“No, that’s really crazy,” Tortee was insisting. “Think! We’d have to rebuild the rectenna in the first place; they tore that down long ago for the metal—and what would we have to tear down now for metal to rebuild it? Then there’s the problem of transferring fuel from the engine accumulators in one ship to the generators in another. That’s a lot harder than what you did back in the old days, Viktor. Then you only had to move the whole reserve fuel storage unit, right? And that was dangerous enough, but this means taking the drive apart. I’ve studied the plans. A million things can go wrong—and everything’s a lot older now, so the chances of an accident are a lot worse.”
“Well, that’s true enough,” Reesa put in, looking warningly at Viktor. “I’m surprised the containment didn’t give out already and blow the whole ship up.”
“And then even if it succeeded,” the old woman went on, “what would we have? Enough fuel for maybe ten years of power transmission, then we’re back where we started. Total waste!”
“Terrible waste,” Reesa agreed.
“Oh, you don’t know,” Tortee said moodily. “You don’t have any idea how much this is costing us—we don’t have resources to spare here, you know! And meanwhile . . .“ She looked around conspiratorially. “And meanwhile there’s a perfectly good planet waiting out there for us, with plenty of warmth and water and air—”
Viktor cleared his throat. “You mean Nebo, I guess, is that right? But there’s also something on Nebo that shoots at us, Tortee.”
She glared at him dangerously. “Are you saying you don’t support my project?” Viktor was silent. “Answer me! I thought I could trust you—you were one of those who went there, centuries ago!”
“That was a matter of scientific investigation,” Viktor explained.
“Scientific investigation! You went there just because you were curious?”
“What better reason could there be?”
“Because Nebo is habitable now!” Tortee cried. “At least, we think it may be—and this planet isn’t, not any more. Viktor!” She studied him suspiciously for a moment. “Do you want to be back on the shit detail?” she demanded suddenly.
“No, no, not at all!” Viktor said hastily. Reesa was giving him that look again, and he knew when to surrender. Still, he was beginning to suspect that the new assignment might not altogether be a blessing. He might find himself wishing he were back enjoying the comparatively relaxed conversation with the children in the mushroom cave, because he was beginning to be convinced that his new boss, Tortee, was a certifiable nut. “The only thing that’s worrying me,” he said, feeling his way, “is what are we going to do about the part of Nebo that shoots at us? Nebo’s not exactly inviting us to come down and start living there. It’s been pretty good at keeping us out.”
“Anything worth having,” Tortee said firmly, “is worth fighting for. I’ve thought all that out. We can patch Ark with what’s left of Mayflower, then all we have to do is put in some weapons.”
“But—” Viktor began, meaning to finish the sentence by stating the certain fact that neither he nor Reesa knew anything about installing weapons in a spaceship; he didn’t get the chance. Reesa was in ahead of him.
“Right, Tortee. That’s our first job,” she said quickly. “We’ll have to have help, of course; I expect there’s somebody who can assist in designing rockets that can be launched from orbit. And we’ll need to know what the targets are; you have survey tapes to show where the attacks came from, I guess?”
“Of course,” the old woman said with pride. “I’ve had the instruments on Mayflower surveying every inch of Nebo, and I have the readings Mirian brought down with you. I can pinpoint exactly where they fired on you. There were three places; I’ve got them marked. I’m sure we can deal with that, and—what is it, Viktor?”
“The instruments,” Viktor said. “What do they say about that bright thing you call the universe?”
The old woman looked at him silently for a dangerous moment. “What do you want to know that for?”
Viktor blinked at her. It wasn’t that he couldn’t answer the question; he simply could not understand why she asked it. “Why, because—because it’s there, Tortee! That’s what science is all about, isn’t it? Trying to understand what’s going on?”
“What science is about,” Tortee proclaimed, “is making life better for everybody. That’s what you should be thinking about. Not just theories. Idle curiosity is the devil’s work; your job is to make this project succeed!”
She was looking not only angry but definitely dissatisfied with Viktor Sorricaine now. Fortunately the door opened then and a little girl staggered in with a tray. Although it was heavy laden—a pot of steaming tea, a platter of cookies, and one of sliced bread with what looked like actual butter on it—there was only one cup. The girl quailed under the imprecations Tortee hurled at her and retreated as fast as she could, but the old woman was already greedily cramming sweet biscuits into her mouth.
“There is one other thing,” Reesa said, while Tortee’s mouth was full. Tortee didn’t try to speak; she only raised an eyebrow at Reesa, still chewing.
“We should find a better place for us to live,” Reesa explained. “It would be better if we could be near you—for the work I mean. And so if you could have them give us a room of our own here—”
“Impossible!” the woman sputtered, crumbs falling onto the tray on her lap. “The Peeps would never agree to it. Dear Freddy, woman! Don’t you know how suspicious they are already? If we tried to move you in here they’d tell everybody that that just proved that the Greats were plotting to seize the ship for themselves—not that they aren’t saying it already, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” Reesa said, nodding as though the woman’s babbling made perfect sense. “Here, let me pour some more tea for you.”
She gave Viktor a quick, meaningful glance which stirred him into action. He jumped gallantly forward to hold the tray while Reesa filled Tortee’s cup. The old woman watched critically, a slice of buttered bread ready in one hand, then seized the cup and sipped it cautiously.
“That’s better,” she said. “Now, what were we talking about?”
“You explained to us why it’s impossible for us to move into this sector permanently,” Reesa said. “You made it very clear thank you, Tortee. Still, I do have to come here every day to work with you, of course. I suppose that Viktor and I might have the use of some workroom together—so we could do our jobs without disturbing you?”
“Ha!” the old woman said. Her eyes were suddenly gleaming. “I thought that was what it was about. What kind of room did you have in mind for your jobs? One with a bed, maybe?”
“Nothing like that,” Viktor said, instinctively trying to shut the door on this invasion of his privacy; but Reesa was also speaking.
“Exactly like that, if we possibly could, Tortee,” she said sweetly. “I knew you would understand.”
“Ha,” the old woman said again, eyeing them. Then she shifted her weight to a more comfortable position and grinned. “Why not? I’m going to work you harder than you’ve ever worked before, and I don’t mind paying a little extra for good work. Is this room more or less what you had in mind? Because I’m going to report to the council this afternoon, and I’ll be gone at least three hours.”
She gazed at Reesa, who only smiled, nodding her head. The old woman licked crumbs off her fingers as she nodded back. Then she looked wistfully at her bed. “It won’t do that old thing any harm to have somebody getting a little use out of it for a change—but I’m warning you! Be sure you change the sheets before I come back.”
Tortee did not only have a private bedroom, she had a private bath. With their first passion spent, Reesa’s second priority was a hot soak in the shallow metal tub. Viktor lay relaxed against the pillows while he waited his turn, nibbling on the staling bread and butter Tortee had left behind, listening to the faint splashing sounds from his wife’s tub. Thoughtfully he considered his existence. Things had begun to look up a little, no doubt of that. It was certainly fine to be off the shit detail. It was even finer to have a job that made some sense for a person with his skills, and finer still to have had a nice warm bed to share with his nice, warm wife—in actual privacy!
There was no reason, really, why he should feel discontented. The funny thing was that, all the same, he did. They were both alive—and reasonably secure for at least the near future—but what, he asked himself, were they alive for?