She dug in her heels and maintained the pride of her calling—but after three days of nothing but water, she caved in and learned how to study. A "C" in a basic algebra lesson won her a bowl of chili and a glass of milk. Thus fortified, she plowed ahead through history, algebra, plane geometry, basic chemistry, and a survey of Terran literature, working her way up to pot roast and stringbeans. By the end of three months, she had saddle sores and a high school diploma, at which point she was released from durance vile and packed aboard the next Ceres-bound burro-boat. She spread the word, and Maxima rarely had trouble with women in her line again. She, however, had come back five years later and applied for a job. She turned out to have a talent for organization and was currently coordinating the import-export trade.
"You know," Dar said, as he watched the blocks of the town grow, "these people haven't done all that badly, in some ways."
"Their concern for their offspring has moved them to altruism," Fess agreed. "I would ask you to bear that in mind when you talk to them."
"Oh, I'll be nice," Dar growled. In actuality, he could hardly wait. Living human beings… !
Fess slowed the car, banking it around to point it toward the largest building in town, and Dar tensed, not wanting to say anything—in fact, definitely not wanting to say anything, to give Fess one less datum to process. He was ready, though. Sometimes it happened, sometimes it didn't.
The comm screen crackled into life. "Dar, if you're coming, you'd better…"
The screen went black, and the instrument panel went dead. The car dropped like a rock.
Dar slapped the manual override, and the instrument panel glowed to life again. He brought the car down in front of the port, as the commscreen showed Myrtle finishing saying, "… stuff will be gone," and faded from sight.
Dar cut the power, sighed, and lifted the floor plate that gave him access to the prone robot. He pushed the circuit breaker at the base of Fess's "brain," and waited.
"Wwhhhaddtt… DDddaarrrr… whhhhadddttt…"
"You had a seizure," Dar explained gently. "You were coping just fine with the landing, but Myrtle came on the air to tell me to hurry up, and the extra item of processing overloaded your weak capacitor.''
"AAAiiii… ammmm… verrry…"
"Nothing to be sorry about, mon vieux," Dar said quickly. "Just keep practicing your meditation exercises, eh? Concentration does it! Lona assured us that's how to control it."
"Iii… willl… attemmptt…it."
"Good. Have a good rest, now." Dar climbed out of the car, making a mental note to try to figure out some way to accelerate Fess's recoveries. He chained his car to the pylon alongside a score of other cars, all of them newer and fancier. Not that he, or any of his neighbors, doubted anyone's honesty—but with the gravity so low, the cars might easily drift away. He turned to survey the row of pylons that curved around the great dome of the meeting hall. It was a very gay display, all colors of the rainbow, with sweeping fins and airscoops and baroque ornamentation—all of it perfectly nonfunctional, of course; how much good could airscoops be in vacuum?
They could look nice. And they did. And by looking nice, they proclaimed their owner's wealth and, consequently, status.
The hell with that. It looked pretty. Beauty was its own excuse for being. Dar turned, clipped his safety to the guy wire, and hauled himself into the hall.
He came through the airlock, opening his faceplate, splitting his seal, tilting his helmet back—and a ham of a hand caught him between the shoulder blades. "Hey, Dar boy! Great t' see ya! How ya been?"
Dar recovered and caught the offending hand with a grin. "Hello, Estivan. What's germane?"
"Not much." Estivan squeezed back. "In fact, from what I hear, the miner only brought in silicon, steel, gold, and some plastic."
"No germanium at all, huh?"
"Yeah, but who uses it any more? So what's been happening at Maison d'Armand, huh?"
"She's not back yet. But as soon as she is, we'll declare party."
"I'll look forward to it. Hey, Carolita!" Estivan waved his daughter over. Carolita looked up from a box of crystals she was fingering, saw Dar, and broke into a smile. "Hi, Dar!" She came over to catch his hand in a warm clasp. "Getting lonely yet?"
"Fess doesn't let me go out alone, Carol," Dar answered, grinning. "Shopping for ornaments, or raw materials?"
Carol shrugged. "Depends on how pretty they are. Need any help on your organic chem?"
"No, but I wish I did."
"Gallant, very gallant—though untrue. Be off with you, though—I know you want to look over the merchandise. You might take a look at the minerals, too."
"Yeah, I gotta at least pretend I'm doing business. Drink after the auction?"
"Suits. Go get ready to be an adversary, now."
Dar turned away, warmed by camaraderie, but also relieved. Carol was right—she wasn't exactly pretty. Not quite ugly, but who was he to talk?
Lona's husband. Whether it was official or not, all the neighbor women knew it, and respected her claim—which made it easier for Dar, since he could enjoy their friendship without worrying about avoiding overtures.
He threaded through the throng, exchanging handshakes and shop talk, and occasional hugs with the ladies, when he couldn't avoid it.
"Dar-ling!" Bridget threw her arms around his neck and leaned down to plant a kiss on his cheek. "What have you been doing with yourself all these weeks?"
"Working, eating, and sleeping, Bridget." Dar pecked at her cheek, reflecting that the daughter of the Mulhearns, at least, didn't patronize him.
No, she was very forthrightly the take-charge type. "You call that a kiss? Here, let me show you how…"
"Oh, come on! I get so tired of lessons!"
"You ought to consider a change of curriculum." Bridget let her eyelids droop, producing the effect of an amorous dugong.
"Yeah, but what if my prof caught me studying from someone else's notes? You wouldn't want me to get expelled, would you?"
The reference to Lona, oblique though it was, reminded Bridget of her manners. She edged away, still smiling—but idling down from flirt to friend. "Of course not; she's got a mean left hook. How about a bite? A snack, I mean," Bridget actually blushed. "My lord! Once you start this kind of thing, it's hard to stop, isn't it?"
"So I'm told. Just think clean, Bridget."
"Yeah, but what happens if I hear dirty?" They sailed into the restaurant area, and she sat as Dar tucked her chair in, then took the one next to her—better a wolf who'd been muzzled, then one who'd just been let out of her cage. "May I order for you?"
"No, thanks—I can enter a code for myself." Bridget pressed in the sequence for coffee and local Danish, then sat back to sip. "How is your factory running?"
And they were off into shoptalk, safe and chummy—which was just as well because, regardless of how Bridget didn't look, Dar's hormones had given him a rush when she had. Weeks of celibate living had their effect—though the sight of the ladies of the community helped quell it. They ranged in appearance from plain to ugly, with only the occasional woman who was mildly pretty. Dar wondered why Maxima attracted so few beauties. Maybe the stunning ones preferred to stay on Terra, where the standard of living was higher, and the morals were lower? Of course, Lona hadn't—but she had spent half her life in space, hopping from planet to planet with her grandfather, before she'd ever heard of Maxima; and even she took off for Terra every chance she could get, leaving him at the mercy of his neighbors' wives and daughters.