“Sade-138 will be the most distant collapsar men have gone to. It isn’t even in the galaxy proper, but rather is part of the Large Magellanic Cloud, some 150,000 light years distant.
“Our voyage will require four collapsar jumps and will last some four months, subjective. Maneuvering into collapsar insertion will put us about three hundred years behind Stargate’s calendar by the time we reach Sade-138.”
And another seven hundred years gone, if I lived to return. Not that it would make that much difference; Marygay was as good as dead and there wasn’t another person alive who meant anything to me.
“As the major said, you mustn’t let these figures lull you into complacency. The enemy is also headed for Sade-138; we may all get there the same day. The mathematics of the situation is complicated, but take our word for it; it’s going to be a close race.
“Major, do you have anything more for them?”
I started to rise. “Well…”
“Tench-hut!” Hilleboe shouted. Had to learn to expect that.
“Only that I’d like to meet with my senior officers, echelon 4 and above, for a few minutes. Platoon sergeants, you’re responsible for getting your troops to Staging Area 67 at 0400 tomorrow morning. Your time’s your own until then. Dismissed.”
I invited the five officers up to my billet and brought out a bottle of real French brandy. It had cost two months’ pay, but what else could I do with the money? Invest it?
I passed around glasses but Alsever, the doctor, demurred. Instead she broke a little capsule under her nose and inhaled deeply. Then tried without too much success to mask her euphoric expression.
“First let’s get down to one basic personnel problem,” I said, pouring. “Do all of you know that I’m not homosexual?”
Mixed chorus of yes sirs and no sirs.
“Do you think this is going to … complicate my situation as commander? As far as the rank and file?”
“Sir, I don’t—” Moore began.
“No need for honorifics,” I said, “not in this closed circle; I was a private four years ago, in my own time frame. When there aren’t any troops around, I’m just Mandella, or William.” I had a feeling that was a mistake even as I was saying it. “Go on.”
“Well, William,” he continued, “it might have been a problem a hundred years ago. You know how people felt then.”
“Actually, I don’t. All I know about the period from the twenty-first century to the present is military history.”
“Oh. Well, it was, uh, it was, how to say it?” His hands fluttered.
“It was a crime,” Alsever said laconically. “That was when the Eugenics Council was first getting people used to the idea of universal homosex.”
“Eugenics Council?”
“Part of UNEF. Only has authority on Earth.” She took a deep sniff at the empty capsule. “The idea was to keep people from making babies the biological way. Because, A, people showed a regrettable lack of sense in choosing their genetic partner. And B, the Council saw that racial differences had an unnecessarily divisive effect on humanity; with total control over births, they could make everybody the same race in a few generations.”
I didn’t know they had gone quite that far. But I suppose it was logical. “You approve? As a doctor.”
“As a doctor? I’m not sure.” She took another capsule from her pocket and rolled it between thumb and forefinger, staring at nothing. Or something the rest of us couldn’t see. “In a way, it makes my job simpler. A lot of diseases simply no longer exist. But I don’t think they know as much about genetics as they think they do. It’s not an exact science; they could be doing something very wrong, and the results wouldn’t show up for centuries.”
She cracked the capsule under her nose and took two deep breaths. “As a woman, though, I’m all in favor of it.” Hilleboe and Rusk nodded vigorously.
“Not having to go through childbirth?”
“That’s part of it.” She crossed her eyes comically, looking at the capsule, gave it a final sniff. “Mostly, though, it’s not … having to … have a man. Inside me. You understand. It’s disgusting.”
Moore laughed. “If you haven’t tried it, Diana, don’t—”
“Oh, shut up.” She threw the empty capsule at him playfully.
“But it’s perfectly natural,” I protested.
“So is swinging through trees. Digging for roots with a blunt stick. Progress, my good major; progress.”
“Anyway,” Moore said, “it was only a crime for a short period. Then it was considered a, oh, curable …
“Dysfunction,” Alsever said.
“Thank you. And now, well, it’s so rare … I doubt that any of the men and women have any strong feelings about it, one way or the other.”
“Just an eccentricity,” Diana said, magnanimously. “Not as if you ate babies.”
“That’s right, Mandella,” Hilleboe said. “I don’t feel any differently toward you because of it.”
“I — I’m glad.” That was just great. It was dawning on me that I had not the slightest idea of how to conduct myself socially. So much of my “normal” behavior was based on a complex unspoken code of sexual etiquette. Was I suppose to treat the men like women, and vice versa? Or treat everybody like brothers and sisters? It was all very confusing.
I finished off my glass and set it down. “Well, thanks for your reassurances. That was mainly what I wanted to ask you about … I’m sure you all have things to do, good-byes and such. Don’t let me hold you prisoner.”
They all wandered off except for Charlie Moore. He and I decided to go on a monumental binge, trying to hit every bar and officer’s club in the sector. We managed twelve and probably could have hit them all, but I decided to get a few hours’ sleep before the next day’s muster.
The one time Charlie made a pass at me, he was very polite about it. I hoped my refusal was also polite — but figured I’d be getting lots of practice.
3
UNEF’s first starships had been possessed of a kind of spidery, delicate beauty. But with various technological improvements, structural strength became more important than conserving mass (one of the old ships would have folded up like an accordion if you’d tried a twenty-five-gee maneuver), and that was reflected in the design: stolid, heavy, functional-looking. The only decoration was the name MASARYK a, stenciled in dull blue letters across the obsidian hull.
Our shuttle drifted over the name on its way to the loading bay, and there was a crew of tiny men and women doing maintenance on the hull. With them as a reference, we could see that the letters were a good hundred meters tall. The ship was over a kilometer long (1036.5 meters, my latent memory said), and about a third that wide (319.4, meters).
That didn’t mean there was going to be plenty of elbowroom. In its belly, the ship held six large tachyondrive fighters and fifty robot drones. The infantry was tucked off in a corner. War is the province of friction, Chuck von Clausewitz said; I had a feeling we were going to put him to the test.
We had about six hours before going into the acceleration tank. I dropped my kit in the tiny billet that would be my home for the next twenty months and went off to explore.
Charlie had beaten me to the lounge and to the privilege of being first to evaluate the quality of Masaryk II’s coffee.
“Rhinoceros bile,” he said.
“At least it isn’t soya,” I said, taking a first cautious sip. Decided I might be longing for soya in a week.
The officers’ lounge was a cubicle about three meters by four, metal floor and walls, with a coffee machine and a library readout. Six hard chairs and a table with a typer on it.