A Voortman rating of Class Two, though, would permit Jessup to exploit the planet, to pay into a central fund for all Mardurans that were taken in the course of development. Jessup was pressuring Sarah to track down and deliver to Bernard any materials she could find that would convince the government to rate the Mardurans Class Two.
Any materials, she mused. If only Morton Jessup could see the lengths to which she was willing to go to serve her company. She smiled as she smoothed her tunic. Oh, she would try to convince Bernard. She would use her womanly wiles…
And then she would collect her 500,000 credits. With that sort of money, she could look forward to a lifetime of days—and nights—with the grave scientist. But only if she also whittled down the mountain of cataloging, the thousands of records that Jessup needed before the ship docked in Earth orbit. It was worth losing a little sleep now, for future rewards.
Arriving in the mess hall, Sarah collected her compartmentalized tray and waited in line for the slop that passed for dinner. Her appetite fled when she saw the gray gravy and the lumps that were clearly supposed to be meat. “What is this?” she asked the hapless cook.
“Veal marsala. Without the veal.”
“Without the marsala,” Sarah muttered. As she had at every dinner on this journey, she vowed to research some edible recipes for the galley crew. She settled for grabbing two extra rolls and a cup of tea.
Shaking her head, she made her way to the table where the government scientists habitually gathered. Bernard looked up as she approached, and he smiled, gesturing to the seat opposite his own. She sat down quietly, trying not to interrupt Joaquin Rodriguez’s impassioned words. As xenoanthropologist for the mission, the slight scientist was the strongest advocate for rating the Mardurans Class Three.
“Bernard, have you even read my reports? The Mardurans have language. They create written records. They have a complicated religious system, with hierarchic gods!”
Bernard’s shoulders lifted into a delicate Gallic shrug. “So do dogs, Joaquin. They understand that one human in the household is supreme and the others are lesser deities.”
The xenoanthropologist’s face flushed. “You joke now, but you’re ignoring the truth. The Mardurans have religion. They have tools. They have a highly evolved society. How could you even consider rating them a Two?”
Bernard set down his fork. “First,” he said, holding up one finger, “the Mardurans have only achieved a modified civilization structure, with a pack mentality rather than a true division of labor. Second, they intentionally perpetuate a subsistence level economy, where a single bad season could wipe out the entire so-called community. Third, they rely on brute strength and their eight legs for mining—they have not applied one of the basic tools of physics.”
“And fourth,” Joaquin said, “they have no idea of the wealth they’re sitting on, with all that alethium so close to the surface.”
“We need the alethium, Joaquin.” As Sarah listened, she heard the sorrow in Bernard’s voice. That open emotion was one of the things that had first attracted her to the man. He understood the difficulty of his job. He knew that the future of an entire species rode on the decisions he made.
“Cities, Bernard!” Joaquin’s voice had become shrill. “Cities and social institutions—childcare and eldercare that surpass anything we’ve ever seen on Earth! They limit their mining, to protect against long-term environmental destruction.” The xenoanthropologist set his palms on the table, as if he were about to push himself to a standing position. “My report will recommend Class Three.”
Bernard refused to escalate the argument. Instead of trying to outshout the other scientist, Bernard lowered his voice, almost whispering, “You’ll do what you have to do. We all will.”
“You’re recommending genocide if you put the Mardurans in Class Two.”
“I understand you believe that. I’ll take your report under advisement.”
Joaquin slammed his cup down on his tray and stomped from the mess hall. Bernard watched him go before turning to Sarah. “Well, that was nastier than I anticipated.”
“Have you decided, then? Are you definitely certifying them Class Two?”
“I don’t have to issue my final opinion until we dock.” He shook his head, and the light caught on the silver streaks in his hair. He managed a rueful smile, and Sarah wished that they were alone in his cabin, that she could raise her fingers to smooth away the lines beside his lips. He seemed to understand that desire as he shook his head and said, “Joaquin is right about one thing, though. There is a tremendous amount of money at stake.”
A tremendous amount—500,000 credits, Sarah thought, even though she knew that her bonus was a pittance in the overall scheme. She pitched her voice low enough that he had to lean toward her. At least, that was an intimacy they could afford in the gossip-mongering mess hall. “It’s not just money.”
“I know that.” He smiled as he looked at her, and she read the things he did not say aloud. She knew that he was thinking of the studies she had brought to him, the resources she had delivered. He was remembering the first conversation they had had—about this very topic. She had made an impassioned plea for the preservation of all higher alien species, and he had responded to her steadily, avidly, providing her with a level of intellectual debate that had fed her mission-starved mind.
And then, he had dropped by the library the next day, seeking out her thoughts on an obscure journal article. And she had closed the library door, locking it from within…
“I know that,” he said again, and for just a moment, she did not know if he was speaking about the Mardurans, or if he were affirming the memories that had brought a blush to her cheeks. “I know how much technology hangs on our getting alethium. I know that we have security issues, and technology problems. The morality is only one piece of the puzzle.” Bernard smiled and brightened his tone. “Speaking of which, how is your cataloging progressing?”
“I haven’t finished yet.” At Bernard’s surprised glance, she said, “I have another three weeks! And I’ve been a little, er, distracted.”
His quirked eyebrow made her belly clench, and she wished that she were not sitting in a company ship, surrounded by crude wildcatters and Jessup employees. His words were innocent enough: “I can’t imagine what would take you away from the joys of cataloging.”
“It is interesting work,” she protested. “Just not as interesting as some other, um, responsibilities I’ve undertaken.”
Again, his smile warmed her. His words, though, were more practical. “You’ll get the mining resources cataloged, though? Before Earthfall? I’ll be relying on them in my report.”
“They’ll be done.”
“I feel bad, asking you to neglect the other Marduran scrolls.”
“That’s all part of my job-recognizing priorities.”
“Priorities…” She heard all sorts of promises in the word. “I hope you plan to reward yourself when you’ve met all your priorities.”
“I’ll reward myself,” Sarah said, and she could not keep a smile from twisting her lips. “Don’t you worry, I’ll reward myself.”
Before Bernard could fashion a reply, the ship’s clock chimed. The scientist pushed back his chair and sighed apologetically. “I’ve got to go—meeting with the agency director by uplink.”