The Dark Design by Phillip Jose Farmer

Abel had left his area after his parents had been killed and had wandered down-River until he came to Parolando. Jill had liked him very much and had asked him to be her hutmate. The big fellow had gladly moved in, and they had had some idyllic months. But, though he was intelligent, he was ignorant. Jill taught him every­thing she could; history, philosophy, poetry, and even some arith­metic. He was eager to learn, but eventually he accused her of patronizing him.

Shocked, Jill had denied this.

“I just want to educate you, to give you knowledge denied you because you died so early.”

“Yes, but you get so impatient. You keep forgetting that I don’t have your background. Things which seem simple to you, because you were raised among them, are bewildering to me. I don’t have your referents.”

He had paused, then said, “You’re a knowledge-chauvinist. In short, a… what’s the word? … a snob.”

Jill was even more shocked. She denied this, too, though reflec­tion showed her that he was perhaps right. By then it was too late to make reparations. He had left her for another woman.

She consoled herself by telling herself that he was too used to the idea of the man being the boss. He found it difficult to accept her as an equal.

Later, she realized that that was only partly true. Actually, she had, deep down, a contempt for him because he was not, and never would be, her mental equal. That had been an unconscious attitude, and now that she was aware of it, she regretted having it. In fact, she felt ashamed of it.

After that, she made no effort to have anything but the most impermanent liaisons. Her partners were men and women who, like her, wanted only sexual satisfaction. Usually, she and they got it, but she always felt frustrated afterward. She needed a genuine affection and companionship.

Obrenova and Thorn, she observed, must be doing the same thing as she. At least, no one moved into their huts. For that matter, though, she never observed them taking any interest in anybody which could be interpreted as sexual. As far as she knew, they were not even having one-night stands.

Thorn did, however, seem to like Obrenova’s company. Jill often saw them talking earnestly together. Perhaps Thorn was trying to get her to be his lover. And perhaps the Russian refused because she thought she would only be a substitute for his first wife.

Three days before the final liftoff, a holiday was declared. Jill left the plains area because it was so crowded and noisy with people from up and down The River. She estimated that there were already several hundred thousands camping in Parolando and that there would be over twice that number by the time the Parseval left. She retired to her hut, leaving it only for a little fishing. The second day, as she was sitting on the edge of the little lake, looking emptily into the water, she heard someone approaching.

Her irritation at the invasion died when she saw Piscator. He was carrying a fishing pole and a wickerwork basket. Silently, he sat down beside her and offered her a cigarette. She shook her head. For some time they stared at the surface, rippled by the wind, broken now and then by a leaping fish.

Finally, he said, “It won’t be long before I must reluctantly say goodbye to my disciples and to my piscatorial pursuits.”

“Is it worth it to you?”

“You mean, giving up this pleasant life for an expedition that may end in death? I won’t know until it happens, will I?”

After another silence, he said, “How have you been? Any more experiences such as that night?”

“No, I’m fine.” “But you have been carrying a knife in your heart.”

“What do you mean?” she said, turning her head to look at him. She hoped her puzzlement did not look as faked as it felt to her.

”I should have said three knives. The captaincy, the Russian, and most of all, yourself.”

“Yes, I have problems. Don’t we all? Or are you an exception? Are you even human?”