Ben Bova - Voyagers

“That is my religion. The same religion as Einstein: ‘The eternal mystery of the universe is its comprehensibility.’ ”

Markov grinned at him. “Americans are optimists by nature.”

“Not by nature,” Stoner corrected. “By virtue of historical fact. The optimists always win in the long run.”

“Well, my optimistic friend, I hope you are right. I hope that this alien is friendly and helpful. I wouldn’t want to have to bow down to someone who isn’t even human.”

They walked back into the common room, coffee cups in hand. The Russian medical technician sitting in the corner looked up at them, pointed to his wristwatch and said something to Markov.

“He wants to remind you that you get your shot at eleven.”

Stoner made a smile for the technician. “Tell him I appreciate his sadistic concern and I’d like to take his needle and stick it up his fat ass.”

The technician smiled and nodded as Markov spoke to him in Russian.

Beethoven ended and the little oblong radio on the bookshelf started playing chamber music: gentle, civilized strings, abstract, mathematical.

“Bach, isn’t it?” Stoner asked, taking one of the leather chairs that flanked the room’s only couch.

Markov sighed. “Vivaldi.”

The outside door banged open and Jo stamped into the room, making annoyed brushing motions across her arms.

“Mosquitoes,” she said. “Big as jet fighters.”

“One of the joys of the countryside,” Markov said.

Jo wore jeans and a light sweater. She ran a hand through her hair as she complained, “They have those damned floodlights all around the building. You can’t see the sky at all, and they won’t let you walk past the lighted area.”

“But look on the positive side,” Markov suggested. “The floodlights attract the mosquitoes.”

She laughed, despite herself, and came over toward the sofa. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Too keyed up.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Stoner asked.

“That’d just make it worse.”

“A glass of hot tea, perhaps?” Markov offered. “Or some vodka.”

“No alcohol. I’ve got to keep my head clear for tomorrow, even if they won’t let me actually get my hands on any of the hardware.”

“Perhaps we could get our medical friend here to give you the shot he’s going to give Stoner. It puts you into a deep, relaxing sleep and then lets you wake up the next morning clear as a mountain lake.”

“So they claim,” Stoner put it.

“No thanks,” Jo said. Looking at the technician, she asked, “Does he understand English?”

“No,” Markov said. “Only Russian.”

“Where’s he from?”

Markov asked the technician, who smiled hugely for her, revealing a picket fence of stainless steel inlays, and answered with a long string of heartfelt words.

“He comes from a little village near Leningrad,” Markov translated, “the most beautiful little village in all of Russia. He would love to show you how beautiful it is, especially in the springtime.”

Jo smiled back at him, asking, “He’s really a Russian, then? Not a Ukrainian or a Georgian or a Kazakh.”

Markov glanced at the overweight, red-haired, fair-skinned medical technician. “He is quite Russian, I guarantee it. But why this interest in our federated nationalities?”

Turning back to Markov and Stoner, Jo answered, “I’ve been talking with some of the people around here—you know, guards, clerks, ordinary people.”

“Not astronomers or linguists,” Markov murmured.

Ignoring him, Jo went on, “A lot of the Russians here are kind of worried about the Kazakhs, and other non-Russian ethnic groups.”

“Worried?” Stoner asked.

“The tide of Islam,” Markov said in a bored tone. “Ever since Iran and Afghanistan, the major topic of gossip is the possibility of a native uprising. It’s quite impossible, you know.”

“An uprising,” Jo said. “But what about sabotage? Suppose the people who used Schmidt use some Kazakh technician to tamper with the rocket booster tomorrow?”

Markov shook his head and raised his hands toward the ceiling. “No, no, no! Impossible. That’s one thing that our security people have checked quite thoroughly. No one but Russian nationals has been allowed near the boosters. That, I promise you.”

“Am I safe from all the Russian nationals?” Stoner asked.

For an instant, Markov did not answer. Then, one hand stroking his beard, he said very seriously, “Yes, you are. I am certain of it.”

The two men looked at each other, eye to eye, for a long wordless moment.

“I think I would like some of that tea,” Jo said, breaking their wordless moment.

“Allow me.” Markov was instantly heading for the kitchen. “I will make you a glass of tea that will soothe your nerves and invigorate your spirit. Not like that dreadful sludge they call coffee. Phah! How can anyone drink that stuff regularly?”

Stoner laughed as Markov went through the kitchen door. He’s leaving the two of us alone, he realized. Jo sat on the couch next to the shuttered window. The Russian technician stayed at his chair in the corner. Stoner went over and sat next to Jo.

“My last night on Earth,” he said. Then he added, “For a week or so.”

“Aren’t you nervous?”

“Hell yes.”

“You don’t look it. You look perfectly calm.”

“On the outside. Inside, everything’s twitching. If you took an x-ray picture of me, it’d come out blurred, unless you used a stop-action shutter on the camera lens.”

Jo laughed softly.

“I always get nervous before a flight, especially the last few minutes before lift-off. My heart rate goes way up.”

“That’s understandable,” she said. Her face grew somber. “You can still back out of it, you know. The Russians have cosmonauts in reserve who…”

“I know,” he said.

“You’re not afraid of them trying to—to stop you?”

“Kirill’s been watching over me like a St. Bernard.”

“That’s not enough…”

“And so have you,” he added. “I’ve been watching you poking around, getting mosquito bites while you’re checking out everybody around here.”

She looked surprised. “I haven’t…well, the two of us aren’t enough of a bodyguard for you.”

He reached out and clasped the back of her neck. “I appreciate it, Jo. I understand what you’re doing and I appreciate it, really I do.”

“Sure you do.”

“I do. I hope you understand why I’m being so stubborn about all this.”

Nodding, she answered, “Yes, I do understand, Keith. That’s what frightens me. I’d be doing exactly the same thing, in your place. But I hate the fact that you’re doing it, you’re taking the chances with your life.”

“That’s the way it is,” he said softly.

“And there’s no changing it,” she replied. “I know.”

Markov came back into the room, holding a steaming glass of tea in each hand. The glasses were set into silvered holders. He hiked his eyebrows at the sight of Stoner and Jo side by side on the couch.

“Star-crossed lovers,” he sighed. “How I envy you.”

Stoner pulled his hand away from Jo and she reached for the handle of the glass that Markov offered her.

“Thank you, Kirill.”

“For you, beautiful one, I would conquer China so that you would be assured of the best tea whenever you desired it.”

She grinned at his flattery.

As Stoner sipped at his cooling coffee, the medical technician studied his wristwatch, hauled himself out of his chair and clicked off the little radio. The three of them watched him lumber back into the tiny office on the other side of the common room. Through the office window they could see him unlocking a medicine cabinet.