"Come over," he said.
Brightening, she said, "Thank you."
"But be sure you bring your beeper. I have a hunch a lot of telemetric confirms are going to--"
"Oh, fuck the telemetric confirms!" Rybys said, with venom. "I'm so sick of being stuck in this goddam dome! Aren't you going bugward sitting around watching tape-drums turn and little meters and gauges and shit?"
"I think you should go back home," he said. "To the Sol System."
"No," she said, more calmly. "I'm going to follow exactly the M.E.D. instructions for my chemotherapy and beat this fucking M.S. I'm not going home. I'll come over and fix you dinner. I'm a good cook. My mother was Italian and my father is Chicano so I spice everything I fix, except you can't get the spices out here. But I figured out how to beat that with different synthetics. I've been experimenting."
Herb Asher said, "In this concert I'm going to be broadcasting, the Fox does a version of Dowland's 'Shall I Sue.'
"A song about litigation?"
"No. 'Sue' in the sense of to pay court to or woo. In matters of love." And then he realized that she was putting him on.
"Do you want to know what I think of the Fox?" Rybys said. "Recycled sentimentality, which is the worst kind of sentimentality; it isn't even original. And she looks like her face is on upside down. She has a mean mouth."
"I like her," he said, stiffly; he felt himself becoming mad, really mad. I'm supposed to help you? he asked himself. Run the risk of catching what you have so you can insult the Fox?
"I'll fix you beef Stroganoff with parsley noodles," Rybys said.
"I'm doing fine," he said.
Hesitating, she said in a low, faltering voice, 'Then you don't want me to come over?"
"I-" he said.
Rybys said, "I'm very frightened, Mr. Asher. Fifteen minutes from now I'm going to be throwing up from the I-V Neurotoxite. But I don't want to be alone. I don't want to give up my dome and I don't want to be by myself. I'm sorry if I offended you. It's just that to me the Fox is a joke. She is a joke media personality. She is pure hype. I won't say anything more; I promise."
"Do you have the-" He amended what he intended to say. "Are you sure it won't be too much for you, fixing dinner?"
"I'm stronger now than I will be," she said. "I'll be getting weaker for a long time."
"How long?"
"There's no way to tell."
He thought, You are going to die. He knew it and she knew it. They did not have to talk about it. The complicity of silence was there, the agreement. A dying girl wants to cook me a dinner, he thought. A dinner I don't want to eat. I've got to say no to her. I've got to keep her out of my dome. The insistence of the weak, he thought; their dreadful power. It is so much easier to throw a body block against the strong!
"Thank you," he said. "I'd like it very much if we had dinner together. But make sure you keep in radio contact with me on your way over here-so I'll know you're okay. Promise?"
"Well, sure," she said. "Otherwise-" She smiled. "They'd find me a century from now, frozen with pots, pans and food, as well as synthetic spices. You do have portable air, don't you?"
"No, I really don't," he said.
And knew that his lie was palpable to her.
CHAPTER 3
The meal smelled good and tasted good but halfway through Rybys Rommey excused herself and made her way unsteadily from the central matrix of the dome-his dome-into the bath- room. He tried not to listen; he arranged it with his percept sys- tem not to hear and with his cognition not to know. In the bathroom the girl, violently sick, cried out and he gritted his teeth and pushed his plate away and then all at once he got up and set in motion his in-dome audio system; he played an early album of the Fox.
Come again!
Sweet love doth now invite
Thy graces, that refrain
To do me due delight .
"Do you by any chance have some milk'?" Rybys said, standing at the bathroom door, her face pale.
Silently, he got her a glass of milk, or what passed for milk on their planet.
"I have anti-emetics," Rybys said as she held the glass of milk, 'but I didn't remember to bring any with me. They're back at my dome."
"I could get them for you," he said.
"You know what M.E.D. told me?" she said, her voice heavy with indignation. "They said that this chemotherapy won't make my hair fall out but already it's coming out in-"
"Okay," he interrupted. 'Okay'?"
"I'm sorry," he said.
Rybys said, "This is upsetting you. The meal is spoiled and you're-I don't know what. If I'd remembered to bring my anti-emetics I'd be able to keep from-" She became silent. "Next time I'll bring them. I promise. This is one of the few albums of the Fox that I like. She was really good then, don't you think?"
"Yes," he said tightly.
"Linda Box," Rybys said.
"What?" he said.
"Linda the box. That's what my sister and I used to call her." She tried to smile.
He said, "Please go back to your dome."
"Oh," she said. "Well-" She smoothed her hair, her hand shaking. "Will you come with me? I don't think I can make it by myself right now. I'm really weak. I really am sick."
He thought, You are taking me with you. That's what this is. That is what is happening. You will not go alone; you will take my spirit with you. And you know. You know it as well as you know the name of the medication you are taking, and you hate me as you hate the medication, as you hate M.E.D. and your illness; it is all hate, for each and every thing under these two suns. I know you. I understand you. I see what is coming. In fact it has begun.
And, he thought, I don't blame you. But I will hang on to the Fox; the Fox will outlast you. And so will I. You are not going to shoot down the luminiferous ether which animates our souls.
I will hang onto the Fox and the Fox will hold me in her arms and hang on to me. The two of us-we can't be pried apart. I have dozens of hours of the Fox on audio and video tape, and the tapes are not just for me but for everyone. You think you can kill that? he said to himself. It's been tried before. The power of the weak, he thought, is an imperfect power; it loses in the end. Hence its name. We call it weak for a reason.
"Sentimentality," Rybys said. "Right," he said sardonically. "Recycled at that." "And mixed metaphors." "Her lyrics?" "What I'm thinking. When I get really angry I mix-"
"Let me tell you something," Rybys said. "One thing. If I am going to survive I can't be sentimental. I have to be very harsh. If I've made you angry I'm sorry but that is how it is. It is my life. Someday you may be in the spot I am in and then you'll know. Wait for that and then judge me. If it ever happens. Meanwhile this stuff you're playing on your in-dome audio system is crap. It has to be crap, for me. Do you see? You can forget about me; you can send me back to my dome, where I probably really belong, but if you have anything to do with me-"
"Okay," he said. "I understand."
"Thank you. May I have some more milk? Turn down the audio and we'll finish eating. Okay?"
Amazed, he said, "You're going to keep on trying to-"
"All those creatures-and species-who gave up trying to eat aren't with us anymore." She seated herself shakily, holding on to the table.
"I admire you."
"No," she said, "I admire you. It's harder on you. I know."
"Death-" he began.
"This isn't death. You know what this is? In contrast to what's coming out of your audio system? This is life. The milk, please; I really need it."
As he got her more milk he said, "I guess you can't shoot down ether. Luminiferous or otherwise."
"No," she agreed, "since it doesn't exist."
"How old are you?" he said.
"Twenty-seven."
"You emigrated voluntarily?"
Rybys said, "Who can say? I can't reconstruct my earlier thinking, now, at this point in my life. Basically I felt there was a spiritual component to emigrating.. It was either emigrate or g into the priesthood. I was raised Scientific Legate but-"