That first time, we amused ourselves watching the Boojum grow scales. Some of the technicians tried to figure out where its gravity came from, but they soon lost interest.
The second time, we found it again, no problem. Went straight to it. Then we had nothing to do but spend three months sitting around. As cook, I was the busiest hand on board.
To pass the time, the crew played with the Environment. Sure, Yorgi, our ship carried an Environment, like any other Mars freighter—Mr. Petrozowski didn’t want to arouse suspicions when the ship was in port. The Environment held a little stone temple surrounded by a lot of nice green plants. Very pretty. Buddhist, maybe. Mr. Petrozowski didn’t care about it; it’d been built by the previous owners. We could use it for anything we wanted.
We installed it on the boojum.
For some reason, we laughed and laughed at the idea. It seemed so funny. This boojum, this strange alien thing, this giant—we’d attach our Environment to it like a flea on the back of a dog, and we’d ride and grow fat. The ship would hover in space, but the crew would pass the time in the Environment pod on the boojum’s back, sitting in easy chairs under a simulated sun, sipping lemonade and playing cards. Like we were all wealthy landlords who’d found some private jungle retreat away from the stupid peasants.
That time, we had to feed the Environment power from the ship’s storage cells. And we had to reattach the Environment to our ship when we left for home.
The next time, we sold our extra fuel on the black market. We didn’t need fuel to go out into space and sit around for three months. We used the money to buy good Petrozowski Whole Spectrum Collector Cells, which we installed on the hull of the Environment pod so it could gather its own energy from the sun. That way we didn’t have to go back to the ship to recharge the life support systems; we could live in the Environment all the time. And we did. We lived what we thought were the lives of the rich.
They were stupid lives.
The time came to head for Earth. And we found the boojum had grown too fond of the Environment pod.
Somehow, the scales of the boojum had attached themselves to the collector cells we’d installed on the pod. The scales and cells had grown together into a single skin, like the edges of a wound healing shut. The Environment was bonded fast, held tight; we couldn’t cut it free, couldn’t pull it loose with the ship’s engines. In the end, we had to go home without it.
Stupid, see? We thought we could do what we wanted. We thought were smarter than other people, and what did we get?
When we got back to Earth, we still thought we might get away with it. We tried to buy a new pod; we thought we could make do with a substitute, pick up better cutting tools and go back to slice the Environment free. No. Mr. Petrozowski heard we were missing a pod; he investigated and found we’d been selling our fuel; and he fired us. He thought we’d been cheating him all along. The only reason he didn’t call the cops was he didn’t want us telling anyone about the boojum hunt. We told him we’d found his boojum, but he laughed in our faces.
So. Your father is no saint. We both knew that, yes? But I’ve learned.
We were stupid. There were hundreds of ways we could have got caught. If one of Petrozowski’s other hunters had found us on the boojum. If the police nabbed us selling fuel on the black market. If any member of the crew had loose lips. Hundreds of ways. But we ignored the risks. We thought we were being smart when we were being stupid.
I tell you, Yorgi, if you decided to be the best thief in the world, and learn, and work hard at it, maybe you could get smarter. Maybe that would be possible. But such thieves, I don’t think they exist. When I was a thief, I was lazy. I sat on easy chairs and drank lemonade. I told myself Mr. Petrozowski was stupid, not me. I thought I was one of the smartest men in the world, and I laughed, laughed, laughed. But what was I? A flea riding the back of a dog. That’s all.
Who thinks fleas are smart?
VARIATION G: TITAN
(DOLCE CON AMORE)
(SWEETLY, WITH LOVE)
CONTACT: MAY 2071
Teeth brushed? Faces washed? No one has to pee? Then we start.
How I met your father. A true story. With a moral.
No giggling. Once upon a time.
You know there are great rivalries between the Venus cloud mining orbitals. Great rivalries. Each orbital is owned by a different company, and the companies hate each other. They sabotage each other’s wells, they interfere with each other’s communications, and when miners meet each other in Venus-Wheel…well, there may be fights and duels and death.
My family lived on an orbital belonging to Clearwater Chemical, and our greatest rivals were those in New Frontier Mining and Manufacture.
No giggling! This is a true story. With a moral.
My mother was Clearwater’s economic envoy to Venus-Wheel. By the time I was fourteen, I went with her on every trading mission. In those days, I was a very great beauty…
What are all these giggles I’m hearing?
I was a great girlish beauty then, and now I am a great womanly beauty, which is even better, though different. Do you want a story or not?
Then we go on. How I met your father. A true story. With a moral.
In those days, I was a great girlish beauty, and firm in the soft places. Which is almost as good as soft in the soft places, though different. Many boys wanted to make love to me, and many older men as well.
A great many older men.
You would not believe how many older men would rather have girlish beauty instead of womanly beauty. “Bah,” they say, “who cares if the woman knows what to do? We know what to do, and that is the important thing.”
A free lesson for you about men.
But I had not yet learned that lesson and I was drunk with the power of my very great firm beauty. I went to many dances on Venus-Wheel and danced with many men. It was a great whirling excitement for a girl my age. The men worshipped me and the boys adored me; it made me feel very strong.
Then one night I met a boy who made me feel weak. Oh, such weakness! If I looked in his direction, I blushed. If I didn’t look in his direction, I watched in mirrors to see if he was eyeing me behind my back. When he talked to me, I wanted to run and hide; when I danced with him, I could feel every part of my body singing. And I could feel every part of his body too—maybe not singing, but at least standing up in the choir.
When I told him my name was Juliet, he bowed and said he would be my Romeo. So gallant! But too close to the truth. I found out after the dance his father was economic envoy for New Frontier. Disaster! I was forbidden to speak to the boy again.
I cannot be sure I loved my Romeo before I was forbidden to see him, but afterward, I loved him with a love as deep as starry space. He was the blazing sun, and I the dark Abyss that yawned to engulf him and be illuminated.
We talked like that back then. We were young.
The boy and I met all the time, of course. Many trysts. Many excellent trysts. I became a very great girlish beauty who purred to herself, and my mother became suspicious. She announced she was sending me home to Clearwater orbital, where the only boys were my brothers and cousins.
I did not go. Instead, I eloped. My Romeo and I stole a rich man’s yacht, disabled the homing beacons, and fled into the night. Our goal was Mars, where we planned to scout the asteroid belt. Out in the belt, we would become the first humans to find alien artifacts; we would be rich and famous, and the entire solar system would envy us.
Two weeks later, our food ran out. A month and a half away from Earth, four months away from Mars.