Frederik Pohl - Jem

“This isn’t a performance, damn it! They’re dying!” Two more of the predators had struck, and two more balloonists were caught farther down the shore. But at least it was not Charlie’s flock. None of those victims were friends. “See that stuff coming out of the female?” he asked. “Those are her eggs. They’re long spider-silk kind of things. They’ll float around forever, but they won’t be fertilized because none of the males have—”

“Fuck her eggs, little buddy. I’m rooting for the shark! What a killing machine! Shit, Danny, I can see why things are going badly here. You people picked the wrong allies. We ought to team up with the sharks!”

Dalehouse was scandalized. “They’re animals! They’re not even intelligent!”

“Show me a professor,” she said, “and I’ll show you a fart-brain. How intelligent do you have to be to fight?”

“Christ. The balloonists are our friends. We’ve got them doing surveillance for us. The ha’aye’i would never do that. Now you want us to line up with their natural enemies?”

“Well, I can see there might be problems.” She stared wistfully at the ha’aye’i, which had ripped away the inedible bag and was now feasting on the soft parts of its still-living prey. “Too bad,” she said philosophically. She stepped back toward Danny, still watching the spectacle, and took his hand.

“You’re really sure about this? There’s no way to persuade our gooks to get along with the sharks?”

“No way at all! Even if you could somehow reach the ha’aye’i to explain what you wanted. The ha’aye’i don’t even sing. That’s the whole meaning of life to balloonists. They could never deal with creatures that didn’t sing.”

“Oh?” Margie looked at him thoughtfully. Then she released his hand and sat down again, leaning back on her arms and looking up at him. “Tell me, Danny, would you like to make me sing?”

He stared at her. Why, she was sexually excited by watching the slaughter!

He glanced at the top of the bluff, where the back of the head of the orderly was motionless in sight. “Maybe we’d better be getting back,” he said.

“What’s the matter, sweetie? Don’t like having an audience? Tinka won’t bother us.”

“I don’t care about her.”

“Then what?” she asked cheerfully. “Hey, I bet I can guess. You’re hassled about the colonel.”

“Tree? He’s got nothing to do with me.”

“Aw, come off it, sweets.” She patted the ground beside her. After a moment, he sat down, not very close. “You think I’ve been getting it on with old Nguyen the Tryin’.”

“No. I don’t think it, I know it.”

“And suppose I have?”

“Your business,” he said promptly. “I’m not saying it isn’t. Maybe I’ve got some sexist-pig notions, but—”

“But no maybe. You fucking well do, Danny-boy.” She was smiling without softness now.

He shrugged. “Let’s go back, colonel.”

“Let’s stay here. And,” she said, “I’ve got the rank on you, and when a colonel says ‘let’s’ to a captain, what it means is do it. ”

There was no more stirring in Dalehouse’s groin; he was both angry and amused at his own anger. He said, “Let’s get this straight. Are you ordering me to fuck you?”

“No. Not at the moment, dear boy.” She grinned. “I hardly ever order officers to fuck me. Only enlisted men, and very seldom them, because it’s bad for discipline.”

“Are you saying the colonel ordered you to fuck him?”

“Danny dear,” she said patiently, “first, he couldn’t — I’ve got the rank. Second, he wouldn’t have had to. I’d fuck Guy any time. For any reason. Because he’s technically my superior officer and I don’t want to rub in the fact that I’m the one who’s commanding. Because it’d make things go smoother on the mission. Because it’s interesting to get it on with somebody half my size. I’d fuck a Krinpit if it would help the war effort, only I don’t know how we’d bring up the kids. But,” she said, “a girl’s entitled to a certain amount of non-goal-oriented recreation, too, and Danny, I really have the fondest memories of you from last year in Bulgaria.”

Fully relaxed, she rummaged under her for her clothes and pulled out another joint.

Dalehouse watched her lighting it. Her body was tanned over every inch — no bikini marks — and looking a lot better than the fishbelly white that came after a while on Jem. She scratched between the crease that hid her navel and her pale pubic hair, exhaled peacefully, and passed him the joint. The thing was, Dalehouse conceded to himself, that he really had the fondest memories of her last year in Bulgaria, too, and it did not seem to matter that he also had some bad memories.

“You know the thing that gets me about you?” he asked. “You make me laugh about a hundred different ways. Lean over this way, will you?”

When they had used each other up, they rested for a moment. Then Margie jumped up and dashed into the water again. Dalehouse followed; they splashed and roared; and as they came out he was astonished to discover that suddenly he didn’t feel quite used up anymore. But Margie was calling up the bluff, “Tinka! Time hack!”

“Thirteen twenty hours, ma’am!”

Margie slipped into her fatigues quickly and leaned over to kiss Dalehouse as he was standing with one leg in his pants. “Time to get back. I’ve got a busy afternoon before the dance, and Danny, I’d appreciate it if you’d do something for me.”

“What’s that?”

“Teach Tinka how to do that balloon thing this afternoon.”

“Why?”

“I want her to run an errand for me. It’s important.”

He considered. “I can get her started, anyway. But I don’t know if she can learn it all in a few hours.”

“She learns fast, I promise. Come on — I’ll race you back!”

They ran the hundred meters. Marge got off first, but by the time the outpost was in sight Dalehouse had caught up with her. As he passed she reached out and took his hand and pulled him back to a walk. “Thanks for the exercise,” she panted.

“Which exercise — swimming, running, or fucking?”

“All of them, dear Danny.” She breathed hard, and then, just before they got within earshot of the perimeter guards she halted him. “One thing I ought to mention to you,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“I just want to set the record straight. With Nguyen Tree I’m fucking. With you I was making love.”

Twelve on perimeter guard, two in sick bay, three in the comm shack, and eight more on the other twenty-four-hour details that always had to be manned: that left over a hundred and twenty people in the Food camp, and nearly every one of them was at the dance. Marge congratulated herself as she flung through a hora. It was a big success. When the dance ended and the rhythm changed to something Latin, she shook off the three men who came toward her. “I’ve got to sit this one out and catch my breath,” she said. “After the next number I make my little speech. Then you’re all on.”

She retreated behind the little stand and sat cross-legged on the ground, breathing deeply. Marge Menninger’s parents had endowed her with good genes, and she had taken care of the equipment; after a long day and a solid hour’s dancing she was not tired and her wits were all about her. And the day had been not only long but good. She had got the camp over their scare about the loss of the three people by treating it as if it didn’t matter. She had brought them all together in the dance. She had laid the groundwork for Tinka’s little mission, organized an effective perimeter guard, broken the back of the job of unloading and stowing cargo, and begun six other tasks equally important. And she had got it on with Dan Dalehouse, on terms of her own making but obviously acceptable to him. That was a personal matter, but not unimportant. Marge was careful to keep an eye on long-range prospects. And as a possible permanent future pair, if permanent pairing turned out to be the way things were going to go on Jem, Dalehouse was the best bet she had yet identified.