Rissa nodded and rose as well. The two of them headed toward one of the bridge’s hologram-shrouded walls. The door opened, exposing the corridor beyond. They headed down toward the elevator station. A car was waiting for them—PHANTOM had routed one there as soon as they had started down the corridor. Keith got in, followed by Rissa. “Deck eleven,” he said, and PHANTOM chirped an acknowledgement. They turned around, just in time to catch sight of Lianne Karendaughter jogging down the corridor toward them. PHANTOM saw her, too, of course, and held the elevator door open until she arrived. Lianne smiled at Keith as she got in, then called out her floor number. Rissa affixed her gaze on the wall monitor that showed the current level’s deck plan.
Keith had been married to Rissa too long not to be sensitive to her body language. She didn’t like Lianne—didn’t like her standing this close to Keith, didn’t like being in a confined space with her.
The elevator began to move. On the monitor, the arms of the floor plan began to contract. Keith breathed deeply—and realized, perhaps for the first time, that he missed the subtle smell of perfume. Another concession to the damn pigs, and their hypersensitive noses. Perfume, cologne, scented aftershave—all were banned aboard Starplex.
Keith could see the reflection of Rissa’s face in the monitor screen, see the tight lines at the corners of her mouth, see the tension, the hurt.
And Keith could also see Lianne. She was shorter than he was, and her lustrous blond hair half shielded her exotic, young face. If they’d been alone, Keith might have chatted with her, told her a joke, smiled, laughed, maybe even touched her arm lightly as he made a comment. She was so—so alive; talking to her was invigorating.
Instead, he said nothing. The deck-number indicator continued to count down. Finally, the car hummed to a stop on the floor containing Lianne’s apartment.
“Good night, Keith,” said Lianne, smiling up at him. “Good night, Rissa.”
“Good night,” replied Keith. Rissa nodded curtly.
Keith was able to watch her walk down the corridor for a few seconds before the door closed behind her. He’d never been to her apartment. He wondered how she had it decorated.
The elevator continued to ascend briefly and then it stopped again. The door opened, and Keith and Rissa walked the short distance to their apartment.
Once they were inside, Rissa spoke—and Keith could hear in her voice that said she was speaking against her better judgment. “You’re quite fond of her, aren’t you?”
Keith weighed all the possible answers. He had too much respect for Rissa’s intelligence to try to get away with saying, “Who?” After a moment’s hesitation, he decided simple honesty was the best policy. “She’s bright, charming, beautiful, and good at her job. What’s not to like?”
“She’s twenty-seven,” said Rissa, as if that were an indictable offense.
Twenty-seven! thought Keith. Well, there it was. A concrete number. But—twenty-seven. Jesus Christ… He took off his shoes and socks, and lay down on the couch, letting his feet air out.
Rissa sat down opposite him. Her face was a study in thought, as if she were deciding whether to pursue the topic further. Evidently she chose not to, and instead changed the subject. “Boxcar came to see me today.”
Keith wriggled his toes. “Oh?”
“She’s quitting.”
“Really? Got a better offer somewhere else?”
Rissa shook her head. “She’s going to discorporate next week. She was assessed a penalty of one sixteenth of her lifespan because she wasted some people’s time almost six hundred years ago.”
Keith was quiet for a few moments. “Oh.”
“You don’t sound surprised,” said Rissa.
“Well, I’ve heard of the procedure. Never quite made sense to me, the way Ibs are so obsessive about wasted time. I mean, they live for centuries.”
“To them, it’s just a normal lifespan. They don’t think of it as inordinately long, of course.” A pause. “You can’t let her go through with it.”
Keith spread his arms. “I don’t know that I have any choice.”
“Dammit, Keith. The execution is to take place here, aboard Starplex. Surely you have jurisdiction.”
“Over ship’s business, sure. Over this, well…” He looked up at the ceiling. “PHANTOM, what powers do I have in this area?”
“Under the Articles of Commonwealth Jurisprudence, you are obliged to recognize all sentences imposed by the individual member governments,” said PHANTOM. “The Ib practice of exacting penalties equal to a portion of the standard lifespan is specifically excluded from the section of the articles that deals with cruel and unusual punishment. Given that, you have no power to interfere.”
Keith spread his arms, and looked at Rissa. “Sorry.”
“But what she did was so minor, so insignificant.”
“You said she fudged some data?”
“That’s right, when she was a student. A stupid thing to do, granted, but—”
“You know how the Ibs feel about wasted time, Rissa. I imagine others relied on her results, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Look, the Ibs come from a planet that’s perpetually shrouded in cloud. You can’t see the stars or their moons from the surface, and their sun is only a bright smudge behind the clouds. Despite that, by studying tides in those shallow puddles that pass for oceans there, they managed to work out the existence of their moons. They even managed to deduce the existence of other stars and planets, all before any of them had ever traveled above their atmosphere. The things they’ve figured out would have been impossible for humans, I bet. It’s only because they live for such a long time that they were able to puzzle them through; a shorter-lived race on such a world would probably never have realized that there was a universe out there. But to accomplish what they have, they have to be able to trust each other’s observations and results. It all falls apart if someone is monkeying with the data.”
“But no one could possibly still care about what she did after all this time. And—and I need her. She’s an important part of my staff. And she’s my friend.”
Keith spread his arms. “What would you have me do?”
“Talk to her. Tell her she doesn’t have to go through with this.”
Keith scratched his left ear. “All right,” he said, at last. “All right.”
Rissa smiled at him. “Thank you. I’m sure she’ll—”
The intercom chimed. “Colorosso to Lansing,” said a woman’s voice. Franca Coloresso was the delta-shift InOps officer.
Keith tipped his head up. “Open. Keith here. What is it, Franca?”
“A watson has come through from Tau Ceti, with a news report I think you should see. It’s old news, in a way—sent from Sol to Tau Ceti by hyperspace radio sixteen days ago. As soon as Grand Central received it, they relayed it to us.”
“Thanks. Pipe it down to my wall monitor, please.”
“Doing so. Close.”
Keith and Rissa both turned to face the wall. It was the BBC World Service, being read by an East Indian man with steel-gray hair. “Tensions,” he said, “continue between two of the Commonwealth governments. On one side: the United Nations of Sol, Epsilon Indi, and Tau Ceti. On the other, the Royal Government of Rehbollo. Rumors of further deterioration in the situation were fueled today by the terse announcement that Rehbollo is closing three more embassies—New York, Paris, and Tokyo. Coupled with the four other closings a week ago, this leaves only the Ottawa and Brussels embassies open in all of Sol system. The consular staffs from the embassies closed today have already departed on Waldahud starships for the Tau Ceti shortcut.”
The view cut to a beefy Waldahud face. The super at the bottom of the screen identified him as Plenipotentiary Daht Lasko em-Wooth. He spoke in English, without aid of a translator—a rare feat for a member of his race. “It’s with great regret that economic necessity has forced us into this move. As you know, the economies of all the Commonwealth races have been thrown into disarray by the unexpected development of interstellar commerce. Reducing the number of our embassies on Earth simply represents an adjustment to the times.”