“You bet. I don’t show off, ever. Good way to spoil any chance of connecting. You’re a natural, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“Some of my friends would envy you. The chance to just be what you are. But it would slow me down too much. Do you ever feel slow?”
I laughed. She was too ethereal to resent… much, or for long. “All the time,” I said.
“Then why not enhance? I mean, it’s possible, even on Mars. And you’re from Majumdar, the finance BM… aren’t you?”
The inflection of her last question told me she knew very well I was from Majumdar.
“Yes. How long have you been on Mars?”
“Just time for turnaround. Two months. We came on a fast passage, inside Venus. My parents had never been to Mars. My folks thought we should see what Mars and the Moon are really like. Camay. In the flesh.”
“Did you like it?”
“It’s wonderful,” she said. “Such defiance. Beautiful, really. Like the whole planet is just hitting puberty.”
I had never heard it described that way. Martians tended to think of themselves as old and established, perhaps confusing our own brief past with the planet’s obvious age. “Where did you visit?”
“We were invited to stay in half a dozen towns and cities. We even went to a handful of extreme stations, new ones settled by immigrant Terries. My father and mother know quite a few Eloi. We didn’t get to — ” Again the introspective pause. “Ylla or Jiddah. That’s your home, isn’t it?”
“What are you referencing?” I asked. My home address wasn’t on the open manifest.
“I sucked in the public directories,” Orianna said. “I haven’t dumped them yet.”
“Why would you want to do that? Any slate can carry them.”
“I don’t use a slate,” she said. “I take it direct. No separation. I love being dipped.”
“Dipped?”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “Immersed. It’s like I just go away, and there’s only information and processing, pure and swift.”
“Oh.”
“Learning distilled into an essence. Education means being.”
“Oh.” I closed my mouth.
“I think I came on sharp for most Martians. I negged quite a few my own age, even. Martians are fashion locked, aren’t they?”
“Some think so.”
“You?”
“I’m pretty conservative, I suppose.”
She unfolded long arms and legs and gripped the holds in the booth with uncanny grace. “I don’t like anybody on the ship, for partners, I mean,” she said. “Do you?”
“No,” I said.
“Have you had many partners?”
“You mean, lovers?”
She smiled wisely, anciently. “That’s a good word, but not always accurate, is it?”
“A few,” I said, hoping she would take a hint and not pry.
“My parents were part of the early partner program. I’ve been partnering since I was ten. Do you think that’s too early?”
I hid my shock; I had heard about early partnering, but it had certainly never taken on Mars. “We think childhood is for children,” I said.
“Believe me,” Orianna said, “I haven’t been a child since I was five. Does that bother you?”
“You first had sex when you were ten?” This conversation was making me very uncomfortable.
“No! I haven’t had physical sex at all.”
“Sim?” I asked meekly.
“Sometimes. Partnering… oh, I see your confusion. I mean sharing closeness mentally, finding so many kinds of pleasure together. I like whole-life sims. I’ve experienced two… Very expanding. So I know all about sex, of course. Even sex that’s not physically possible. Sex between four-dimensional human forms.” Suddenly she looked distressed, and she had such a charismatic presence that I immediately wanted to apologize, do anything to make her happy. My God, I thought. A planet full of people like her.
“I’ve never shared my mind,” I said.
“I’d love to share with you.” The offer was so disarming I was at a loss for an answer. “You have a truly natural presence,” she continued. “I think you could share beautifully. I’ve been watching you since the trip began…” She primmed her lips and pulled back to the wall. “If I’m not too forward.”
“No,” I said.
She put out her hand and touched my cheek, stroking it once with the back of her fingers. “Share with me?”
I blushed furiously. “I don’t… do sims,” I said.
“Just talk, then. For the trip. And when we get to Earth, I can show you a few things you’d probably miss… as a Martian tourist. Meet my friends. We’d all enjoy you.”
“All right,” I said, hoping, if the offer were more than I could possibly handle, that I could plead an intercultural misunderstanding and escape.
“Earth is really something,” Orianna said with a wonderfully languid blink. “I see it a lot more clearly now that I’ve been to Mars.”
We were close to the ten-million-kilometer mark, three weeks into the voyage. The fusion drives would soon turn on. The hull would not be livable once they became active.
After a truly big party, featuring one of the best banquets the voyage would offer, the Captain said his farewells and crossed to the opposite cylinder. Passengers berthed there would no longer be able to visit us; we all shook hands and they followed the Captain.
Most of our cylinder’s occupants went to bed in their cabins to take the change easily. A few hardy souls, myself included, stayed in the lounge. There was an obligatory countdown. I hated feeling like a tourist, but I joined in. Acre was too pleasant and cajoling to be denied his duties.
We had returned to weightlessness, but were about to acquire full Earth weight for several hours. The countdown arrived at zero, all eight of us shouted at once, and the ship resounded with a hollow thud. We set our feet onto the lounge floor. Orianna, near her parents, seemed close to ecstasy. I was reminded of Bernini’s St. Theresa speared by a shaft of inspiration.
The fusion flare followed us like a gorgeous bridal train. Brilliant blue at the center, tipped with orange from ablated and ionized engine and funnel lining, it pushed us relentlessly to almost three times our accustomed Mars weight, a full g.
A few, including Orianna’s mother and father, climbed forward and valiantly exercised in the gym, joking and casting aspersions on the rest of us slackers.
I chose a middle course, climbing around the cylinder for an hour. My temp bichemistry treatments made the full g force bearable but not pleasant. I had read in travel prep that a week on Earth might pass before someone with temp became comfortable with the oppressive weight. Orianna accompanied me; she had temp also, and was working to regain Earth strength.
As we climbed through the cylinder, from the observation deck to the forward boom control walkway, Orianna told me about Earth fashions in clothes. “I’ve been out of it for two years, of course,” she said. “But I like to think I’m still tuned. And I keep up with the vids.”
“So what are they wearing?” I asked.
“Formal and frilly. Greens and lace. Masks are out this year, except for floaters — projected masks with personal icons. Everybody’s off pattern projection, though. I liked pattern projection. You could wear almost nothing and still be discreet.”
“I can redo my wardrobe. I’ve brought enough raw cloth.”
Orianna made a face. “This year, expect fixed outfits, not nano-shaped. Old fabric is best. Tattered is wonderful. We’ll dig through the recycle shops. The shredbare look is very pos. Nano fake is beyond deviance.”
“Do I have to be in fashion?”
“Abso not! It’s drive to ignore. I switch from loner to slave every few months when I’m at home.”
“Terries will expect a red rabbit to be trop retro, no?”
Orianna smiled in friendly pity. “With that speech, you’re fulfilled already. Just listen to me, and you’ll slim the current.”