Frederik Pohl - O Pioneer!

When he said as much to Rina, sitting pensively across from him and nibbling a stalk of celery while he ate, she shrugged. “Hagbarth’s had plenty of time to hand out favors. I guess they owe him, don’t you think? That’s how politics works.”

“I suppose.” Then he looked at her more closely. “You’re not eating,” he accused. She shrugged again, and he remembered some of the things he’d learned about pregnancy. “Hey! What is it, is it this morning-sickness business?”

“It turns out it isn’t just in the morning,” she admitted ruefully. “Now, Shammy, don’t get all worried about it. It’s just something that pregnant women do. I’m going to go to the clinic this afternoon for a checkup anyway, and they’ll give me something for it.”

“I’m going with you,” he announced. “I—wait a minute.” There was an action message coming in on his screen, and when he looked at it what it said was that the Delt delegation would be arriving in ninety Tupelovian minutes. “Damn,” he said. “Well, I’m going to go with you anyway.”

“Oh, hon. That’s sweet of you, but what’s the point? I can handle it by myself; you stay home and work until it’s time to meet the Delts.”

But Giyt didn’t stay home, he went right along with her, as much to be ready to glare down any citizen who chose to give his wife any dirty looks as because he thought she needed company.

There wasn’t any of that. Business was slack at the little hospital building, and the couple of people sitting in the waiting room seemed more concerned with their own problems than with whatever was happening with the Giyts. The doctor on duty took Rina into the examination room without comment, except to firmly veto Giyt’s notion of coming with them, leaving Giyt with nothing to do but wait.

The proper place for that was the waiting room, but Giyt was too restless for that. He roamed around the little building, pausing in front of the window that looked on the cribs for newborns. There was only one baby there, with a medic who looked faintly familiar bending over her. Giyt wondered what it would be like to see his own child in that place, perhaps exchanging with other new fathers the ritual cigars that nobody was ever going to smoke . . . if anybody was going to be friendly enough with Giyt for that sort of sociability. If, for that matter, they were still going to be on Tupelo when the baby got around to being born.

The medic had finished what he was doing with his charge, saw Giyt outside, and came out to speak to him. “Remember me?” he asked. “I was the one who helped you with the kid that was choking? Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I’m on your side. So’s Cheryl here,” he added, nodding to the woman who had come out of the pharmacy across the hall.

“So are most of us,” she said, shaking Giyt’s hand. “I don’t go much for politicians, but I can stand you a lot better than that damn Vardersehn woman. She was always coming around and telling us what to do. At least you don’t interfere.”

So Giyt was in a much better mood when Rina came out of the examining room. “She gave me a patch,” she said, showing it. “She says that’ll control the nausea—and listen, hon, you don’t have to come home with me. Go welcome the damn Delts. You’re a sweet man, but you worry too much,”

But actually, he told himself on the way over to the portal he couldn’t help worrying about her. Maybe worrying wasn’t exactly the right word. He was sensible enough to know that morning sickness wasn’t a life-threatening kind of thing. What was on his mind was that he wanted to protect her. Evesham Giyt, who had never concerned himself with covering any ass but his own, had now assumed total responsibility for the well-being of the woman he had married. It wasn’t a rational thing; it was the old story of the caveman guarding his mate.

And when he got to the square and saw Hagbarth preparing to take his place at the switches, he gave the man a belligerent look, but succeeded in not going over to him and punching him in the nose. Hagbarth looked startled and turned hastily away. Which gave Giyt some minor satisfaction.

All the other mayors were there, with a large company of Delts waiting to greet their dignitaries. Giyt nodded to Mrs. Brownbenttalon, returned the gesture when the Petty-Prime Responsible One waved a paw at him, even got a greeting from the new Kalkaboo High Champion. One of the Delts broke ranks to come over to him; Giyt recognized him as the pilot from their trip to Energy Island. “Hey, you Earth Person Giyt,” he said affably, both eyes on Giyt. “Greetings. Regrettings, too, because hear stinky Hagbarth person trying screw you. Pity. All us Delts think you not quite so bad. Comparing to other Earth persons, I mean. Sorry we can’t vote, this matter none of our business, you know.”

“Well, thanks,” Giyt said, somewhat touched.

“Anyway,” the Delt went on, one eye wandering toward the portal, where the golden glow was just beginning to develop, “what I wanted asking you, what do you think? How long you guess it take them for bouncing you out? Reason want to know, can then get bets down in the pool.”

By the time Giyt got home again he felt reasonably sure that if the recall vote included all the eeties on Tupelo, he would probably win in a landslide. It didn’t, of course. But, all the same, it was a cheering thought, at a time when such thoughts were scarce.

Rina greeted him at the door, looking flushed and pleased with herself. “I’ve got something to show you, Shammy. Come in here a minute.”

What she had to show him was her screen, which was displaying a freeze frame of eight or nine human beings, all looking either solemn or angry or just dejected. “It’s that Shura Kenk’s deportation hearing, hon. It took a little hunting, but I found it. Only I don’t think it’s much use for what we want, because there aren’t any lawyers there, either.”

She touched a key and the picture began to move, Giyt gazing wonderingly at it. It wasn’t much of a trial, if that was what it was supposed to be. Not only weren’t there any lawyers, there didn’t seem to be any witnesses, either. Former Mayor Mariam Vardersehn was sitting in what appeared to be the chair, while Hoak Hagbarth was reading a list of accusations concerning Shura Kenk. Who sat in a straight-back chair, listening but hardly speaking; she was the one who looked dejected, and had reason enough.

There did not seem to be a lot of justice being dispensed at this hearing. Even the complainant, the twelve-year-old Grayhorn boy, wasn’t present. When Hoak Hagbarth had finished, the half a dozen others in the room—Silva Cristl and three or four others Giyt recognized to be from the fire-house prominent among them—whispered among themselves for a moment or two. Then Cristl nodded to the mayor. “Looks like she’s probably guilty, Mariam,” she said, “and anyway what can we do? The eeties wouldn’t have any respect for us if we let somebody like that stay here. So she has to go.”

That was it. All that was left was for Mayor Vardersehn to pronounce the sentence. “Since a jury of your peers has found you an undesirable presence on this planet,” she lectured, “you are hereby given forty-eight hours to collect—what?” As Hagbarth was whispering to her. “Oh, sorry, I was thinking of something else. You’re given sixty-seven Earth hours—two Tupelo days, that is—to collect your belongings and report to the portal for return to Earth. The session is concluded.”

“What do you think, Shammy?” Rina asked anxiously as the screen went black.

He said, “I think it’s a classical frame-up.”

“Well, yes, but did you notice something else? Do you remember what Lupe said, that Kenk claimed the real reason they were out to get her was something about the Pole?”