Cecelia Holland - Floating Worlds

He started the motor and took hold of the wheel. The car rose steeply off the roofs. Halstead’s sailed away. Paula found herself clutching the seat, her breath stuck in her lungs. He circled once, climbing steadily up into the domelight, and raced back up the tree-covered ridge. A creek glittered a hundred feet below, winding between two fields. Horses drowsed in a pasture.

“Is this your car?”

“The cars belong to the Committee. I can’t afford one. Please don’t crash it.”

“All the Martians have air cars.”

“The Martians are rich.”

He went straight across the ridge and swooped in a long descending spiral toward the Committee House. His sense of direction was perfect. She wondered if he were using the compasses. Ketac ran out across the yard, yelling and waving his arms. The Akellar set the car down on its skids at the edge of the meadow.

The men piled out through the side doors. Ketac cried, “You should have seen where we went!” The Akellar sat behind the wheel, his hands moving uncertainly over the lighted dashboard. The engine hummed, overchoked. “How do I turn it off?”

She turned the switch on the steering column. He caught her hand. The last of his men went inside, and quiet fell. Hissing through the meadow, the wind bent the high grass and rustled the leaves under the oak tree. His fingers tightened on her hand.

“This is not what I expected,” he said.

She had to smile. She liked him, even if he had made a fool of himself at Halstead’s.

“What’s funny?” he said, his dignity still tender.

“Nothing. You’re a nice man.”

“Am I. I never thought I was that ordinary.” He leaned toward her to kiss her. His mouth tasted pleasant. She slid her fingers down the nape of his neck. They nuzzled and caressed each other, moving around on the broad seat. The steering grips gouged her in the ribs. Her hand slid over his thigh and he parted his legs. His fingers rolled and pulled at her nipple. They kissed again hotly. Abruptly he put his head back. His hand pressed exploring over her breast.

“Are you pregnant?”

She jumped. The steering grip dug into her side. “How—what makes you think that?”

“I’ve had some experience. You are, aren’t you. Is it mine?”

She put her hand up to her face. Her fingers smelled of him. They moved apart; now she was behind the steering panel, her back to the door.

“You people are so damned smart,” he said. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to prevent things like that. Did you do it on purpose?”

“No!” Pulling her shirt closed, she fastened the clips. “Here all the men are—you don’t have babies by accident here. A boy has an operation. To close the duct. If you want a baby, the man has to go have another operation.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “It never occurred to me you’d be natural. It was just once.”

“That’s all it takes. Why didn’t you tell me before? I can probably arrange an abortion.”

“If I wanted an abortion I’d have gotten my own.”

Behind her, in the yard, the rhythmic crunch of footsteps came nearer. She twisted to see through the window in the door. Ketac stood there, stooped to look in, and she swung the window open.

“Sweets wants to feed you,” he said past her to his father.

“I’m talking to her. Serve Tanuojin without me.”

“Yes, sir.” Ketac went away. Through the open window the wind blew cool. She turned her hot face to it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said.

“I didn’t know what you’d do.”

“What should I do?”

“Nothing. Forget you know.”

“You’re going to have it and bring it up, all by yourself? Can I ask you a delicate question? Are you sure it’s mine?”

His tone of voice grated on her feelings. She swung toward him. “I’ve had about two hundred different tests. It’s half-Styth, a boy, and you’ll be gratified to learn that claws and scent glands and probably hot tempers are dominant. I didn’t plan this, you didn’t plan it, so why don’t you forget the whole thing?” The domelight lay in a bar across his shoulder. His face was invisible in the dark. She turned her face back into the wind.

“A boy. He’ll go mad here. How can you tell that it’s a boy?”

“They have a test for it.” She drew a deep breath. Clear light poured over the meadow. The shadows lay black and sharp under the elm tree and the wheelbarrow tipped up against the side of the barn. “I was going to have an abortion. I went to a doctor and he tried to talk me into letting him transplant the embryo into a—a kind of a plastic mama. So he could study it. It was grotesque. I guess it was funny, too. I realized the baby was there, and alive, and mine.”

“It’s impossible. A Styth, in this place.”

“He won’t be a Styth here, he’ll be an anarchist.”

He took her hand and turned it over in his fingers. “Do you have enough money? I could send you money.” He held her hand against his cheek.

“I’ll do all right.” She stroked his face. That was how Styths kissed. “I’m hungry.”

“Let’s go eat.”

She woke up shivering. The window was open and the curtains blew in; the room was freezing. She burrowed down under the covers. She was alone in the bed, and she began to doze off again, warm under the covers. The door creaked, and the Akellar sat down on the bed beside her.

“Are you awake?”

“Ummmm.”

“What did you dream about? You were moving around.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Get up.” He poked her through the covers. “I want to go out. It’s dark now, I can see better.”

“Out where?”

“In the trees. Get up.” He pulled the blankets off her.

She put her clothes on. She remembered the dream: the baby had been born in two halves, and they had lost one half. The Akellar had been there in the delivery room, which had looked like an observatory. It would have been simple to sew the two parts of the baby together if they could have found the other half. Dressed, she went down with the Akellar to the kitchen and made them coffee. He strolled around the darkened room eating bread and cheese and apples.

“Turn the light on, if you want,” he said.

“I don’t mind. I spent half my childhood in the dark. My father never turned the lights on. He read somewhere that artificial light induces early puberty in girls.”

When he laughed his teeth flashed in the dark. “I’d like your father.”

“You’re too late, he’s dead.”

They walked up the hill, through old meadows. A line of white beehives stood under the trees at the edge of the open grass. A small dark beast loped away toward the trees, brush-tailed. The place was called Fox Hill. Paula stopped at the head of a slope and looked off to her left. The high meadow rolled down steep toward the valley, flat in the distance, ending at the foot of West Rock. She followed the Styth into the trees.

He stopped to look at everything; it was easy to keep up with him. The floor of the wood gave soft under her feet. White birch grew in clumps among the dark trunks of bigger trees. They circled the broken foundation of a long ruined house. Part of an old fireplace still stood at one end. Climbing a wall of piled stones, they started across another meadow.

A dog raced toward them through the grass. Paula froze. She could hear its growls. It charged past her toward the Styth and burst into a volley of barks. It was huge, some kind of mastiff. A chain collar glittered in the rolls of its neck.

“What’s that?” the Akellar said. The dog circled him, barking, and Paula went in between it and the man.

“Are you protecting me?” He sounded amused. The dog’s lips snarled back from its teeth. Paula flinched. The animal charged, not at her, at the Styth.