Бен Бова - Uranus

But how to get to him? How to make him notice me? Raven realized she was dressed in the dreary uniform they had given her aboard the spacecraft that had carried her and the others from Earth. Mousy-gray, shapeless baggy trousers and an equally loose-fitting long-sleeved blouse.

He’d never notice me in this sack, she thought. How to attract him? How?

Standing in front of the row of new arrivals, Kyle Umber clasped his hands together and said, “All right, that’s enough from Evan and me. Now Mr. O’Donnell will show you to your quarters. You’ll have the rest of the day to yourselves, and tomorrow you’ll begin your new lives as citizens of Haven. May God be with you.”

With that, Umber turned and headed for the stairs that led up to the stage.

Waxman, beside him, asked in a voice loud enough for all the newcomers to hear, “Aren’t you going to jump up onto the stage?”

Umber laughed and shook his head. “Thou shalt not tempt the Lord our God,” he said as he took to the stairs.

Quincy O’Donnell led the thirty new arrivals out of the auditorium and down a long, straight passageway. No decorations on the walls. No pictures or windows. Nothing but bare metal and closed, unmarked doors. Raven could see that the passageway was not actually straight: it curved, in the distance, rising up and out of sight. But as she walked along with the others, it seemed perfectly flat. Strange, she thought.

Raven maneuvered past a rail-thin woman and a pair of reasonably healthy-looking young men to come up next to O’Donnell.

He towered over her, big and beefy, the expression on his florid face absolutely neutral, as if he were actually walking in his sleep.

“Will it be much farther?” Raven asked him, in a small voice.

O’Donnell’s face came alive instantly. Looking down at her, he asked, “Why? Is anything wrong?”

Raven temporized, “I’ve got a cramp in my leg.”

“A cramp?”

“I’m not accustomed to walking so far,” she said.

“Oh… well, we’re almost there. See?” He pointed. “There are nameplates on the doors here. Your quarters’ll be just a little bit further on.”

Raven nodded and conspicuously bit her lip.

“Are you in a lot of pain? Maybe—”

“No,” she said softly. “I can manage.” And she made herself limp ever so slightly.

O’Donnell looked confused, upset, almost guilty. “Only a few more meters now,” he said.

“That’s good,” said Raven. Inwardly she smiled at the big oaf’s concern. Easy pickings, she said to herself.

Sure enough, the doors on either side of the passageway started to show the names of the thirty newcomers. One by one they entered their quarters. Raven caught glimpses of the compartments inside: they didn’t seem very spacious, but they weren’t cramped, either. Nice enough, she thought. Above everything else, they seemed clean ! No rats, no spiderwebs, no water seeping down the walls.

At last they came to her place. The nameplate on the door read MARCHESI, R.

O’Donnell clicked the lock and slid the door open for her. Then, with a sweeping gesture, he ushered Raven into her new home.

She took two steps inside, then stopped.

“Is it all right?” O’Donnell asked, from out in the passageway.

Raven saw a sofa, a pair of sling chairs, a coffee table. To the right was a kitchen, with sink, refrigerator, shelves stocked with various cartons and bottles. To her left was an open door and, beyond it, a bed neatly made with sheets and a blanket and plump pillows with real pillowcases over them!

“Is it all right?” O’Donnell asked again.

“It’s wonderful!” Raven cried.

Then she turned, stepped outside again, threw her arms around his neck and kissed O’Donnell on the lips. “It’s wonderful,” she repeated.

O’Donnell’s face flamed tomato red.

“Well… it’s all yours,” he managed to mutter as he disentangled himself from her arms.

Raven stepped back into the living room. Her living room. Her very own. Dimly she heard the door slide shut behind her. Suddenly alone in her new home— her own home, all to herself —she raced into the bedroom and jumped full-length upon the bed.

It was soft and warm and safe. Raven had never been so happy in her life.

Raven woke to the sound of an insistent buzzing. She opened her gummy eyes, blinked several times, then sat up on the bed. It was real. The room, the bed, the warm coverlet tangled around her bare legs.

“It’s not a dream,” she said aloud.

Looking around, she saw that her bedroom walls were a soft yellow, the ceiling blank white.

My bedroom, she said to herself. My own bedroom, all to myself. And out past that door is a living room and a kitchen.

The buzzing rose a notch. Turning, Raven saw that it came from a phone console on the night table next to her bed.

“Phone answer,” she called out.

A woman’s face appeared on the phone’s small screen.

“Good morning, Miss Marchesi. You are scheduled for an orientation interview at oh-nine-hundred hours. The time is now oh-seven-thirty.”

“Where is my interview going to be?” Raven asked.

The woman’s brunette features froze for a moment, long enough for Raven to realize that this wasn’t an actual live person, but a computer image.

“Your interview will take place in your quarters at oh-nine-hundred hours. One hour and twenty-nine minutes from now.”

“Thank you,” said Raven.

The phone screen went blank.

Raven got up, showered, wrapped a towel around herself, then rummaged through the kitchen and made herself a bowl of cereal and a cup of strong black coffee. By 8:48 A.M. she was dressed in another of the dreary, baggy outfits that she’d found hanging in her closet.

My closet, she told herself. My very own closet in my very own bedroom in my very own apartment. She felt like dancing.

But she sat, demure and ladylike, on the living room sofa. They’re probably watching you, she told herself. You’d better behave like a proper lady.

Precisely at 0900 hours the front door buzzer hummed. Raven got up from the sofa, went to the door, and stopped, puzzled. She could not see any buttons or latches or controls for opening the door. Nothing but a small screen beside the door that showed a middle-aged woman, slim and good-looking, with well-coiffed short blond hair, standing out in the passageway.

Suddenly desperate, Raven called out, “How do I open the door?”

The woman outside broke into a bright smile. “Just say ‘Open please.’ The mechanism is tuned to your voice.”

Raven glared at the door and muttered, “Open please.”

The door slid open.

“Hello,” said the blond woman as she extended her hand. “I’m Cathy Fremont. I’m your orientation leader.”

Raven clasped her hand and gestured her into the living room. The door slid shut behind them.

“I’m sorry to be so stupid,” said Raven as she led Cathy Fremont to the sofa.

“This is all new to you, isn’t it?” Fremont replied as she sat down.

“Yes, it is.”

“You speak English very well, Raven. Is it all right for me to call you by your first name?”

“Yes, of course,” said Raven, sitting herself on the sling chair nearest the sofa. “I speak Italian, English, Spanish, German, a little Greek and a smattering of a few other languages.”

Fremont made an obviously forced smile. “How clever of you.”

Raven cocked her head slightly. “In my profession you learn languages quickly.”

“Your former profession,” said Fremont.

“Yes, of course. My former profession. I’m starting a new life here, aren’t I?”