Бен Бова - Uranus

Raven shook her head in disappointment. Nothing there, she concluded. Nothing that lets me see inside the man. Nothing but a shining, glorified biography that was probably written by a public relations organization.

Her phone buzzed, startling Raven out of her musings.

“Answer, please.”

Evan Waxman’s handsome features appeared on her living room wall screen.

“Good evening,” he said, with a smile.

“Mr. Waxman,” said Raven, surprised.

“Evan.”

“Evan.”

“I see that you’re examining my biography.”

Raven felt a pulse of alarm. “I… I was curious about you.”

Waxman’s smile widened slightly. “Why don’t you come over to my quarters and I’ll tell you the story of my life.”

“Your quarters?”

“I’ve opened a bottle of very good Amontillado, and I really don’t like to drink alone.”

Raven’s thoughts swirled through her mind as she heard herself answer, “I’m not really dressed to go visiting, I’m afraid.”

“You look fine to me. Nothing to be afraid of.”

“I don’t know…”

“Please.”

She recognized the expression on his face. She had seen it many times before, on many faces.

“Well, if you think it’s okay…”

Waxman broke into a handsome grin. “I won’t tell Reverend Umber if you won’t.”

Raven smiled back at him. “All right. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

As she strode up to Waxman’s door, it slid open automatically for her. Stepping inside, she saw the man standing in the center of his living room, wearing a deep burgundy jacket over black trousers, a long-stemmed wineglass in one hand.

Waxman’s apartment seemed little different from her own. Slightly bigger, but the furnishings were very similar. The walls were hung with paintings, though: scenes of cities from the distant past, ancient Rome, Athens, other cities that Raven did not recognize.

Gesturing toward the images, Waxman said—almost sadly—“The glories of yesterday. Many of them have been drowned in the greenhouse floods.”

“How sad,” Raven murmured.

Brightening noticeably, Waxman said, “I promised you some wine.”

He turned toward the coffee table that rested in front of a sofa that was remarkably like the one in Raven’s own quarters. A slim bottle of wine stood in an ice bucket on the coffee table and a glass exactly like the one Waxman was holding rested beside it.

“Amontillado,” Waxman said. “I first discovered it in a story by Edgar Allan Poe. Been fascinated by it every since.”

Raven shook her head. “I never heard of it.”

He bent down, put down his own wine glass, and picked up the bottle and the empty glass. “I hope you like it,” he said as he poured.

Raven took a cautious sip. The wine tasted slightly bitter, almost tart.

“It’s good,” she lied.

Waxman nodded and gestured to the sofa. “Let’s get to know each other better,” he said.

Raven sat on the couch. Waxman sat next to her, close enough for her to smell the cologne he was wearing.

“I’ve read your personnel file,” he said, with a whimsical smile. “Is all that true?”

Raven made herself smile back at him. “Most of it.”

“It must have been a very difficult life. You must be glad to be here now.”

“I’m very happy to be here. For the first time in my life, I feel safe.”

Waxman took a long pull from his wine glass. Then he smiled and asked, “Even now?”

Raven blinked at him. “Are you suggesting that I shouldn’t feel safe now?”

His smile shrank noticeably. “The male ego is a very fragile thing, you know.”

Keeping her expression serious, Raven replied, “Sometimes the male ego turns violent.”

“You poor thing.”

“No, I’m not a poor thing. I’m a survivor. I’ve lived through hell, back on Earth. Now I’m striving for heaven.”

Waxman leaned back on the sofa and turned his eyes toward the ceiling, which sparkled with twinkling stars. “You’ve been talking with Umber, I see.”

“Once.”

“And do you intend to become one of his converts? One of his saved creatures?”

For several moments Raven did not answer. Her mind was spinning different responses to Waxman’s question. Finally she said, “I intend to become a free and independent woman, able to stand on my own feet and go my own way, without depending on anyone else.”

“That,” said Waxman, “is well nigh impossible. Everyone needs others to depend on. One person alone can’t make it in human society.”

“I intend to try.”

“Then why did you come here tonight?”

Raven hesitated again. At last she shrugged and answered, “Old habits die hard.”

“Ah.”

“I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have given you the impression that I was… available.”

Waxman sighed. “And I shouldn’t have given you the impression that I’m a predator.”

Raven stared at him. “You’re not?”

He grinned at her. “Not entirely.”

“I suppose this is where you tell me the story of your life.”

“You haven’t looked it up?”

“Your biography looks like a public relations job.”

He nodded. “And so it is.”

“What’s the real story?”

“Too dull to repeat. Until I met Kyle.”

“Reverend Umber.”

“Yes. He changed my life. Quite literally. Before I met him I was just a rich kid, like so many others. Just drifting through life. No ambitions, no goals.”

“And Reverend Umber changed that?”

“He did indeed,” said Waxman. “At first I thought he was crazy. Build a habitat orbiting the planet Uranus? Create a haven for Earth’s poor, downtrodden? For the forgotten masses, the people left to vegetate on the outskirts of our glorious interplanetary society? It sounded like pie in the sky. Fantasy. A pipe dream.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“I am indeed. I’m here among your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free. I’m here helping that madman build a better world.”

“That’s kind of wonderful.”

“It is that,” Waxman said, with some fervor.

Raven thought it over for a few silent seconds. Then she asked, “So where do you go from here?”

He made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a grunt. “Where do we go? Onward and outward. Enlarge Haven . Bring more of your downtrodden brethren here. Build additional habitats. Start a new nation—free, clean and safe for all.”

Raven shook her head. “There are some terrible people among Earth’s poor. Horrible people.”

“I know,” Waxman said, sighing. “I’ve been warning Umber about them. But he sees only the good in them.”

“You’ve got to protect him against them.”

“I try. We use computers to scan their records. We test them before we allow them to come to Haven .”

Raven remembered how she had maneuvered through the tests. She wondered how many others had done the same. How many murderers and thieves and hopeless scoundrels was Reverend Umber allowing into Haven ?

“Umber thinks God will turn all the refugees into saints,” Waxman said.

“That won’t happen, will it?”

“Hardly.”

“How can we protect him from the predators?”

Waxman’s brows rose in surprise. “We?”

“I want the reverend’s plan to succeed,” Raven said. “I want Haven to be everything Reverend Umber hopes for it.”

“So do I.”

“How do we do that?” she asked.

Leaning closer to her, Waxman said, “Well, to begin with, you might consider working with me instead of that astronomer.”

Raven pretended surprise. “Oh, I couldn’t leave Dr. Gomez! He’s like a little boy. He’d be lost without someone to look after him.”