He squinted. Duncan seemed to be saying something—whether to Rand or Rhea or both was unclear. Whatever it was required gestures to get across. Rand’s reply was so emphatic that even at that distance Jay could hear it, though not what was being said, amid the general din. Rhea and Duncan both answered at once and at length. This time Rand’s reply was inaudible. A few seconds’ pause… and Duncan spun around and started to jaunt away. Rand thrusted after him, overtook him, grappled with him, both their voices were heard shouting, Rhea chased them doing some shouting of her own—
For some reason nine groundhogs out of ten who attempt to fight in space make the same mistake: intuiting that a straight punch will push them away from their opponent, they instinctively go for an uppercut. But this only sends them sliding past him, toward his feet. Spacers know this, and are generally ready to meet the descending chin with an upthrust knee. Jay saw his brother begin an uppercut, and winced in anticipation. Rand massed much more than Jay—a terrible disadvantage under these conditions.
—but for some reason Duncan did not make the obvious counter. He took the punch, failed to lift his knee, and he and Rand went past each other like tectonic plates. That was all they had time for; the three chasers who’d fetched them here had already left in search of remaining stragglers, so it was a couple of the ear-button vendors who handled the job of sedating Rand and Duncan and, since she was still shouting, Rhea. In seconds, all three were at peace or a convincing imitation. The whole brief incident had gone largely unnoticed in all the general confusion.
“Do you see Mom and Dad anywhere, Uncle Jay?” Colly asked.
“No, honey,” he said gently. “But I’m sure they’re just fine. They’ve probably volunteered to help out with crowd control, since they know you’re with me.”
“Oh, I’ll bet you’re right,” she said. “Daddy’s real good at getting people to stay calm in a ’mergency.”
“Yeah.” He looked around and located an employee without arm- and leg-bands, a roving problem-solver, and waved her over. “How about this, pumpkin? How about if I stay here and wait up for them, and you go with this nice lady here, Xi—hi, Xi!—and meet some of those kids you saw? Xi, this is Colly Porter.”
“Hi, Colly.”
“Hi, Xi. Hey—get it? ‘High-gee,’ like the Space Commando’s ship.”
“That’s a good one,” Xi said patiently.
“Wow, suppose your parents really liked the Oz books, and they picked ‘Wiz’ for your last name? I have this friend named Duncan Iowa, because his parents—” They drifted away together; Colly forgot to say goodbye to Jay.
As soon as they were out of eyeshot, Jay made a beeline for the area where Rand, Rhea and Duncan had been towed and secured. A banded employee whose name Jay couldn’t recall was trying to ID them so that they could be processed. “Those two are mine,” he said. “Family.”
“Fine by me, Sasaki-sama,” she said respectfully. “Wrap ’em up and take ’em home. What about the Orientator?”
After a split-second’s hesitation, Jay said, “Process him.”
“You got it.” Duncan would regain consciousness in the presence of a proctor, receive a ringing lecture—and a large black mark would be entered on his record. It might even be a firing offense, if the cause of the fight had been what Jay suspected it was. His first instinct had been to cover for Duncan… but if it turned out that his brother had not had some good reason to take a poke at the boy, the record could always be jiggered retroactively.
“How’re you fixed for antidote?” he asked the woman.
She started to say something, then shrugged and tossed him a pair of infusers from her pouch.
He towed the sleeping Rhea and Rand slowly to the “P” section—an awkward task, especially in a crowd, but not difficult for a dancer. On the way he thought things through; when he got there he left Rhea in the care of the banded employee in charge, told him to let her sleep for now. Then he located a glowing letter whose adherents chanced to include few children and none near Colly’s age, and towed Rand there. He Velcroed his brother to a support, bared his arm, triggered the infuser, and backed off a few meters.
Rand woke as quickly and seamlessly as he had fallen asleep—and looked around wildly for his opponent and prepared another punch. In moments the world snapped back into focus for him. He groaned; his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. Then he drew in breath for what was going to be a great bellow of either anger or grief—but by then Jay was close again, and clapped a hand over his brother’s mouth.
“Easy,” he murmured. “You don’t want to get dosed twice. You might—” Some mental censor made him decide not to name the most common consequence of a double-sedation: temporary impotence. “—regret it. Calm down… and tell me what happened.” He took his hand away.
Again Rand slumped, this time all the way into free-fall crouch, a position halfway to fetal. He said nothing for long moments.
Jay already knew the general shape of what Rand was probably going to say, but it was important that Rand say it. “Well?”
His brother looked up with the expression of a man who has just lost a limb, and is trying to integrate the intellectual knowledge with his emotions. “When I got there… they were together.”
Jay thought of six or seven things to say, hundreds of words. “So?” was the one he chose.
Rand struggled to keep his voice down. “Come on, Jay, do I have to show you a graphic?” he said in strangled tones.
Jay frowned. “You caught them in the act? They ignored a Class Three alert? I don’t believe it!” Even if it really happened, he thought, there simply had to be time for them to at least throw a goddam robe on—they’re dressed now, for Christ’s sake!—and if they did, there’s no way to prove anything—this can still be fixed—
“They were fully dressed. It took me nearly two full minutes to get there. But Jesus, Jay—I’ve got a fucking nose, okay? I’ve got eyes. It happened. Something happened.”
“—and you don’t know just what. Do you?” When there was no answer he rushed on. “It could have been a passing thought, a fleeting temptation, and some very bad timing, okay? It happened to me once: I was flirting, like you do, you know… and just as I started to realize it was getting to be more than just flirting, just as I was deciding to back off, his wife came in and caught us both with boners. It didn’t mean a thing; it blew over. There’s no way to be sure this meant anything. Give her a chance to explain, when she’s over the embarrassment.”
Rand looked away. “I will.” He looked back again. “But Jay, I’ve lived with her for ten years. I’ve seen her look embarrassed. I’ve even seen her look guilty. But this is the first time I’ve ever seen her look ashamed. I already know all I want to know. And I thank you for your counsel and support, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would leave me the fuck alone now, so I don’t have a fight with you, okay? Wait—where’s Colly?”
“She’s covered,” Jay said. “Take it off your mind. I’ll go get her as soon as I wake Rhea up. You sure you’ll be okay here?”
“No, but moving won’t help. Go.”
“Listen to this when you’re ready,” Jay said, handing Rand his own ear-button. “It’ll tell you the procedures.” And he left his brother alone to mourn.
As Jay was returning to “P” section, he found himself humming a tune in a minor key, and suddenly recognized it as a nearly century-old Stevie Wonder song called “Blame It on the Sun.” The irony was too unsubtle for his conscious mind; he stopped humming. He knew he should be sad for his brother, he intended to be as soon as he could, but for now he was numb. Too much going on; too much still to do; an eight-year-old still his nominal responsibility—to whom this all must somehow be explained before much longer. Then, three days or more locked in a can with the problem. His head began to throb.