so sure that being a human being was so great. Maybe I wanted more than the universe had to give? That’s what Morey and I still had in common—he wanted to be more than a human being, and in my own way I still wanted the same thing, to be able to say that this wasn’t all I was, that there could be more, that there had to be more. I had learned one thing already—the miners were in a bad situation, but their response was superhuman. If they could do it, then so could I.
There was a loud knock on the door. I tensed, fearing an emergency of some kind.
“Who is it?” I asked loudly.
“Bob Svoboda,” a muffled voice replied.
I went to the door and cranked it open a crack. Bob smiled at me. “I came to invite the three of you to dinner at our place.”
“Uh, sure,” I said clumsily.
“At eight. My family would very much like to have you. Sorry to disturb you.” He smiled and moved away.
“Why us?” Ro asked as I cranked the door shut.
“Who knows. It’ll be a change.”
“Maybe we were picked at random,” she said.
The lights flickered a lot, leaving us in darkness three times as we made our way toward the Svoboda apartment. Finally, we came to a massive door at the end of a long tunnel in the north village.
“Looks like the entrance to a leader’s lair,” Ro said.
“Watch it.” Bernie pointed to a crack in the rock floor. We stepped over the break and stood before the door. The knocker was a chunk of ore on a chain. I struck twice. “Come in, come in,” Bob said as the door slid open.
We filed past him into a large living area, onto a large green rug that covered the center of the red tile floor.
“My parents will be out in a minute.”
Ro and I sat down in the chairs facing the sofa. Bernie lowered himself into the middle of the sofa and bobbed for a moment before settling. Moving around in low-g took some care until you got used to it, especially when dealing with air-filled furniture.
“Dinner will be a bit late,” Bob said. “We all got home late.”
The green plastic of the furniture, I noticed, did not match the rug. Cracks marred the ceiling and walls. There were some flat pictures on the end table by my chair—shots of a dark-haired girl of about seven, and an older, dark-haired boy.
“My brother and sister,” Bob said. “Alexei and Lizaveta died three years ago in a quake. A wall in the day care caved in. Most of the kids survived. They found one of the babies under Liza. She’d protected him with her body.”
I didn’t know what to say. Bernie swallowed hard. A sad look came into Ro’s eyes.
Bob made a face. “So—when do you think we’ll move into the habitat?”
“We’ll know better,” Bernie said, “when we get the full force working inside the rock shell.”
Bob was looking at me. He seemed nervous about the way I was examining the room. “It’s all I’ve heard about since I was a kid.”
“You were born here?” Ro asked.
“In the hospital.”
“And you’ve never been away?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll go to college on Luna when the habitat is ready.” He gave me a panicky look. “I know that’s a bit late, but you’re taking time off to work here. As long as I get a chance to learn.”
Robert and Eleanor Svoboda came into the room. The Mercurian leader looked straight at me, as if trying to learn more about me.
Eleanor was a tall, thin woman with short, curly brown hair. She looked at us in turn and smiled. She seemed tired, but there was strength in her brown eyes.
“I’ve wanted to meet as many of your group as possible,” Robert Svoboda said, “while you still have time.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Thank you for inviting us,” Ro said.
We stood up and followed the Svobodas through an arch. As we sat down at the table, Bob appeared in the archway from the kitchen, wheeling in the soup. We took our bowls from the cart as he went around.
“Um—good,” Ro said. “Not like any mushroom soup I’ve tasted.”
“There’s bean curd in it,” Bob said as he sat down between his parents. “I’ve made it since I was a kid.” He rolled his eyes.
I happened to like the mushroom dishes I had tasted on Merk, but then I usually didn’t eat them all the time, either. Because it was easy to grow them here in parts of the dark tunnels, mushrooms were plentiful and seemed to turn up in almost everything I ate.
“I’m glad you like it,” Mrs. Svoboda said, smiling.
“It’s very fine, Mrs. Svoboda,” I said, knowing that I wouldn’t want to have her angry at me for anything.
“Please,” she said, “call us Robert and Eleanor. Now—you’re Joe, Rosalie, and Bernard.”
“Call me Bernie.”
“I hope the delay hasn’t been too boring,” Robert Svoboda said from the head of the table. “I’m aware that there has been some bad feeling—”
“We’re anxious to work,” I said.
Bob wheeled out our empty bowls and breezed back with the main course. We took our plates as he went around. I looked at what seemed to be a piece of meat with mushroom gravy, green beans, and a potato. My feet trembled as I took a bite. Robert Svoboda looked up, his face a hard mask.
He stared right through me. I tensed. Then his face softened as quickly as it had gone rigid. He ran his fingers back through his hair and sighed.
We were silent.
“Well?” he asked harshly.
“Is there anything we should do if one comes?” I asked.
“We’re on a bad fault, Joe. The big danger is in loss of pressure and cave-in.” A distant look came into his eyes. “It didn’t seem so bad in the early years, but it got worse.”
“And we got used to worse,” Eleanor added.
I looked at her and realized that she had seen people die. When she looked at her son, she saw that her future was still being held hostage. I imagined living here with Ro all these years, and it frightened me.
“Things will be better,” Eleanor said nervously, trying to sound cheerful. “Bob, the wine.”
Bob almost tripped as he went out to the kitchen. On Earth he would not have been able to right himself and catch the chair so quickly; there were some advantages to lower g.
“You’re the third group we’ve had to dinner,” Eleanor said, sounding more in control of herself.
“What do you think of us?” Ro asked, and my stomach jumped.
“You’re nice people to leave your schooling. I hope you don’t lose too much time.”
Bob brought back a large green bottle and poured out full glasses for everyone. The white liquid trembled slightly in my goblet. Robert Svoboda was staring intently at his glass. Bob put the bottle on the table and sat down.
Robert Svoboda raised his glass. “I want to thank you personally, even if you have doubts about being here. You’re not likely to get any medals from Earth Authority.”
We sipped.
“The grapes grow well here,” Eleanor said.
Bob saw his chance. “We sure have enough sun!”
We laughed and sipped some more.
“Where are you from, Joe?” Robert Svoboda asked.
“New York City.”
He held back a laugh. “Now I know you’re not used to our quarters. Must seem like jail cells. How about you, Rosalie, Bernie?”
“I’m from Bernal,” Ro said.
“Same here,” Bernie added.
“He helped build the place,” I said.
Svoboda’s eyebrows went up. “Bernal functions admirably. I visited once … It seems so long ago now.” Eleanor gazed at him with concern.
Bob rolled out tea and coffee after dinner. We took our cups and followed Eleanor out into the living room, where we reclaimed our seats. Bob sat cross-legged on the floor. His parents sat on some shabby black cushions. I wondered how many people had died on Mercury, but was afraid to ask.
Eleanor smiled at me, and I saw how beautiful she was, how even more beautiful she had been.
“What were you studying, Joe?” she asked.
“Physics—I thought.”
“You’re not sure?”
I sipped my tea. “Maybe later, I don’t know.”
“Rosalie, what interests you, besides Joe?”
I looked at her. She was blushing.
“There are a number of things I might want to do.”
Robert Svoboda’s brooding concern filled the room, pressing in around us. These people had almost forgotten how to relax. They might have left a long time ago and found a better life, but there were too many dead for the Svobodas to leave. The Svobodas carried Mercury on their shoulders.
“How many of your people do you think will stay after the habitat is built?” Bernie asked.
Robert looked surprised. “This is their home—a whole generation has grown up here. That may be hard for some people to understand, but it’s always been true. People have lived in deserts and on frozen tundra—it’s actually easier than that here.” A strangeness came into his eyes, as if he were peering through the rock. “There is beauty in living here, in stealing Mercury’s insides while the big Sun stands watch. A habitat will take off the rough edges. Then maybe more people will immigrate here, and those here will feel better about staying.”