And did I really believe that a man of forty-nine could satisfy a girl of twenty-five? In daydreams, yes. Dreams have value, but they are not to be believed.
Could Tim satisfy Vanessa? For one night, perhaps. Perhaps if she really wanted love, and perhaps she did. Wanted it, and wanted a protector. Women must have a reason, men only want a place.
Chelle’s reason was…?
Anger might do it. She was angry at me and wanted to hurt me, as she did. That fits with the unbolted door. Or she longed to cling to the familiar, to men who were dirty of tongue and clean of heart—to the soldier’s world. She was drunk. How drunk? And forgot to bolt the door.
What does sex matter when you may be killed tomorrow?
Vanessa wants me, or perhaps only wants to free her daughter from me. Or both. Who are those officers? Two were attractive, she said, but taken. Am I not taken? I know nothing of this ship’s officers. Do they really work their seamen like slaves, those officers?
Wage slaves. What is any employee but a slave? When we contacted the agencies to get a flunky for Dianne, we got … What was the number? A thousand applicants? Two thousand? Susan told me.
One child per family in Greater Eastasia. One per family, and a male generation so that foreign women must be bribed or stolen.
Should we do that, too? Women from where, or would we abort boys? Another law, and decent men and women dragged into court for the second child they concealed and the lies they told on paper to make that forbidden child someone else’s, the legacy of a dead cousin, the child of a soldier fighting the Os.
Fighting as Chelle did.
How happy I would be to defend them! But what would the law do? Kill the second child? Surely not. Upload another’s mind into it, perhaps. Replace a legal child who had died.… We meddle and meddle, and wonder why it does not make us happy.
What of the woman whose body Vanessa wears? Who was she? Boris couldn’t get it, but the Z man might; and if Vanessa’s attackers were really after that nameless woman it could be important.
Suppose a woman wanted to hide? To disappear? Not as so many have, a new apartment and a new name, a new search for a new job they’ll never get.
A search for any job, brain surgery or blues singing because they’ll never get it, will never have to prove they can do it or even that they know something about it. No, not just that, but to vanish in such a way that the most dedicated searcher could never find her.
How many such people come to Reanimation?
Why did this one want to hide?
5. DAY TRIP
Vanessa’s voice filled the ship, at once authoritative and chatty. “… finally, let me say that no one is required to go ashore. It’s strictly voluntary. If you remain aboard, please check the Bulletin for today’s activities before calling the social director’s office.
“Now permit me to recap…”
“Okay, I’m ready,” Chelle said.
“We don’t have to.” Skip had watched her preparations morosely.
“You require no special papers. Show your cabin card if you’re asked for ID. You don’t have to change money. Noras are accepted everywhere. Food in restaurants should be safe, but do not buy food from street vendors unless…”
“You don’t.” She got into her backpack. “I’m going to do some shopping. If you want to stay here on the ship, that’s okay.”
“Take sunscreen. If your pocket is picked or your purse stolen, report it to the local police. We can’t help you.…”
“I’m going if you’re going.” He rose.
“Do not give to beggars.”
She turned to face him. “To tell you the truth, I wish you wouldn’t.”
“I’m going with you.” It had hardened his resolve.
“All staterooms, and cabins with two-digit numbers, can board now. Go to Main Deck, port-side…”
Chelle hurried away, with Skip in her wake. The door of their stateroom closed silently behind them.
By the time they reached the Main Deck, the line was already long; a steward was going along it checking cabin cards.
“I’ve got a question,” Chelle said. “Please don’t tell me you don’t have an answer.”
“I may have to.”
“Why do you feel you have to go with me?”
Skip shrugged. “Because you may need my help.”
“In other words, you’ve got more money.”
“I hadn’t thought of that, but I suppose I do.” He was silent for a moment; then he said, “You’re young and very brave. It can be a bad combination.”
“You don’t want to see what there is to see ashore?”
He shook his head.
“Okay, you don’t. But I’m going to see it just the same, and I’m going to make you see it.”
The line shuffled forward. A young man in a brilliant Hawaiian shirt came to stand beside Chelle. “Hey, that was some party last night, wasn’t it? I’m glad you came.”
“Me, too,” Chelle said. “I had a blast.” Her smile vanished. “Skip, this is my buddy (mumble). This is my contracto, Skip Grison.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir.” The young man offered his hand.
“I’m honored,” Skip said. “You fought the Os?”
“Yes, sir. Forty-second Combat Elites.”
“Doubly honored, in that case.” The sharp stench of the harbor had crept through the opening ahead, a smell of salt sea, dead fish, and wood smoke. “I didn’t quite catch your name.”
“It’s Al Alamar, sir. Albano Alamar, really, but call me Al.”
“Want to come with us, Al? Do a little sightseeing and have some lunch?”
“I can’t, sir. I’m in one ninety-seven. But I’ll be going ashore on the next launch, sir.”
“Perhaps we’ll see you then. You’ll be welcome to join us.”
When he had gone, Chelle said, “That wasn’t Jerry. Did you think it was?”
Skip nodded. “Or Jim. Yes, I thought it might be.”
“Jerry. It was Jerry. I’m almost sure.”
“I see.”
“I’ll know as soon as I talk to either one.” There was something bitter in Chelle’s smile.
“Really? How?”
“He’ll smirk.”
“I see.” Skip sighed. “Did I, Chelle?”
She stared at him.
“That morning in the Northwestern Inn at Canam? You stayed the night. We got dressed in the morning, collected Vanessa, and went down for breakfast. Did I smirk?”
A steward rescued her by asking to see their cabin cards.
* * *
The launch was crowded but comfortable, topped with a wide awning of restful green; brawny rowers, seated along its sides fifty centimeters below them, sent it skittering across the blue water like a bug.
“Look at the ship!” Chelle had turned in her seat to see it. “My God! Just look at it!”
“Polymer hull and fiberglass masts,” the man seated on her left told her. “The old-time ships never got half as big. The sailing ships I mean. They were wood, except for iron right at the end.”
Chelle turned away from him. “The Rani. Isn’t that what they call it?”
Skip nodded. “The SQ Rani. It means it’s square-rigged.”
“It must be the biggest ship in the world.”