A World of Difference Read online

  Ternat listened again. Now he also heard the strange, rhythmic thump, twang, and tinkle. For a moment he thought of the beasts legend put in the depths of the gorge, beasts that could lure a male to destruction. Then his eyestalks wiggled in relief. “That’s human music,” he said.

  “There’s a human down here?” the male said incredulously. “I doubt it,” Ternat said. “They have gadgets that make music for them. My guess is that the Skarmer put one by their rope so the noise would guide us. A good idea, I must say.”

  “Pretty sneaky, if you ask me,” the male said, as he would have about anything Skarmer. But then he shouted along with Reatur’s eldest to let the rest of the band know what they had found.

  Ternat’s prediction proved good. The gadget sat on a large rock. Like a fair number of human gadgets, it looked like a box. Ternat wondered how the humans knew this box made music instead of, say, pictures. He let his arms and eyestalks shrug in and out: one more thing about humans he would probably never learn.

  The box had a handle. Tied to the handle was a thin string. “This is what we came for,” Ternat said. “We have to be careful now, so we don’t break it on the way back.”

  The other end of the string was nowhere in sight. Ternat knew that eventually, back toward the Skarmer side of Ervis Gorge, it would join a cord, the cord a rope, the rope a thicker rope, and so on by increments until it linked to the massive cordage of the bridge that would once more span the gorge.

  His small band, though, could scarcely have moved that massive final rope, let alone hauled it back to the stones to which it would be attached. Thus the lighter precursors: getting them to the attachment point, where a good-sized crew waited, would be easy.

  “What are you going to do with the box?” a male asked.

  “Keep it,” Ternat replied at once. “It can be part of Hogram’s first payment to get his miserable males back, and if he doesn’t like that, too bad. Maybe our humans can tell us if it’s good for anything besides their funny music.”

  “Me,! don’t know that I want to be linked up to the Skarmer anymore, not after this summer,” a male said.

  “We can always cut the rope again, you know,” Ternat said. “Not till we get all those cursed hungry Skarmer out of our domain,” another male put in. “I know we’ll be fat this winter with what Hogram’s sending us, but it’s only right. We’ve been thin up to now, what with them eating up so much of our food.”

  “And Dordal’s,” said yet another, who had accompanied Ternat on the raid into the northerner’s domain. “Let’s not forget all those greasyfat massi we brought back with us. Hogram’s males didn’t complain about the way they tasted.”

  “Hogram’s males weren’t in a position to complain about anything,” Ternat said. “They’re just glad we’ve fed them at all. And do you know what? They’re lucky we have.”

  The band shouted agreement. Ternat still wondered if keeping the prisoners alive had been a good idea. Had the humans not urged otherwise, he was sure Reatur would have massacred the Skarmer. The ransom the domain master was squeezing out of Hogram was more than enough to pay for the cost of maintaining the captives, but was it enough to compensate for having to look at them all through summer and fall, enough to compensate for remembering all the damage they had done, the lives they had taken?

  Ternat did not know; where was the scale on which to balance such weights? Reatur had accepted. His eldest, trusting him, supposed that was good enough.

  He lifted the string. “Come on. Time to go home.”

  XI

  “Here,” Sarah said, dumping the jingling metal clamps in front of Reatur. “I, other humans show you now, many times, how to use to save mates. Wish I had more to give you. Use as you think best. Often, I hope.”

  Her shiver had nothing to do with the cold, though the weather was down to Minnesota winter and heading straight for Antarctica. Half a dozen clamps, as many as she could spare from her medical supplies. The thought of doing, say, an appendectomy in freefall on the way home gave her cold chills, but far worse was the thought of what happened to all mates on Minerva, and how those six little clamps could help. She wished she had six thousand, or six million.

  “I will use them, Sarah,” Reatur said. “I have spoken with you of the sorrow of the mates, have I not?” She nodded. “Yes, Reatur, you have.”

  “I thought so. Males have felt it for as long as there have been males and mates. Now I have a chance to get free of it, the first of all my kind. I will take that chance. I also wish you had more clamps. But perhaps it is for the best this way. These clamps will end by changing our world as much as the spring floods change Ervis Gorge. Like the floods, such changes should start slowly, I think.”

  Sarah nodded again, this time reluctantly. “Likely that is wise.” To her, even one mate’s dying without need was tragedy worse than the sorrow the domain master knew when such death was inevitable. On the other hand, she knew that turning such a basic of Minervan life upside down overnight would bring plenty of dislocations of its own. If anyone could safely steer between extremes, she thought, Reatur could. He had a knack for finding the right questions to ask; maybe Lamra got it from him.

  Now he came up with another one: “Might we also use these clamps to keep alive, say, eloc mates as well, to keep our herds large?”

  Sarah rubbed her chin in consideration and discovered she could barely feel it. “If no mate-no mate of your people-will drop budlings before you can take clamps off animal, then yes. Otherwise no, if you want to save own mates.”

  “Ah,” Reatur said. “That is sensible. Yes. Well, Sarah, I will say that all this has worked out better than I thought it would. Lamra has been, if not accepted, at least tolerated by my males. And the more mates we have who survive budding, the greater the chance the males will have to get used to them.”

  “I hope so,” Sarah said. She had her doubts, though. Lamra was unique and, being unique, created scant antagonism. Some of Reatur’s males, in fact, regarded her with almost superstitious awe. That would change when saved mates grew common. How it would change, Sarah was not sure. But if Minervans reacted like people, it probably would not change for the better.

  The domain master cut into her thoughts. “I understand you humans will be leaving soon.”

  “Yes, before too much snow drifts around, uh, flying house.”

  Then Reatur surprised Sarah. “Why not wait until the snow begins to melt next spring? I would like to have you stay.”

  She bowed. “I thank you, but no. Cannot do. Not enough of our food, for one thing. Also have to leave before certain time this winter, no matter what.” Orbital mechanics, she knew, meant nothing to Reatur.

  He sighed. “You do what you must, of course. But I will miss you.” He widened himself to her.

  She bowed again. “I miss you, too. All us humans miss you.

  But must go back to our home.”

  “Maybe you will come back one day?” Reatur asked.

  Did he sound hopeful? Sarah wondered if she was reading too much into his voice. She didn’t think so. “I like to see you again, like to see your eldest again, like to see Lamra again.” That thought did warm her, despite the worse than icy chill of Reatur’s castle. Then reality returned. “Other humans come one day, Reatur, I think. I hope so,” she said sadly. “But not us, not me. Hard for us to come here-will be turn of other humans next time we do.”

  “Let it be as it will, then.” The domain master wiggled his eyestalks, catching Sarah by surprise. “Tell the humans back at your home that I am sorry I broke their fancy picture-making machine, all those years ago. When I saw it, I thought it was a monster. When I saw you humans, I thought you were monsters, too. But it is not so.”

  “I tell them, Reatur.” Sarah felt tears come into her eyes.

  Angrily, she brushed them away with the back of her glove. They were worse than foolish, she thought-in this weather they were dangerous. Just what she would need, trying to explain to the domain m
aster how and why her eyelashes were freezing together.

  “Good. Thank you once more also for the clamps, and for flying so bravely against the Skarmer with the rifle”-an episode Sarah would have been happy to forget-“and thank you for Lamra.”

  Sarah bowed very low this time, again fighting back tears. “Reatur, Lamra makes for me this long trip worth doing.” Even if, dammit, she added silently, I wasn’t there when the budlings dropped. She didn’t think she would ever stop kicking herself over what she had been doing some of that time. Much too late to change it now, though.

  The domain master asked, “Can Lamra bud again, Sarah?” She blinked. He did have a girl for the telling question, and she hadn’t looked ahead in that particular direction. She gave him the only answer she could. “Not know, Reatur.”

  “Only a thought.” He shrugged a Minervan shrug, with arms and eyestalks. “Even if so, I wonder if I should risk her again without you humans here to help care for her. But I like the idea of more budlings from her, could they be got in safety.”

  “Not know, Reatur,” Sarah repeated. With a last bow, she went on, “Must go back to flying house now, to help get ready to go home.” She almost hoped Reatur would want to talk more. It was freezing inside the castle, but it was freezing and windy outside. But the domain master waved her on. Sighing, she fixed her hood so only her eyes showed, then trudged out into the latest blizzard.

  The small sun shone bravely in the green-blue sky, glittering off endless miles of snow. The snow fell on Athena, no less than on the ground. Irv Levitt, who was sweeping it off the spacecraft’s left wing, leaned on his pushbroom and asked, “How long do they think the weather will hold?”

  “Two days,” Emmett said. “Which means our next launch window to rendezvous with the rocket motors upstairs is this afternoon. I intend to use it. We’re early, but-”

  “Yeah,” Irv said. He understood that “but” perfectly well. Another storm like the last one, and Athena wouldn’t just be covered with snow. It would be buried in snow-not ideal circumstances for liftoff.

  He started sweeping again. His answer had been short for another reason, too: he still wasn’t anywhere near comfortable around Emmett. It would have been a lot worse, he knew, had Sarah seemed to want a return engagement with the mission commander. As far as he could tell-how far was that? a question often in his mind-she didn’t. He kept his distance from Emmett, anyhow.

  How well that would work once Athena was in space was another question. Everybody would be in everybody else’s pockets again, and everybody, as he knew only too well, had good reason to be angry at somebody. They were all supposed to be very civilized people. He hoped the psych tests were right, because they were going to need to be very civilized, at least till they got home.

  From the other wing, Pat called, “Done here.”

  “Good,” Emmett said. He peered through snow goggles toward Athena’s tail, where Sarah and Louise were also busy with brooms. “Now we’re getting down to what the deicers can handle.”

  Irv saw the pilot glance his way but kept on pushing his broom. No, he thought, he was wrong: poor Pat didn’t have a reason to be angry at anyone, except the Russians or the Skarmer or whoever had killed Frank. But, thanks to him, Sarah had plenty of reason to be mad at her, which amounted to the same thing.

  One of the better reasons for monogamy that nobody ever talked about, he thought as he shoved snow off the wing, was how bloody complicated everything else got.

  When he looked up again, the wing was clean. Sarah and Louise, brooms shouldered like rifles, were marching in step up Athena’s fuselage, laughing as they came. If Louise knew what he knew… Oh, shut up, he told himself fiercely. For a wonder, the internal dialogue did.

  “Let’s button this bird up,” Emmett said. He waved the rest of them into Athena ahead of him. Irv was stowing his brooms when the airlock doors clanged shut, first the outer, then the inner. He had heard those clangs hundreds of times, but this time they were special. The doors would not open again, not on Minerva.

  The crew trooped forward, into the control cabin. The seat Irv had used for months was again, suddenly, an acceleration couch in his mind. “At least we’re used to gravity this time,” he said. “Taking off won’t be the hideous shock landing was.”

  “Shall we call the Russians and tell ‘era goodbye?” Emmett said. He was not looking for an answer; he had already picked up the microphone. “Athena calling Tsiolkovsky, Athena calling”

  “Tsiolkovsky here, Rustaveli speaking.”

  Bragg switched to Russian. “Zdrast’ye, Shota Mikheilovich. Could you patch me through to Colonel Tolmasov? We are lifting off this afternoon; I want to pass on my respects before we go.”

  “So you give us the honor of staying longer on Minerva than you, eh?” Rustaveli paused, perhaps to think of more English words, perhaps merely to set up his reply. “You may as well; the only thing anyone will remember is that you landed first.”

  Bragg grinned. “Is that a kind thing to say?”

  “No, only a true one. Do you deny it?” Rustaveli said. A moment later, he added in a different tone, “I have Colonel Tolmasov. Go ahead.”

  “Sergei Konstantinovich?”

  “Good day, Brigadier Bragg. What can I do for you?” As usual, Tolmasov’s English was excellent but bloodless.

  “Not a thing, thank you. This is just a call to let you know we are lifting off this afternoon.”

  “Are you?” Surprise brought a bit of life to the Russian pilot’s voice.

  “Snow,” Bragg said simply.

  “Ah, yes, quite. The hills south of Hogram’s domain have thus far shielded us from the worst of it, but I do not think that will last much longer here, either. The best of luck to you, Brigadier. I expect we shall have a good deal to say to each other, when we finally meet back on Earth.”

  “I expect we will.” Bragg hesitated, went on. “Better to meet on account of this than in our planes, eh, Sergei Konstantinovich?”

  “Yes,” Tolmasov said at once. “And yet-”

  “-you’d like to fly against me, anyhow. Da, you’re a pilot.”

  Back where Emmett couldn’t see him, Irv shook his head. Bragg and Tolmasov reminded him of a couple of big cats roaring at each other across a moat.

  After Emmett signed off with Tolmasov, he turned that tigerish tone on his own crew. “All right, people, now we check this beast one more time, the standard preflight and everything else we can think of.”

  They did. When at last they were through, the pilot sounded almost disappointed as he said, “Looks green. Let’s do it.”

  “Initiate turbojet sequence?” Louise asked crisply.

  “Initiate,” Emmett said. Her finger stabbed a button. For a moment, nothing happened. Irv glanced at the boards for red lights, saw none. Then, through the thick padding of his seat, he felt vibration begin; muted thunder spoke from Athena’s engines.

  Outside the spacecraft, he knew, the thunder would be anything but muted. “I hope Reatur has everyone well back, the way he promised,” he said.

  “If they weren’t a minute ago, I guarandamntee you they are now,” Sarah said. Irv nodded, at the same time wondering, Guarandamntee? It sounded more like Emmett than his wife. But what if it did? After two years cooped up like this, everyone’s habits rubbed off on everyone else. You worry too much, he told himself, and worried some more.

  “Power buildup?” Emmett asked. He was watching the readouts as closely as Louise, but was too conscientious a pilot not to follow routine.

  “Nominal,” she answered, going through the ritual with him. The thunder grew. “Thrust optimum for taxiing,” Louise declared. Emmett shoved the stick forward. Irv had just started to wonder if the landing gear deicers were doing their job when he saw the landscape start to slide backward in the monitor and felt the soft, irregular bumps that said Athena wasn’t taking off from one of Houston’s glass-smooth runways. Kicked up snow made the VIEW AFT screen a meaningless white blur. />
  The snow ahead hid surprises, too. Far from being soft, one of the bumps made Irv’s teeth click together. The whole spacecraft shuddered. “Come on now,” Emmett said, as if gentling a restive horse. Like a horse responding to its rider, Athena leapt ahead, leapt “Airborne!” Emmett yelled.

  The ground dropped away in the monitors, but whumpings and bumpings went on. “Landing gear retracting… retracted,” Louise said, simultaneously killing one of Irv’s worries and making him feel foolish.

  “Lord, I forgot about the stupid wheels,” Pat said, relief in her voice. Irv grinned. Embarrassment, like misery, loved company.

  “Heading onetwotwo… onetwofive… onetwoseven,” Louise reported as Emmett swung Athena around.

  “Steadying on onetwoseven,” he answered. That was the course the craft would need to rendezvous with the rocket motors waiting in orbit above Minerv:4. The noise in the cabin changed tone; part of it dropped away. “There’s Math one,” Emmett said.

  The monitors showed the sky a deeper blue-purple than it looked even aboard the Concorde. As Irv watched, stars began coming out. “Seventy thousand feet,” Louise said.

  “And Mach two,” Emmett echoed. “Still doesn’t fly like a Phantom, but we’re haulin’.” He flicked switches. The turbines’ roar died, to be replaced by a high, fierce whine. “Ramjet running.”

  “Readings within parameters,” Louise said. Now the monitors that looked up and ahead showed starflecked black; below, the Minervan surface looked more as it did in orbital photos than as if from a plane. The engine noise changed again, a little. “Computer adjusting ramjet opening for optimum combustion,” Louise reported.

  “Pretty soon it can adjust till it turns blue and there still won’t be any oxygen out there to bum,” Emmett grunted.

  “Two hundred twenty thousand feet,” Louise said, which was a more prosaic way of announcing the same thing. “Two hundred thirty thousand…, two hundred forty thousand… commencing inboard rocket ignition sequence.” “Go for it, hon,” Emmett agreed.