“Why should I refuse? I have nothing to hide.”
No, you didn’t have an illicit pregnancy, Jade thought. You didn’t abandon your infant daughter.
Forcing herself to focus on the task at hand, Jade said, “There are rumors that you and Sam were …” she hesitated half a heartbeat,”… well, lovers.”
The sculptress smiled sadly. “I loved Sam madly. For a while I thought perhaps he loved me too. But now, after all these years,” strangely, the smile grew more tender, “I am not so sure.”
A Can of Worms
We were all much younger then—said Elverda Apacheta—and our passions were much closer to the surface. I could become enraged at the slightest excuse; the smallest problem could infuriate me.
You must remember, of course, that I had packed off to the asteroid where I had been living alone for almost three years. Even my supply shipments came in unmanned spacecraft. So it was a big surprise when a transfer ship showed up and settled into a rendezvous orbit a few hundred meters off my asteroid.
I thought of it as my asteroid. Nobody could own it, according to international law. But there were no restrictions against carving on it. Aten 2004 EA was the name the astronomers had given it, which meant that it was the one hundred and thirty-first asteroid discovered in the year 2004 among the Aten group. The astronomers are very efficient in their naming, of course, but not romantic at all.
I called my asteroid “Quipu-Camayoc,” which means “The Rememberer.” And I was determined to carve the history of my people upon it. The idea was not merely romantic, it was absolutely poetic. After all, we have lived in the mountains since before time was reckoned. Even the name of my people, my very own name—Apacheta—means a group of magical stones. Now my people were leaving their ancient mountain villages, scattering down to the cities, losing their tribal identities in the new world of factory jobs and electronic pleasures. Someone had to mark their story in a way that could be remembered forever.
When I first heard of the asteroid, back at the university at La Paz, I knew it was my destiny. The very name the astronomers had given it signified my own name: Aten 2004 EA—Elverda Apacheta. It was a sign. I am not superstitious, of course, and ordinarily I do not believe in signs and omens. But I knew I was destined to carve the history of my people on Aten 2004 EA and turn it into the memory of a vanishing race.
Quipu-Camayoc was a large stone streaked with metals, a mountain floating in space, nearly one full kilometer long. It was not in the Belt, of course; in those days no one had gone as far as the Belt. Its orbit was slightly closer to the Sun than Earth’s orbit, so nearly once a year it came near enough to Earth for a reasonably easy flight to reach it in something like a week; that is when I usually got my supplies. This was many years ago, of course, before the first bridge ships were even started. The frontier had not expanded much beyond the Earth-Moon system; the first human expedition to Mars had barely gotten under way.
As I said, I was surprised when a transfer ship came into view instead of the usual unmanned spacecraft. I was even more surprised when someone jetted over to my quarters without even asking permission to come aboard.
I lived in my workshop, a small pod that contained all my sculpting equipment and the life support systems, as well as my personal gear—clothing, sleeping hammock, things like that.
“Who is approaching?” I called on the communicator. In its screen I centered a magnified picture of the approaching stranger. I could see nothing, of course, except a white space suit topped with a bubble helmet. The figure was enwrapped by the jet unit, somewhat like a man sitting in a chair that had no legs.
“Sam Gunn is my name. I’ve got your supplies aboard my ship.”
Suddenly I realized I was naked. Living alone, I seldom bothered with clothing. My first reaction was anger.
“Then send the supplies across and go on your way. I have no time for visitors.”
He laughed. That surprised me. He said, “This isn’t just a social call, lady. I’m supposed to hand you a legal document. It’s got to be done in person. You know how lawyers are.”
“No, I don’t know. And I don’t want to.” But I hurriedly pushed over to my clothes locker and rummaged in it for a decent set of coveralls.
I realize now that what I should have done was to lock the access hatch and not allow him to enter. That would have delayed the legal action against me. But it would only have delayed it, not prevented it altogether. Perhaps allowing Sam to enter my quarters, to enter my life, was the best course after all.
By the time I heard the pumps cycling in the airlock I was pulling a pair of old blue denim coveralls over my shoulders. The inner hatch cracked open as I zippered them up to the collar.
Sam coasted through the hatch, his helmet already removed and floating inside the airlock. He was small, not much more than 160 centimeters, although to his last breath he claimed to be 165. Which is nonsense. I myself was a good ten or twelve centimeters taller than he.
It would be difficult to capture his face in a sculpture. His features were too mobile for stone or even clay to do him justice. There was something slightly irregular about Sam’s face: one side did not quite match the other. It made him look just the tiniest bit off-center, askew. It fitted his personality very well.
His eyes could be blue or gray or even green, depending on the lighting. His mouth was extremely mobile: he had a thousand different smiles, and he was almost always talking, never silent. Short-cropped light brown hair, with a tinge of red in it. A round face, a touch unbalanced toward the left. A slightly crooked snub nose; it looked as if it had been broken, perhaps more than once. A sprinkling of freckles. I thought of the Norte Americano character from literature, Huckleberry Finn, grown into boyish manhood.
He hung there, framed in the open hatch, his booted feet dangling several centimeters from the grillwork of the floor. He was staring at me.
Suddenly I felt enormously embarrassed. My quarters were a shambles. Nothing but a cramped compartment filled with junk. Equipment and computer consoles scattered everywhere, connecting wires looping in the microgravity like jungle vines. My hammock was a twisted disaster area; the entire little cabin was filled with the flotsam of a hermit who had not seen another human being in three years. I was bone-thin, I knew. Like a skeleton. I could not even begin to remember where I had left my last lipstick. And my hair must have looked wild, floating uncombed.
“God, you’re beautiful!” said Sam, in an awed whisper. “A goddess made of copper.”
Immediately I distrusted him.
“You have a legal paper for me?” I asked, as coldly as I could. I had no idea of what it was; perhaps something from the university in La Paz about the new grant I had applied for.
“Uh, yeah …” Sam seemed to be half dazed, unfocused. “I, uh, didn’t bring it with me. It’s back aboard my ship.”
“You told me you had it with you.”
“No,” he said, recovering slightly. “I said I was supposed to hand it to you personally. It’s back on the ship.”
I glared at him. How dare he invade my privacy like this? Interrupt my work? My art?
He did not wilt. In fact, Sam brightened. “Why don’t you come over and have a meal with me? With us, I mean. Me and my crew.”
I absolutely refused. Yet somehow, several hours later, I was on my way to his transfer ship, riding on the rear saddle of a two-person jet scooter. I had bathed and dressed while Sam had returned to his ship for the scooter. I had even found a bright golden yellow scarf to tie around the waist of my best green coveralls, and a matching scarf to tie down my hair. Inside my space suit I could smell the perfume I had doused myself with. It is surprising how you can find things you thought you had lost, when the motivation is right.