The Star Fox

Two and a fifth times the diameter of Earth, nine and a half times the mass, Staurn rolled immense against darkness. The seas shone royal blue, the continents, blurred by snow-colored cloud bands, were ocher and cinnabar. Along the horizon, atmosphere made a violet rim; over the whole, under the irradiation of a hot FS sun, ran a fluorescence which near the poles became great banners of aurora, shaken aloft into space. Two moons were visible beyond, glacially luminous, and further yet there glittered strange constellations.

“When I see something like that,” Heim murmured at length, half to himself, “I wonder.”

Vadász stopped playing and cocked a birdlike glance at him. “What do you wonder?”

“Why the hell we waste time hating and killing, which we might use to—Argh, never mind.” Heim got out his pipe. “It only takes one to make a quarrel.”

Vadász studied him, “I’ve come to know you somewhat well, Gunnar,” he said. “You are not given to the role of Hamlet. What is the real trouble?”

“Nothing!”

“Ah. Excuse me if I pry, but this whole enterprise depends on you. Is it the lady’s unexpected arrival that is so disturbing?”

“A surprise, no more. We used to be friends.” Heim became busy loading his pipe. The Magyar’s steady look forced him to explain further. “My wife and I had quite a bit to do with the Lawries, years ago. They went off to Ourania in the Epsilon Indi System shortly before Connie died, to establish a machine-tool factory in the colony there. Things can’t have worked out too well, because she came back last year, .divorced. The conflict with Alerion was already serious, even if they hadn’t yet attacked New Europe, and she became active in the peace movement. It had her shuttling around the world, so we only met again a few times, briefly, at large loud parties. I, uh, half doubted she’d speak to me now, after what I’ve done.”

“And are pleasantly amazed, eh? She is indeed attractive. You must find her especially so.”

“What do you mean?” Heim bridled.

“Oh … “ Vadász’s grin was disarming. “One does not wish to get too personal. However, Gunnar, busy though you were, I felt you were mistaken not to, um, prepare yourself for a long cruise in strictly male society.”

Heim grinned back. “I’d trouble enough concocting stories to explain your absences. How could I tell Lisa her hero was out tomcatting?”

“Touché” Vadász went tomato red and attacked his guitar with great vigor.

But he has a point, maybe, Heim thought. I could have—well, Connie would’ve understood. The way she understood about Jocelyn. Lord knows there’ve been other women since—Maybe 1 was thinking too hard about Madelon on New Europe. Damned foolishness. Or—I don’t know, I’m all confused.

That was what he remembered, afterward.

—His finger was not quite steady when he pressed the button on her door. She opened it while the chime was still sounding. “Gunnar,” she said, and took both his hands. “I’m so glad you could come.”

“You were nice, to invite me,” he said.

“Nonsense. When two old friends meet again, halfway between home and the Southern Cross, what else do they do but have a private gabfest? Come in, man.”

The door closed behind them. He looked around. Her cabin was large and comfortable, and she had made it her own. He recognized some things from her lost San Francisco home—a Matisse and a Hiroshige reproduction, some worn volumes of Catullus, Yeats, Tagore, Pasternak, Mosunic-Lopez, the flute he had once loved to heat her play—and there were a few souvenirs of her years in the Epsilon Indi System, less from Ourania than from stark New Mars. His attention returned to her and stayed. She had on an electric blue dress and a Gean necklace of massive silver. The outfit was at once quiet and stunning. Or was that simply the contents?

Whoa, boy! he checked himself. Aloud: “You haven’t changed.”

“Liar. But thanks.” Her eyes dwelt on him. “You have, anyway. Tired and bitter.”

“Why, no, I feel happier now than—” His protest was cut off. She let his hands go and went to a table where bottles and ice stood.

“Let’s do something about it,” she said. “As I recall, you’re a Scotch drinker. And here’s some sho-nuff Glenlivet.”

“Eh? You always preferred light wine.”

“Well, Vie—Dr. Bragdon, you know—he shares your taste, and very kindly gave us this from his locker.” She poured. For a moment the clear gurgle was the only sound in the universe.

What the devil right have I to feel jealous? “I’m not sure what, uh, you’re doing out here with him.”