But must he accept it as the absolute last word? True, there hadn’t been any fundamental change since Olivares and his colleagues worked out their unified physics. Everything since had been details, empirical discoveries, perhaps surprising but never basic. After all, went the argument, the universe is finite, therefore the scientific horizon must be, too. Where a quantitative explanation of some phenomenon is lacking — biological, sociological, psychological, or whatever — that is merely because the complexity makes it unfeasible to solve the Grand Equation for this particular case.
Kenri had his doubts. Already he had seen too much of the cosmos to keep unqualified faith in man’s ability to understand it. His attitude was not unique among his folk. When they mentioned it to an Earthling, they generally got a blank look or a superior smile. . . . Well, science was a social enterprise. Maybe someday a new civilization would want to ask new questions. Maybe there would still be some Kith ships.
He set down on Rodan Spacefield and took the slideway into North-port. The hot, greenish rain sluicing over the transparent tube would have poisoned him. Though its machines kept it clean, a subtle shabbiness had crept into the Far Frontier Hotel. Partly that was because of the plantationers drinking in the lounge. They weren’t rowdy, but lives as lonely as theirs didn’t make for social graces.
Hence Kenri’s surprise approached shock when he entered the suite and found a beautiful young woman. He recovered, bowed with arms crossed on breast, and introduced himself humbly. That was the prescribed way for one of his station to address one of hers, according to the latest information from the laser newsbeams.
“Greeting, Ensign,” she replied. Her language hadn’t changed a great deal since he had learned it. She got his rank wrong; he didn’t venture to correct her. “Let’s be on our way.”
“Immediately, Freelady?” He’d hoped for a day or two in which he could relax, stretch his muscles, go someplace other than the boat.
“I’m weary of this dreary. My baggage is in the next room, packed. You should be able to carry it.”
He managed a smile. At the craft, he managed an apology for her cramped, austere quarters. “That’s all right,” she said. “The ferry out was no better. I called for a ship’s boat for the sake of trying something different.”
After they had lifted, settled into steady boost, and unharnessed, she glanced at her timepiece. “Hu, how late,” she said. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ve eaten and now want to go to bed. I’ll have breakfast at, um, 0900 hours.”
But then she surprised him anew. Having stood pensive a moment, she looked in his direction and the blue gaze was by no means unfriendly. “I forgot. You must be on quite another cycle. What time is it by your clocks? I should start adapting.”
“We have four days for that,” he replied. “The first breakfast shall be when the Freelady wishes.” It was not convenient for him, but somehow he did not now resent it.
Emerging from his berth after a few hours’ sleep, he was again surprised by finding her already up. Her tunic would have been provocative were they of equal status. As it was, he merely admired the view. She had started his readscreen, evidently curious to know what interested him, and sat pondering Murinn’s text. She nodded at his salutation and said, “I don’t understand a word of this. Does he ever use one syllable where six will do?”
“He cared for precision, Freelady,” answered Kenri. On impulse: “I would have liked to know him.”
“You people do a lot of reading, don’t you?”
“Plenty of time for that in space, Freelady. Of course, we have other recreations as well. And communal activities, such as educating the children.” He wouldn’t discuss the rituals with an Earthling.
“Children — Do you truly need hundreds in a crew?”
“No, no. Uh, Freelady. When we’re on a planet, though, we often need many hands.” And all want to travel, to walk on those worlds. It’s in our blood.
She nodded. “M’hm. Also, the only way to keep a family, no? To keep your whole culture alive.”