Fighting Gravity (30 page)

I nodded, too conflicted to know what to say. On the one had there was relief, even a surge of excitement in knowing that Pete was coming and that I would see him, hear him. But at the same time, my stomach was in knots that multiplied with each restriction placed on me.

It wasn’t embarrassment, as Director Harris seemed to expect. No, it was anger at the insult of being more than marginalized, of being made to disappear. They were making me a nameless, faceless part of the crowd that would watch Pete come and would watch him go as any of hundreds of crowds had and hundreds more would. He’d be
right there
but every attempt was being made to make it so that I
wasn’t
. Not physically, no that was the insult in it. I would be required to be there physically. I’d simply be disregarded, of no consequence, immaterial.

“Jacob,” he continued tentatively, as if reluctant to pull me from my thoughts, “it has occurred to me that there was no specific
requirement
for you to be in the group, simply that you’re permitted to be, and you mustn’t distinguish yourself from the crowd in any way. You could hardly be accused of doing that if you didn’t join the group at all. If you were to keep to your room or a lab for the day, you could avoid the whole matter without having to leave the grounds.”

I watched his expressive, kind face for a long moment. I wasn’t considering his offer at all. It was impossible to think that Pete would be here, with the restriction of being near him lifted, and that I would avoid seeing him. If the price of that was that I had to accept the humiliating position of being made invisible, so be it. To see him in person, to hear his voice, to watch him for hours, the play of his expressions, his quirks of movement and habit…even the thought filled me with helpless longing. No, I wouldn’t stay away.

I delayed answering the director because I knew that the decision I’d already made was the wrong one; that I should decide to hide away because it was safer for both of us. But I couldn’t bring myself to even consider doing what I knew was the right thing to do.

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think that’s necessary. You’re right, this will be uncomfortable, but I’ll be fine.”

He nodded soberly. “I understand. It’s up to you, of course. I want to help in any way I can. You just let me know what you need and we’ll work this out, OK?”

I couldn’t begin to express my gratitude to this man. How could I ever say how much his empathy meant to me in that moment? “Thank you, sir. Truly, thank you for everything.” I reached out and shook his hand and I think, from my manner and my expression, the pressure of my hand on his, I think he heard what I couldn’t say. He smiled and squeezed my hand before letting go.

“Anytime, Jacob. Anytime.”

I left the room calmer than I had entered it and didn’t even stop myself when I realized I was rubbing the ring again. There was still a horrible jumble of emotions knotting up my gut, but I felt stronger and the stirrings of hope that this was, in fact, not going to be the death of me in one way or another.

-

I was on my way to the lab when a servant passing in the hall informed me of a mandatory meeting of the entire physics department that had started ten minutes earlier. I hadn’t read past the first announcement in the morning bulletin and had missed the part about the meeting. I hurried to the main physics hall. Unfortunately the doors into the room were opposite where Dr. Bartel stood addressing the assembled scientists. When I entered, he turned and waited, watching me as I found a seat. Sean had saved one for me and I slid into it.

“So good of you to join us, Mr. Dawes,” Dr. Bartel intoned dryly. “Now,” turning back to the group, he continued, “there are some projects that the senior fellows and I have determined will be a part of the exhibit. After I list these we will entertain your ideas as to which projects will fill the remaining slots. The selections are as follows: Dr. Smith’s work on micro-gravity, Dr. Natanail’s theorem on relative viscosity, Dr. Kor’s ongoing work with heavy matter, Mr. Dawes’s project on refined matter as well as his project on macro-gravity—”

“No, sir,” I interrupted, “I don’t think I should include my projects in this exhibit.”

Everyone turned to look at me. “Mr. Dawes,” Dr. Bartel said, his face hard and his voice cold, “I imagine that you find this experience distasteful, but your personal feelings, sir, have no bearing whatsoever on the decisions I will make for this department. We have decided your projects will be included in the exhibit and therefore you will prepare displays of your projects for the exhibit. Whether you want to or not.”

I stood. “Sir, if my personal feelings were the sole motivation behind my objection then you’d be right. But there are more important matters involved here than either my feelings or yours. No doubt you are unfamiliar with all of the particulars of my current residence at the IIC. The very fact of the emperor’s visit puts me in violation of the terms of my Resettlement and under penalty of death. I’ve just come from a meeting about the special provisions that are necessary so that his visit doesn’t cost me my life. One of those provisions is that I am forbidden to draw attention to myself in any way. Forgive me sir, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not put my name prominently before His Excellence and take the chance that he might consider it a violation.”

Dr. Bartel’s lips were drawn together in a thin, angry line. “Well. I see. As you said, I was not aware of the complexities of the situation. Of course, we are not going to ask you to risk your life, Mr. Dawes.” I got the impression he wouldn’t have minded, though. “However, I believe we can check with someone at the palace and get a definite answer as to whether including your projects is permissible or not. I recommend you begin working up displays for both projects right away, in the hopes that we get approval from the palace.”

“Sir,” I objected.

“Mr. Dawes,” his voice was a warning now, “you have explained your position and I have given you your answer. I will not discuss the matter further in this forum. If you have additional questions or objections you will present them to me in a more appropriate time and place.”

He turned away and went back to his list. I sank into my seat. Sean leaned over and whispered, “I can start working on them. You don’t have to worry about it yet. And if he gets approval then we’ll finish them up together.”

“He’ll get his approval,” I mumbled.

“You’re sure?”

“Very,” I muttered.

He shot me a sympathetic look before returning his attention to the meeting. I sat, silent and impatient. When the meeting was over, I was the first out the door.

But halfway to the director’s office, I stopped. If I did go to the director, he would take my side; I had no doubt of that. He would be able to see the whole picture without Dr. Bartel’s myopic focus on the department. Director Harris would realize how small an impact overall it would be for two, even excellent, projects to be left out. He’d see why it would be prudent to exclude my work in particular. He had promised to try to make this easier on me.

The entire prospect of this visit overwhelmed me with such conflicting emotions. The urgent need to stay and not only see, but be seen. The knowledge that it was best for everyone if I didn’t.

I knew I should go to the director. It was the right thing to do, and not just to thwart Dr. Bartel. Pete shouldn’t be putting either of us in this situation. He had made the wrong choice. It was my responsibility to blunt the impact, to protect him from the fallout of his error of judgment. I owed him that. I should do it.

But I knew I wouldn’t. I needed to see him. I knew this was going to hurt, a lot. Even happiness at seeing him again would only become pain later. But I welcomed that. I hated that I was healing, that I’d begun to find myself feeling more and more. Less numbing pain, more of the mix of good and bad that life brings. I didn’t want that. I wanted Pete, and barring that, I wanted to retain whatever I could of him; the pain of not having him if nothing else. The prospect of Pete’s visit opening old wounds was ridiculously welcome.

Except that the visit would hurt Pete. Guilt gnawed at me, and it was ludicrous that it did. I’d been given no choice in the matter; the situation was entirely of Pete’s making. But I couldn’t help it. The whole thing had been my fault from the start.

But as much as I wanted to protect Pete from himself, he had decided to make this trip and I wasn’t strong enough to stay away from him when I should. My decision made, for all the wrong reasons, I returned to the lab where Sean was already working on the design of one of the displays. I tried not to think about how I’d looked the right and the wrong in the face, and chosen the wrong.

fg
33

In the end, I avoided Director Harris for the following two weeks. I respectfully addressed and answered everyone who sought me out during that time with questions or for advice. And they all sought me out, each department head as well as the Head Chef and the Head Steward. Dr. Warvrinosossi, the head of the chemistry department was the first; not the bravest, simply the most oblivious.

“Mr. Dawes,” he called out to me one day as I was leaving the dining hall, “may I have a word with you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’d like to ask your opinion on a particular display we’re putting together for the emperor’s visit. As you know him so well, I’m sure you can give me some insight on how to proceed.”

I was shocked speechless. I hadn’t expected this, but it seemed so obvious now, how they would all approach me for my insights into the mind, tastes, and preferences of the emperor. The thought flitted through my head that I could make a polite escape and seek out the director, putting a stop to these requests. But I didn’t.

“Sir, the emperor has far more than a layman’s knowledge of chemistry. He won’t appreciate the full scope of the discovery but he’ll understand the underlying principles and the advancements the project has brought to the study of chemistry. I think it’s safe to assume that with His Excellence, too much detail is better than not enough.”

His eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect of another who could understand and appreciate fascinating nuances of his science. And so I couldn’t feel sorry about the decision. Even though my stomach was tied in knots again, as it always was when I spoke of Pete. There was an almost illicit thrill in speaking of him aloud, of allowing myself to acknowledge things I’d been hiding from for two years. I managed a convincing smile and excused myself.

They came with predictable regularity after that. Even Dr. Bartel approached me as I was working in the lab, for my insights on a project Dr. Teague was working up. His manner was gruff and almost confrontational, as if daring me to object. I didn’t.

When Dr. Avaya, later that day, changed the subject of our conversation just as Director Harris walked by, I realized that the director had anticipated this and had tried to nip it in the bud. I felt the now familiar swell of gratitude for him, even though his attempt hadn’t succeeded.

I answered each and every applicant, and more than one night I went back to my room and vomited from the sheer buildup of stress.

I was distant and, honestly, rude to nearly everyone else. Dr. Okoro I saw often, as he helped Sean and me work up my displays. I talked as little as possible and only of the work at hand. They both tried to engage me in other conversations but I avoided talking to them with determination. I felt guilty about that but not guilty enough to stop.

After a few attempts to treat me as he always did, invitations to games and such, Chuck registered the obvious rebuffs and left me alone. The nice thing was that Chuck wouldn’t take offense or hold it against me. I didn’t have to feel guilty about the way I was treating him.

The worst was Kirti. I put her off and turned her down again and again and finally, one night when she came to my room and tried to seduce me to no avail, she too backed off.

Even then I realized the irony in my actions, that I would be polite to those who were tormenting me and rude to those who wanted to help. It didn’t stop me, though.

I often found my mind drifting, during my enforced silences, to imagined ways that Pete might say something to me, do something to acknowledge me, during the visit.

There were so many subtle ways, so many things to be said or done that would have meaning for the two of us alone. There was far too much history over three and a half years together for there not to be a dozen ways to do so.

After all, my work would be up there. His interest in physics was well established, his interest in my work went without saying. What would be more natural than him calling me up and talking to me about it just as he had on the last visit?

Perhaps natural was stretching it, considering the vast difference between the situation now and before, and my very particular status. But while I was prohibited from even sneezing too loudly and causing him to look at me, he was under no restrictions. Should he decide to talk to me, there was nothing anyone could or would say or do to prevent it.

I was jittery and nervous with anticipation just from imagining seeing him up close, having him say something, anything, to me and me alone. I knew he shouldn’t. I also knew he would.

In any case, I kept to myself and my thoughts as much as possible those two weeks and wished for the dreaded, longed-for day to come and just be over with.

fg
34

It did come, of course. I crawled out of bed
that morning having spent a sleepless night trying not to think of Pete at all and failing miserably. Pete’s transport arrived sometime in the wee hours of the morning. I thought again and again as I lay there of getting up and going to see if he had arrived yet; just peeking out a window or sticking my head out the front door,
just to know. I cursed myself for a pathetic idiot and stayed in bed.