“By selling Rust.” The words were out of Raven’s mouth before she could stop them.
Waxman stared up at her for a long, silent moment. Then, “That bothers you, doesn’t it?”
She stared back at him as she sank into one of the chairs in front of his desk. At last she admitted, “Yes, it does.”
“You didn’t do drugs while you were on the street in Naples?”
“Of course I did,” Raven replied. “You couldn’t survive without something to take the edge off.”
“Small stuff, I imagine.”
“That was all I could afford, Evan. Marijuana, coke now and then… I even tried Ecstasy once in a while.”
“But not Rust.”
“I didn’t know Rust existed until I got here.”
Waxman smiled mirthlessly. “And here I thought you were smart enough to steer clear of it.”
Thinking of Alicia, in the outer office, Raven said, “I would have, if I had known its long-term effects.”
He shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t. Oh, you might have tried to stay away from it, but sooner or later you’d try some. Just as an experiment, you’d have told yourself. But you’d have tried it.”
Raven let her eyes drop. “You’re probably right. There were times when I would have tried anything, just to get through another night, just to survive.”
Waxman’s stony expression softened. “I’m glad you didn’t, Raven. I’m glad you came here to Haven, instead.”
In a low voice she replied, “So am I.”
That evening, after dinner alone in her quarters, as Raven pored over a text on political organizations, her door announced, “Reverend Umber is at the door.”
Surprised, she looked up and, sure enough, the door’s tiny viewscreen showed Umber standing outside in the passageway, decked out entirely in white, as usual.
“Door open!” she called, as she got up from the sofa.
The door slid open, and Reverend Umber stepped in, looking uncertain, perplexed.
“I’m not intruding, am I?” he asked, as the door slid shut behind him.
“Not at all,” said Raven as she cleared the wall screen she’d been reading from. “Come right in.”
Umber stepped hesitantly toward the sling chair next to the sofa and gingerly lowered himself into it.
“Can I get you something?” Raven asked. “Coffee? Tea?”
“Plain water, please.”
Raven went to the kitchen and drew a glass of water from the sink’s faucet.
“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this,” Umber began.
“It’s okay. I was just studying.”
She handed him the glass and sat down on the edge of the sofa.
“Studying. That’s good. Very good.”
Raven peered at his round, pink face. He was smiling at her, yet somehow she felt that he was troubled.
She started to apologize. “I know I haven’t been attending church services—”
Umber waved a hand. “That’s entirely up to you. We each find God in our own way.”
Raven nodded her thanks. A silence fell between them.
After several seconds, Raven asked, “What do you want to talk to me about?”
Umber flushed noticeably and ran a hand through his long, auburn hair. Then he uttered a single word:
“Rust.”
Surprised, Raven blinked. “Rust?”
“It’s a narcotic. I’m sure that Evan has told you about it.”
“Yes, he has. He warned me about it, actually.”
Umber nodded and clasped his hands together. “I’m uncomfortable that we’re selling Rust to anyone who has the wherewithal to purchase it. He’s turning Haven into a drug dealership!”
“He’s not selling it to any of our residents,” Raven said.
“True enough. They can’t afford it. But people who can afford it buy it from him. Kilo after kilo. Drug dealers. Millionaires. Society people. Entertainment stars.”
“Evan says it’s perfectly legal.”
With a shrug of his shoulders, Umber replied, “Oh, I’m sure it is. Evan is very clever that way.”
“But it bothers you.”
For a long wordless moment Umber stared at her. She realized that his eyes were light gray, almost silver.
“Yes, it bothers me. I believe that Evan is doing the devil’s work.”
“Have you spoken to him about it?”
“Many times. He nods and smiles and pays me no attention.”
“But you’re the head of this community,” Raven said. “Why can’t you—”
Umber stopped her with an upraised hand. “I may be the nominal head of this community, my dear, but Evan Waxman is actually running Haven.”
“How can that be? I thought—”
Shaking his head sadly, Umber said, “It’s the Golden Rule, my dear. He who has the gold makes the rules.”
“I know he handles the administration for you.”
“For himself. Oh, Evan’s been very kind and extremely generous. But he runs this habitat to suit his purposes, masquerading as my faithful backer and administrator.”
It took Raven several moments to digest what Umber was telling her. At last she asked, “What can you do about this?”
“That’s why I’ve come to see you,” said Umber.
PLAN OF ACTION
Raven stared at the minister. Somehow Umber’s round, florid face seemed inexpressibly sad. His silvery eyes, though, were focused squarely on her.
“Me?” she squeaked. “What can I do?”
Umber shrugged his round shoulders. “I wish I knew! But we’ve got to do something. It’s wrong to be selling Rust. It’s the devil’s work!”
Raven nodded her agreement, but asked again, “How can you stop it? How can you get Evan to stop it?”
“I tried to at yesterday’s Council meeting. I got voted down, sixteen to two, including my own vote.”
“So the Council is with him.”
“I realize now that Evan himself picked most of the Council members. I trusted him. I let him handle the governance of Haven and he’s turned the habitat into a narcotics trafficking center.”
Again Raven asked, “How can you stop him?”
“I don’t know! I was hoping you might have some idea.”
“But I’m a newcomer here. A nobody. Evan’s picked me to be his assistant, but that doesn’t mean anything. He could drop me anytime he wants to.”
“You’re sleeping with him,” said Umber. It wasn’t an accusation, not even an objection. Merely a statement of fact.
“Yes, I am,” said Raven. Then she added, “Now and then.”
“You’re closer to him than anyone in this habitat.”
“But that doesn’t mean…” Raven ran out of words. She didn’t want to carry her thought to its logical conclusion.
Umber’s eyes went wide as he realized what Raven was thinking. “No!” he shouted. “No violence! I won’t be a party to violence!”
For an instant Raven’s mind filled with the scenes of violence she had witnessed: many of them aimed at her.
“No violence,” she agreed, in a near whisper. Then she asked, “But then… what?”
The outraged flush in Umber’s cheeks faded. More quietly he answered, “I wish I knew.”
A fine couple of collaborators, Raven thought. Neither one of us has the slightest idea of what to do.
She admitted, “I don’t think I could talk Evan out of selling Rust. He thinks he’s doing it for the good of the habitat—at least, in part.”
Umber shook his head. “It’s always easy to convince yourself you’re doing what is needed, what is helpful, what is right—when in fact you’re doing the devil’s work.”
Raven said, “If only we could get the people who’re buying the junk to stop. Take away the market for it.”