Cecelia Holland - Floating Worlds

“Come on,” Cam said. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

Paula followed her across the lobby, the satchel in her left hand. “Come up to my room. I have a bottle of Black Label.”

“I never pass up an invitation like that.”

They went up a flight of steps. On the second-floor landing, the corridor branched off in three directions. Cam led her off down the middle. Two old people crept toward them, the woman leaning on two canes. She gave Paula a look focused three feet beyond her. Cam took her by the arm again.

“I think you’re—”

A Styth was walking down the corridor. Paula stopped, and Cam bumped into her. The Styth ignored them. He sauntered past, black as a stone in the white plastic Martian world. He disappeared out the door to the stairs, ducking his head to miss the lintel.

Cam said, “They walk like a bunch of women. It’s funny to see all those huge men pussyfooting around.” She strode across the corridor to a door. “Try the lock. It ought to be working by now.”

Paula set her thumb on the white patch on the door, and it slid back into the wall. The lights in the ceiling in the room beyond came up bright as sunlight. She walked into a room as big as the public room in her commune. At one end was a bar with three stools; at the other end a massive brick hearth, set up with logs and a revolving phony fire. She went around the couch to the long draped wall opposite the door and pulled at the curtains until she found an opening and looked out at a broad garden, laid out in curves and squares of hedge.

“Do you like it?” Cam said.

“It’s fantastic,” Paula said. She turned around again. The wall beside the door was an aquarium four feet square. She went toward it, drawn by the flight of red fish.

Cam said comfortably, “You pride yourselves on your poverty.” She opened the door behind the bar. Paula followed her into the next room. Her suitcase lay open on the rack at the foot of the bed. She put down the satchel and stepped out of her shoes. The carpet was deep enough to sleep on.

“Here.” She took out one bottle of the Scotch and gave it to Cam. “Go pour while I take a fast shower.”

“Fine.”

Cam went back to the opulent front room. Paula looked quickly around. The cushioned furniture and draped blue walls offered a dozen hiding places for spy devices. Cam had always been fond of gimmicks. She peeled off her clothes, stiff from travel, and found the washroom.

There was a sheet of fancy paper tucked into the mirror. “For Our Single Guests.” While she was turning in the dryer, she read it. “The Nineveh provides a wide range of excitement and self-discovery for the man or woman with sophisticated tastes.” Call girls, call boys. Press a button and we’ll send up an amputee. She remembered this had been Dick Bunker’s idea.

“Paula?”

“Yes?” She went out to the bedroom.

Cam turned, brisk, saw her, and averted her eyes. She scratched quickly at her upper lip. Naked people made her nervous. “The Akellar is on the videone. Not literally, they’ve disconnected the camera. He wants you to come up there now.” She glanced shyly at Paula’s body.

“I don’t want to do that,” Paula said. She took her long robe out of the suitcase. “Tell him my respects and I’d like to get some rest first.”

“Right-o.” Cam went out. Paula put the robe on and dug around in the suitcase for the belt. She heard Cam’s voice in the next room, rising with temper, and started through the door.

Cam stood over the videone in the far corner by the hearth. Her face was stained pink across the cheekbones. “Now, you listen to me, tough guy—” Paula went up to the videone and shut it off.

The Senator stepped back, her face smooth. They stared at each other a moment. Finally Paula went past her toward the bar.

“Tell me why you’re here, Cam.”

The bottle stood on the countertop, unopened. She circled the bar and squatted to take a glass from the shelf below the cold drawer. The bar was stocked with mixers and soft drinks.

“I don’t think you understand what this confrontation is all about,” Savenia said.

Paula straightened up. She poured Scotch into her glass. “Tell me.”

“The Styths are our enemies, Paula. They can never be anything else. They’re mutants. They’re genetic pollution.”

Paula took a bracing sip of the Scotch and licked her lips. She had heard that phrase before. Cam stalked across the room. “I can help you. I know a little bit about Styths, and about this Styth in particular. You are a sacrificial lamb, baby. Jefferson and Bunker have set you up.” She was a gifted speaker, all fire no matter what she was saying. She marched up to the bar. “He isn’t really human, Paula. Sometimes I don’t think the Committee is human either.”

“Have you ever heard of the Sunlight League?” Paula asked.

Cam’s face twitched. She put her white hands on the bar. “Are you listening to me? Because—” She backed up in a rush, startled, her eyes aimed beyond the bar.

Paula turned around. Her bedroom door was opening. A big Styth walked through it, not a tall man, for a Styth, massively built. He was staring at Cam. He said, “You think you’re a man, I’ll treat you like a man. You have until the light comes back to leave.”

Cam stood straight as a flagpole. She said, with great dignity, “This is my Planet, Akellar.”

Paula set her glass down. “Cam, you made your speech, now go.”

“I’m sorry for you, baby, but you’ll get what you deserve.” She went to the door. Her white face appeared over her shoulder. “You know, breaking and entering is against the law on Mars.”

The Styth took two steps toward her, and Cam went out. The sliding door sighed closed. Paula rested her hands on the edge of the bar. The big man wheeled toward her and looked at her down his long Styth nose. His eyes were round and black, protuberant, eyes for the dark. He said, “When I come into the room, you stand up.”

“I am standing up,” she said. “I’m very short. How did you get in here?”

“I walk through walls.”

“That must be hard work. Would you like a drink?”

He picked up her glass and swirled the dark amber liquor and drank the whole two fingers straight down. “Give me some of this.”

Paula filled up the short glass to the top. The sliding door whisked back into the wall, and Cam Savenia came in again. Three men followed her, identically dressed in gray jackets. One carried a weapon with a trumpet muzzle. Paula started around the bar.

Savenia pointed at the Akellar. “Him.” She touched the wall switch and the ceiling lights burst up, dazzlingly bright. The Akellar reached for the glass of Scotch. The air smelled of hot copper. Paula sniffed, puzzled. The three policemen stopped midway across the room, and the gun disappeared.

“Dr. Savenia, we’ve been told not to interfere with the Styths.”

Paula stopped at the end of the bar, relieved. Cam said, “Do you know who I am?” in a voice that squeaked.

The guards backed to the door. “Yes, sir, Dr. Savenia.”

Paula went around behind them to the light switch and dimmed the lights. The policemen filed quickly out. Cam stood where she was, staring at the Akellar. Paula said, “You must be tired, Cam, after all your labors. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Cam said, “When the Council hears this, there will be hell, I can tell you.” She left. The door slid closed behind her.

Paula laughed. The Styth rubbed his eyes. She put the bar between them again and poured another three fingers of Scotch into his glass. Maybe she could get him drunk.

“Do you think you’re a man?” he said.

“I’m not a Martian. I don’t have to be a man.” The stink of copper was coming from him. She opened the cold drawer. “Do you want some ice?”