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relative motions won't mean anything at all. In that case, the problem is to
keep you from colliding with each other. But we're sure -- pretty sure -- that
there will be at least some displacement. All you really need is about fifteen
meters -- the long diameter of a Five."
"How sure is pretty sure?" one of the girls asked.
"Well," Emma admitted, "reasonably sure. How do we know until we try?"
"It sounds dangerous," Sess commented. He did not seem deterred by it. He was
only stating
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y.txt an opinion. In this he was unlike
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A NOTE ON SIGNATURES
Dr. Asmenion. So when you're looking for signs of life on a planet, you don't
expect a big neon sign that says "Aliens Live Here." You look for signatures.
A "signature" is something that shows something else is there. Like your
signature on a check. If I see that, I know it shows that you want it paid, so
I cash it. Not yours, of course, Bob.
Question. God hates a smart-assed teacher. Dr. Asmenion. No offense, Bob.
Methane is a typical signature. It shows the presence of warm-blooded mammals,
or something like them.
Question. I thought methane could come from rotting vegetation and all that?
Dr. Asmenion. Oh, sure. But mostly it comes from the guts of large ruminants.
Most of the methane in the Earth's air is cow farts.
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me; I was very busy ignoring my inner sensations, trying to concentrate on the
technicalities of the briefing.
Emma looked surprised. "That part? Look, I haven't come to the dangerous part
yet. This is a nonaccepted destination for all Ones, most Threes, and some
Fives."
"Why?" someone asked.
"That's what you're going there to find out," she said patiently. "It happens
to be the setting the computer picked out as best for testing the correlations
between course settings.
You've got armored Fives, and both accept this particular destination. That
means you have what the Heechee designers figured was a good chance to handle
it, right?"
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"That was a long time ago," I objected.
"Oh, sure. I never said otherwise. It is dangerous -- at least to some extent.
That's what the million is for."
She stopped there, gravely considering us, until someone obliged by asking,
"What million?"
"The million-dollar bonus each one of you gets when you come back," she said.
"They've appropriated ten million dollars out of Corporation funds for this.
Equal shares. Of course, there's a good chance that it will be more than a
million each. If you find anything worthwhile, the regular pay scales apply.
And the computer thinks this is a good prospect."
"Why is it worth ten million?" I asked.
"I don't make these decisions," she said patiently. And then she looked at me
as a person, not part of the group, and added, "And by the way, Broadhead.
We're writing off your damage to the ship. So whatever you get is yours to
keep. A million dollars? That's a nice little nest egg. You can go back home,
buy yourself a little business, live the rest of your life on that."
We looked at each other, and Emma just sat there, smiling gently and waiting.
I don't know what the others were thinking about. What I was remembering was
Gateway Two and the first trip, wearing our eyes out at the instruments,
looking for something that wasn't there. I suppose each of the others had
washouts of their own to remember.
"Launch," she said at last, "is day after tomorrow. The ones who want to sign,
come see me in my office."
They accepted me. They turned Shicky down.
But it wasn't as easy as that, nothing ever is; the one who made sure Shicky
was not going to go along was me. They filled up the first ship quickly: Sess
Forehand, two girls from Sierra
Leone, a French couple -- all English-speaking, all briefed, all with previous
missions. For the second ship Metchnikov signed as crew right away; a gay
couple, Danny A. and Danny R., were his picks. Then, grudgingly, he agreed to
me. And that left one opening.
"We can take your friend Bakin," Emma said. "Or would you prefer your other
friend?"
"What other friend?" I demanded.
"We have an application," she said, "from Gunner Third Susanna Hereira, off
the Brazilian cruiser. She has their permission to take leave for this
purpose."
"Susie! I didn't know she'd volunteered!"
Emma studied her punch card reflectively. "She's very qualified," she
commented. "Also, she has all her parts. I am referring," she said sweetly,
"to her legs, of course, although as I
understand it you have some interest in her other parts as well. Or would you
care to go gay for
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y.txt this mission?"
I felt an unreasoning rush of anger. I am not one of your sexually uptight
people; the thought of physical contact with a male was not frightening in
itself. But -- with Dane
Metchnikov? Or one of his lovers?
"Gunner Hereira can be here tomorrow," Emma comme "The Brazilian cruiser is
going to dock right after the orbiter."
"Why the hell are you asking me?" I snarled. "Metchnikov is crew chief."
"He prefers to leave it to you, Broadhead. Which one?"
"I don't give a damn!" I yelled, and left. But there is no such thing as
avoiding a decision. Not making a decision was in effect decision enough to
keep Shicky off the crew. If I
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had fought for him, they would have taken him; without that, Susie was the
obvious choice.
I spent the next day staying out of Shicky's way. I picked new a fish at the
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