Joe Haldeman - Worlds

“Would you mind elaborating?” I said.

“Simply that the Privy Council and Coordinators have determined that this action will benefit New New York, no matter what the outcome of the referendum (though they must believe it will fail) and no matter what the States’ response will be. Otherwise, they could have delayed the referendum until public opinion forced it onto the ballot.”

“How could New New benefit from having the Cape closed down?” Ian asked.

“No doubt there are others wondering that tonight. I don’t have the slightest idea,” he said carefully, and then slowly looked from wall to wall. Total silence. It had never occurred to me that this meeting room might be bugged. Me, of all people. “And, excuse me, it is naive to think that the U.S. must pass a law to restrict tourism. At any rate, such a law would not apply to us.

“The reality is this: a state of embargo already does exist between the U.S. and the Worlds. It need only be extended to the Cape, which in the eyes of international law is part of New New York. The Cape does not manufacture its own deuterium. They buy it from U.S. Steel through a contract monitored by the American Energy Department No fuel, no flights.”

Claire’s voice was shaking. “You mean the government of New New is willing to leave us all stranded here?”

“Possibly.” Wu shrugged elaborately, an oriental marionette imitating an occidental gesture. “This is where we chose to be.”

Benny was waiting for me in my room; we had agreed that the dorm’s lack of privacy was less unsettling than the ear under his bed. That I probably had one too was something we were aware of but no longer discussed.

I’d called him from the Liffey, and he had a fresh pot of tea waiting. I used a cup to thaw out my fingers and told him about the new developments.

“ ‘May you live in interesting times,’” he said. “Chinese curse.”

“I feel more like cursing in American. Damn it. Of all the times to be going away.”

“Where will you be Sunday?”

“London. That’s Christmas Eve.”

“At least you’ll be able to follow the news.”

“But I’ll feel so isolated.” I started pacing and slopped some tea on the rug. My first thought was that that was somebody else’s problem; I only had the room for one more day. Feeling guilty, I got a washcloth and cleaned it up. “I feel isolated already,” I said to the floor. “I won’t know anybody in the class except Hawkings. And I can’t really… talk to him.” A tear surprised me. It fell on my hand still warm. I sniffed and wiped my eyes.

“Your period?” Benny said.

“I didn’t know poets could count” I threw the cloth into the washbowl and looked at myself in the mirror. People with my color eyes shouldn’t cry. They look revolting bloodshot “That’s not it. I’m a big girl, don’t let hormones boss me around.”

I stood behind him and massaged his shoulders. “I just wish… I wish I could go home for a week or two, I guess. You can’t relax on this damned planet. Everything is so complicated.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and took my hands. “I know something simple.”

“You don’t mind the period?” He’d made excuses last time.

“We’ll make it an exclamation point” I pulled his hair for that and we wound up in a tickling match.

When I came back from the john, though, I was pretty much out of the mood, depressed again. But I worked hard at it, for Benny’s sake. Besides, it’s the second best thing for cramps.

For hours I couldn’t get to sleep. My mind was whirling; I couldn’t stay on one worry for more than a few seconds, before another one would creep in.

I woke up choking. There was a puddle of sweat under my back.

“Benny!” I shook him, hard.

He came awake immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“I—I don’t know.” I was panting, stuttering; it felt like I was being garotted. “Got, take me, infirmary.” Sudden pang of nausea. I threw off the cover and staggered across the room to the washbowl. Vomited but no relief, retching. Benny draped his heavy coat over me and held my shoulders. I was trembling uncontrollably, going hot and cold in quick flashes. He turned on the light.

“We’ve got to get you dressed,” he said quietly. I could hear him dressing himself, then gathering up my clothes from yesterday. The nausea abated a little. I washed out my mouth and tried to dress.

My knees buckled while I was getting into my jeans, and I fell halfway to the floor before Benny caught me. I couldn’t do the buttons on my blouse, hands shaking so. Benny got them wrong but I wouldn’t let him start over. A feeling of absolute dread growing: I was not going to make it to the infirmary. I was going to die.

We got my boots on and Benny waited outside the stall in the john while I shuddered through a few explosive moments of diarrhea. When we got outside, the cold air revived me a bit, and I leaned on Benny as we walked the two blocks to the Student Health Service. Halfway there, it all came back at once. I panicked and ran. Benny caught up with me and we lurched on together, his hand under my arm.

Then a blur: we got into the infirmary but I fell down while he was talking to the receptionist, they carried me behind a curtain and put me on a table, I tried to answer her questions but didn’t make much sense, tried to keep my hands at my sides but they kept wandering in the air, finally my whole body was bucking in convulsions and a man came in and rolled me over and pulled down my jeans, I felt the cold hypodermic nozzle against my hip and a sharp sting when it went off. Then everything stopped, like a switch being thrown. I went limp. The man tucked my blouse back in and helped me roll over. “Rest for a while.” I stared at the ceiling and reveled in the absence of symptoms, of desperation. What was it? Food poisoning? What had I eaten that Benny hadn’t—the hot dog! On the street. Benny said they made them out of anything, carcasses of animals from the pound and the zoo. Spices covered any odd flavor. I kidded him about his weak stomach and said I liked the idea of eating hippopotamus. Not anymore. I sat up. I felt fine, just light-headed. Cotton in my ears. I watched the clock. I would look away for a long time and look back and only seconds had passed. I looked at all the bottles and instruments around the room and wished I had a book.

My hearing returned (or maybe I just started listening) and I realized there was a man in the area next to me, softly crying. Another man was talking to him very quietly. I felt sorry for their lack of privacy, only a draped sheet between us. I fidgeted, itching from the diarrhea, and wished this godforsaken planet had bathtubs. I unbuttoned my blouse and buttoned it up right Got off the table and used a square of gauze to blow my nose, feeling vaguely guilty. We make hospitals into holy places and their appurtenances, icons. I dutifully got back on the table and the doctor came in.

“Are you feeling better?” She was a dully-looking woman in her fifties, white hair pulled severely back over a permanent expression of disapproval.

“I feel fine. Was it food poisoning?”

“Food poisoning.” She stuck a thermometer in my mouth and read it “No, you had an acute anxiety attack. A small nervous breakdown. We’ve had a lot of them the past week. Aren’t exams over?”

I nodded. It was all in my mind?

“You’re worried about grades?”

“No… it… it’s not school.”

“Trouble with your parents? A man?”

“Partly. I guess that’s it.” No, actually, I’m afraid a group of wild-eyed revolutionaries is going to tie me down and force-feed me sleeping pills and booze. Then they’ll kill Benny. Then the FBI will throw both our bodies in jail. Then the United States will blast the Worlds out of the sky. So what’s new with you?