Fighting Gravity (27 page)

I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles creaked, but I didn’t feel the urge to hit her. I just felt sick, cold, and empty. I retreated to my cell.

-

Four more months I kept my head down, and went mechanically through a daily routine of eating, working, and sleeping.

While Enten was an easy enough companion, I wouldn’t have called him a friend. I got the idea that friendships weren’t common on Dead End and Enten didn’t try to forge one with me any more than I did with him.

Then, one day near the end of my six months, Kafe brushed past me in the common room.

“I’ve got a going away present for you,” she said.

The next evening I was backed into a corner and a big, bald goon punched me. I tried to pull away, but he grabbed my hand, which I’d curled instinctively in a fist, and slammed it into the wall. Then he punched himself in the nose and I watched in horror as the slow line of blood trickled into his grinning mouth.

The inmates who “found” us swore we’d been fighting, and my bruised, scraped knuckles, and the fact that we’d been in a corner where the surveillance devices had been disabled, were testimony enough against me.

I served my last eight days of work detail in solitary.

I began to think I was really alone, left adrift in a universe void of any life at all, so that mine too was just a fading nothing. I began to think I was going mad. I began to want to.

The next day, as they processed me for discharge, I couldn’t get it out of my head that they were just going to jettison me into space after all.

But they returned to me the things I’d brought with me—none of which, I realized, were mine anyway. Even Pete’s ring.

I boarded the ship, trembling with anxiety, choking, paranoid fears, and relief. And I left Dead End.

-

On the cargo ship back to Earth, I was given crew quarters. Apparently I wasn’t a prisoner anymore. But when we docked at the station orbiting Earth, I was escorted to the shuttle by two armed guards. Maybe not a prisoner, but not free either. Not until I got to wherever I was to be Settled. Not ever again, really.

We boarded a shuttle for Earth. I bit down on hope, reminding myself that it didn’t matter if it was Earth or elsewhere. Wherever I was going, it would be far from anyone or anything I knew, and I wouldn’t be leaving again. There was still a thrill of relief when the greens and blues began to sharpen into the recognizable continents and oceans of my home planet.

Once we landed I was escorted to yet another transport. While it wasn’t a mobile brig, it was still an ISS vehicle, with nothing but rows of seating in the areas accessible to me. I was the only inmate aboard so I sat beside the window with my forehead against the poly, watching the countryside slip by, trying not to wonder where I was being taken.

Much of it began to look familiar. It seemed like a particular cruelty to Settle me somewhere that would always make me think of the places I really wanted to be.

At least we weren’t moving toward the ocean.

We entered a mountainous area and I closed my eyes, hoping we would pass through quickly. Whatever it was that made me open my eyes just then, I saw the transport crest the last mountain and slide down into a long, level valley.

A flat, glassy lake sat almost dead center, reflecting from its mirror surface the mountains in reverse. And a cluster of buildings, stark white, with no frill or ostentation. Matter efficiently shaped and defined. I caught my breath.

We pulled into one of the IIC’s parking hangers. Waiting there was Dr. Okoro, alone. I made it off the transport before my knees gave out. Dr. Okoro pulled me up, pressed my head to his shoulder, and held me tight until the trembling passed.

fg
30

Are you all right?” he asked, when I finally lifted my head and pulled away.

“Sure,” I said wryly. He accepted my attempt to deflect the question and led me into the building. When we entered he turned down one of the service hallways.

“Trying to avoid the welcoming committee?” I asked, with another attempt at sarcasm.

“No one’s expecting you,” he said, “I just you thought you might want a chance to regroup before you had to see anyone.”

“No one knows I’m here?”

“Director Harris received word this morning and he told only me. It was a relief to finally have real news of you.” He started to frown in what I recognized as his preferred method of reproof, but wiped it off his face. The simple familiarity of it made me catch my breath.

“I wrote to you,” I said. “When I was still at the palace and scheduled for execution. I wasn’t going to send it until the last minute. Once I found out I wasn’t going to be executed, well, it all happened so fast I didn’t think about writing new letters. And then I was taken away and I wasn’t allowed to write. Truly. I would have.”

“I understand,” he said, mollified. We continued on our way in silence.

“Don’t you want to ask me?”

“You don’t have to tell me anything. If you want to talk, you know I will always be here. But you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“I can only imagine what you’ve heard. The gossip channels aren’t known for accuracy and even the legitimate news isn’t much better.”

“Yes, of course. But I know better than to believe everything I hear. I know you; you’re not a bad person. Whatever happened, happened. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

We didn’t talk any more, mostly because I was too overwhelmed to say anything. Before long he turned into one of the hallways of the junior fellows’ dormitories. I hadn’t thought about it yet, but I realized that was probably what I was now. We didn’t encounter anyone; it was the dinner hour and everyone would be in the dining hall. We came to a room, about midway down a hall somewhat central in the building.

“So Chuck doesn’t know I’m here?” I asked.

“Not yet.”

“Or Kirti?”

“She’s made it clear that she finds news of you unwelcome.”

I was crushed, even though I should have expected as much.

“Will you tell her?” I asked. He looked uncomfortable. “I know she probably won’t want to hear, but will you just tell her I’m here? Tell her I asked for her to know?”

“I will.”

I looked around me. The room was small and plain by the standards of the palace, and a mansion compared to a cell on Dead End. Dr. Okoro sank into one of the chairs and talked of general nonsense to catch me up with the goings on at the IIC. On the one hand, I’d been gone three years, but on the other, the IIC was a static environment and little ever changed. What he told me was mostly gossip and minutiae. I loathed every word.

I should have been ecstatic, or at least relieved to be back at the IIC. I’d steeled myself for the worst and instead I was home; with my friends and what I had that resembled family.

Instead, depression descended on me like a blanket and I clung to it, wrapping it around me and hiding my face in it like a child. As if I could make everything go away. Everyone.

I tuned out the actual words and just let the sound of his voice lull me into a stupor. I woke a few hours later, still in the chair and alone.

-

The sound of a door opening and closing woke me in the morning. I got up and found Chuck in the outer room. I hadn’t seen Chuck in more than two years and I felt guilty about that, considering most of that time I’d had more than the means to keep in touch. Chuck, on the other hand—being Chuck—apparently hadn’t noticed the lapse.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, “Look at you. I thought those Resettlement places were supposed to be bad news. I was all prepared to find you half dead.”

I tried to smile. Everything about him and his manner should have lightened my spirits. I tried to pretend, for him. “They’ll just have to try harder next time, I guess.”

He grinned at me. “Whatever. Here, breakfast.”

He talked as we ate. I let him carry on. I was less and less inclined to talk about anything at all.

After breakfast I went to see Director Harris and was admitted to his office. He stood, and met me halfway into the room, holding out his hand to shake mine. I gave it to him, bewildered.

“Mr. Dawes,” he said, “It’s good to see you again.”

I very nearly asked him why. It seemed such a ridiculous sentiment, no matter who it was coming from.

“Are you well?” he continued.

“Well, enough. But please call me Jacob. If you don’t mind,” I tacked on, suddenly unsure that he’d even want to. But he smiled in response.

“Thank you. Have a seat. We need to talk about your transition back into the IIC.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can take as much time as you need, Jacob. There’s no need to rush this.”

“I’m fine, sir.” I realized I was fiddling with Pete’s ring on my finger and snatched my hand away.

“Well, I can understand that. I can’t stand being idle, myself. Dr. Bartel will be expecting you when you leave here. He’ll be giving you your assignment and what remains of required education for you. Naturally you’ll be taking direction from him, as your department head, in all such matters. But I want you to know that my door is always open if you ever have any questions or concerns.”

“Thank you, sir. I do have one question: My status here.”

He looked puzzled. “Oh,” he said, comprehension dawning. “You mean, the circumstances that have returned you to us, how they affect your standing?”

I nodded.

“Ah, well, I do have a list of restrictions, but mostly things I’m to be aware of, not things I need to actively enforce. And I’ll make sure you receive a copy, though I imagine you already have.” I had. “But beyond what you’re aware of, restrictions on your location and on communication outside the IIC, your status here is no different than that of any of your peers. Whatever ignominy brought you here, it does not come within these walls. You face no censure or fallout here. That matter has nothing to do with us.”

I must have looked skeptical. In truth, I was reeling inside. Part of my mind was still trying to accept as truth the fact that I’d never be alone on the surface of that asteroid again.

“People, of course, will hold their own opinions,” he said. “I know that. But I won’t allow you to be discriminated against or harassed in any way. What happened elsewhere is elsewhere.”

I wasn’t quite sure what to say. He’d always been kind and understanding, but I’d broken the most important of all the unwritten rules of the IIC.

As a group of scientists and scholars, what we did was beyond the understanding of the majority of the citizens of the Empire and even most of those in authority, those who could and did have a say in our future. We lived and died on our reputation.

Being known as a group above reproach, who did great—if mostly incomprehensible—things for the Empire, was essential. And, even when it mattered little in a practical sense, it was a reputation fiercely guarded. Internal scandals or failures were kept quiet whenever possible; a rule understood and obeyed by all. We were prestigious and held in awe based largely on an amorphous concept of acetic devotion to the present and future greatness of the Empire.

I’d transgressed in that area the first time years ago when Director Kagawa had been Resettled; removed publicly and in disgrace. And there were those who judged and condemned me for sullying the reputation of our community with something as vulgar and plebian as a very public love affair. But now I’d been banished to the IIC in infamy. There was no one in the Empire who did not know of my crimes, my fall, and with that, my origins and life story. My ignominy was forever linked to the IIC.

Communities like ours did not countenance such things. And they enforced their own brand of censure. Director Harris, on the other hand, was implying that I’d done nothing like tarnishing the name of the institution and, by extension, everyone in it; that I wasn’t to be held to account for my crimes against my colleagues.

He was mad. Generous and kind, but deluded. So I thanked him and excused myself to go and see what would really become of me now.

-

I reported to Dr. Bartel in his large office near the entrance to the Physics wing. I entered after I knocked, knowing I was expected. He looked up from his desk, frowning. “I don’t know the habits at the palace, Mr. Dawes, but here it’s customary to wait for an invitation before you enter someone’s office.”

I’d had my encounters with Dr. Bartel in the years I’d lived at the IIC before. Probably more than with most of the adults. He was stern and serious but I’d never found him unfair or prejudicial. I was to learn that his fair, even-tempered treatment of me before was a product of lack of interest in me personally, and the lack of any particular opinion of me one way or the other.

He had formed one now.

“I apologize, sir. I was told you were expecting me.”

“That makes no difference, Mr. Dawes,” he snapped. I bit my tongue and kept my peace, but he waited for a response.

“Forgive me, sir. I misjudged.”

He nodded. “I’ve reviewed your file. You have completed your required education to this point to the satisfaction of the responsible faculty.”

“I’ve also kept up on my continuing education requirements, sir. I am ahead of my classmates in this.”

He looked at me with clear disapproval. “Interrupting is also frowned upon here. But you’re correct. I have decided to allow the work you completed at the palace to count toward your lab requirements.”

I was seething. I had done groundbreaking work over the past few years. He was going to
allow
that to count toward my lab time requirements? I merely nodded acknowledgement, not trusting myself not to say something unfortunate.

“Therefore, it is the consensus of the responsible committee with Director Harris’s approval that you be granted the status of junior fellow. If you keep your current pace you will be a Fellow in less than two years. That would be faster than normal which, in spite of your impressive accomplishments, I find surprising.”

I didn’t answer. I had my hands clasped behind my back to prevent doing anything that I would regret. I realized I was fingering the damn ring again and for a moment I considered taking it off. Only a moment.