Emma let out a squeal and froze in the darkness at the bottom of the stairs. The door to the first-floor bedroom was closed. Did this mean he was home? She had the feeling she’d left the door open when she went out earlier.
Her dissolute lifestyle lent itself to forgetting the little things.
In any case, Sol could well be in the bedroom. In which case, she had better hide her injection pendant. Emma reached out a hand to the wall and on came the light. She unfastened her bag and took out the pendant. There was still enough inside for a single hit.
Inside her bag, her fingers located a small perfume bottle. She rummaged around for some cotton pads and poured a little perfume onto one in lieu of surgical spirit. She rolled up her sleeve and wiped down her skin, then quickly applied the pendant.
A faint tingle of pain; she’d hit the same spot as before. But the sting soon vanished, and her skin grew hot. She could feel the liquid seeping in.
Good. Now she’d be able to sleep tonight.
Emma let out a long breath and began to climb the stairs. Her head was hot, and she felt herself becoming cheerier and a little reckless. Her fatigue eased and her body felt lighter.
‘Aahh, who gives a shit, anyway?’ But no sooner did this thought reach her lips than she found herself wondering, who gives a shit about what? Emma clung on to the banister, finally making it to the top of the stairs. She opened the door to find the room dark.
Her high was intensifying by the second. With eyes closed, she took off her clothes and hid her pendant under her pillow. She burrowed her way under the covers and then, feeling a sudden pang of thirst, turned on the light.
‘Sol!’
He was standing there beside the bed.
‘What are you doing?’ Emma tried to say, but she was slurring badly. She must have taken too much.
‘Thinking,’ he said quietly.
‘In the pitch dark?’
His green face loomed in closer. He was staring at her exposed skin, she realized. Hurriedly, she made to pull the sheet up to her chin. His hands stopped her, twisting her arm.
‘Ow! That hurts!’
‘Let me see.’
Emma shut her eyes. Sol’s gaze affixed itself to the purple track marks on the inside of her arm. After a little while, he let go.
‘Show me. Show me what you hid.’ His voice was as quiet and measured as ever. She tried pinning him with a terrifying glare. His expression remained unchanged.
Emma pulled out the pendant from under the pillow. Sol took it from her and threw it down the rubbish chute.
‘What did you do that for? What does it matter what I get up to, anyway? It’s got nothing to do with you,’ she objected futilely.
‘That’s hardly true. Keep this up and you’ll be a junkie soon enough. Surely you can see that? If you wind up an invalid, I’m going back home.’
This reaction tickled Emma. So she was the reason Sol was staying here on Earth? But then she understood another layer of meaning to his words.
‘You’re saying if something bad happened to me, you’d just leave?’
Part of her sometimes wished that would actually happen. The burden of living with a Meelian was getting harder and harder to bear.
Emma’s younger sister, who was married to the director of the Space Bureau, had told her that ‘provincial sorts like that were to be pitied’. The planet Meele was underdeveloped, apparently. Emma’s parents more or less agreed with this view, saying that Emma would be better off finding herself a nice Balian sergeant or a Kamiroyan musician, anything but a Meelian.
Emma herself thought that Sol was a bit too cerebral. Or maybe it was more that she was unable to give him what he wanted. She felt constricted. She’d come to believe, since being with Sol, that she was stupid. This wasn’t a fun sensation. She hadn’t yet cast off the kind of ambitions common to young people.
‘I don’t see what other choice I’d have. If you end up a junkie, you’ll be a totally different person. Besides, I want to go back to Meele.’
‘Oh, so that’s what you call love, is it?’ She pouted.
‘I’ve never loved anybody, Emma.’ He gave her a weak smile. Her pride was horribly wounded now.
‘I’ve taken a fancy to a lot of girls, but that’s different … That premonition I had when I met you, though – I don’t think it was mistaken. I knew from the first you’d be the last woman I was with.’
Still staring at her, Sol began to remove his pyjamas. This was a quirk of his, wearing his pyjamas during the day while lounging about in the house. Sol turned his nose up at the dancing and music that Emma liked. So what did he do instead? Nothing. Three times a week, he would stop by the Alien Journalists’ Club on the top floor of the Aerospace Bureau. The rest of the time he seemed to spend in his pyjamas, absorbed in thought.
Totally naked now, Sol got into bed.
‘You know, I can never tell what’s going on in that head of yours,’ Emma said.
‘That’s because you’re weak-minded,’ he said, completely serious. He sounded irritated.
‘Remind me again, what did you come to Earth to do in the first place?’
Was Sol actually a spy? It had been Emma’s sister who’d first put that idea into her head. Initially she’d scoffed at it, but now she was becoming suspicious.
‘I’m a poet.’
‘Oh, don’t give me that again!’ Emma swerved from Sol’s lips. Once they started kissing, she wouldn’t be able grill him any further. Besides, she’d been in the arms of another man outside the apartment, and the taste and the feel of him still lingered with her.
‘Don’t make me repeat myself then.’ Sol frowned at her.
‘You couldn’t even fill a school newsletter with the amount that you produce.’
‘That’s not a problem where I’m from. Our newspapers are less than half the size of the ones on Earth, and some days they’re only four pages long. There’s no evening paper, either. It’s an easy-going sort of place. It’s our agriculture and livestock that keep the place going. We’ve got a good climate. Nobody really wants an important job, and they only accept one out of a sense of duty. Even then, there’s nothing pathological about the way that people work. Unlike your sister’s husband, who only makes it home twice a week.’
‘You’ve got mines on Meele too, though, right? Like the one where the big ruby you gave me came from. I lost that, by the way.’
‘I’ll get you another one when I go back. Hey, how about I take you back with me some time?’ Sol stared at her intently as he said this.
Emma gave him a non-committal ‘Hmm.’
In truth, she had no intention of doing any such thing at the moment. If the two of them went to Meele, Sol would probably end up working in a wind-turbine power station or something. She’d take care of the vegetable patch, enjoy the occasional afternoon stroll with him, have kids (yikes!) and gradually get old. Once a year or so, he might give her a beautiful ring or bracelet, but she’d have no friends from Earth around to show them off to. The only Terrans around on Meele were the piratical mine-raiders, hiding behind their Scientific Investigation Commission accreditation, and tourists who were hot on far-flung destinations. Terrans didn’t have the best reputation over there, thanks to their tendency to dig everything and anything up.
Sol took his cigarettes from the shelf on the headboard.
‘How will you cope, though, if you ever do go back to Meele? You say the Terran air has tainted me, but that’s gotta be true of you too, after all these years.’
Sol brought the cigarette to his lips, blew out a plume of smoke, and answered.
‘I’ll give up smoking if I go back. I’ve been here fifteen years, though – it’s only natural that I’ve picked up some of the Terran vices.’
Sol’s parents had come to Earth as goodwill ambassadors. But when their term of service ended, they had both become mentally ill and returned home. Sol, whose Terran education had been publicly funded, had spent most of his adolescence here – if you defined adolescence as between the ages of fifteen and twenty.
A year on Sol’s home planet was just four days longer than on Earth. Sol would soon be turning thirty.
‘I’m not talking about smoking! I mean, you get irritated quickly. Most Meelians are good-natured and contemplative, and quiet to boot. It’s not the quietude of pure saints, though – they’re quiet like the best boxers are quiet.’
Hitting upon this expression, which seemed to her to have a nice, philosophical ring to it, Emma felt a tinge of satisfaction. It was in fact an expression she’d heard Sol himself use, about a month previously – though she didn’t remember this.
Sol cast his eyes down, displaying his deep-green eyelashes.
The hair falling across his forehead was the same shade of green.
‘So you’re saying I’m different from other Meelians?’
His eyelashes lifted, and a pair of violet eyes peered out at Emma. Sol stubbed out his cigarette.
‘Don’t you think you’ve developed quite a temper, compared to how you used to be? My sister’s friend went to the same university as you. She was telling me how you used to be back then.’
Sol had entered university at the age of fifteen.
He adjusted his pillow and lay looking up at the ceiling. As she took in his profile, Emma thought back to the man she’d been with earlier on. She figured he’d wanted to sleep with her, but then he didn’t try and get her back to his room or make any heavy moves, not really, so now she wasn’t so sure. He’d approached her in the ice-cream parlour, asking her about Meelian sexuality.
‘They’re dirty as you like. Psychologically speaking, I mean,’ Emma had told him.
‘Do they do it like Terrans?’
‘It’s not like I’ve slept with hundreds of Terrans, and the only Meelian I know about first-hand is Sol. I couldn’t possibly know.’
The man had wanted specifics. Emma evaded his questions, giving playful answers. If he’d only responded with a little cunning and persistence, she thought wistfully, they could have had a lot of fun. As far as Emma was concerned, these sorts of amorous games were the among the best of life’s offerings. And, yet, it was only in the first three months or so of her relationship with Sol that he’d seemed properly into her, and that she’d felt truly happy. When it came to satisfying her sense of pride, Emma was more covetous than an old loan shark. (Come to think of it, Emma’s grandma was a loan shark!)
‘Maybe it’s the air here that does it. That chemical found in tiny quantities in the Terran atmosphere. That’s why you lot forget everything.’ Sol was mumbling as if speaking to himself.
‘I don’t forget things!’ Emma tweaked the flesh of his cheek and he turned to face her.
‘Not while they’re still going on, no. But as soon as something’s over, it’s as if it never happened. Same with war, even. I went back and looked through the records from 1950 onwards. What with us living in Tokyo and your parents’ commitment to their Japanese heritage, I decided to see how much people remember of the Korean and Vietnam wars. I looked into the records from the American side too.’
‘But we’re not in the age of Japan and America anymore! Now we’ve got a World President. I know a lot of people say it’s just for show, but still. Even the capital city moves periodically!’
‘Sure, on the surface it’s as you say. But in reality, people are more concerned with what country they’re from than the fact they’re Terrans. In the USA, people used to worry about whether they were of Italian or Irish heritage or whatever. Then there were several generations when people of all different heritages began to mix together, and now we’re seeing the emergence of an American race, although it’s still only in its formative stages. Which means that everyone’s only serving their own national interests, just like they used to in the past. Don’t you think that’s odd? In an age where there are so many spaceships being built and everyone supposedly has their eyes trained on what lies beyond their own planet, each and every nation is looking to become something like the British Empire. They all want theirs to be the empire where the sun never sets on the seven seas or whatever … I don’t remember the exact wording they used, but that’s the rough meaning. Now they’re looking for planets to colonize, just as in the past they used to claim other nations. Lots of Terrans have been showing up on Meele, too. The Meelians have had enough of it and have begun to restrict the influx.’
Both of them could get really passionate when they got talking, especially Sol.
‘It’s messed up. But doesn’t that contradict what you were saying before?’
‘In what way?’ he asked her, his eyes now tinged with blue.
‘What you were saying about Terrans being forgetful. The concept of nationhood didn’t disappear with the founding of the World Federation. Doesn’t that prove that people haven’t forgotten their love for their own country?’
‘Oh, Emma, what a naïve little girl you are. Can’t you see it’s got nothing whatsoever to do with love for one’s country? If anything, it’s a form of territorial egotism. People don’t like having a rubbish dump outside their front door, that’s all it comes down to. Isn’t the Tokyo Garbage War still going on to this day?’
Sol smiled wryly. The second part of what he’d said made zero sense to Emma.
‘But there aren’t any rubbish dumps any more, Sol! Even my mother and father have never seen one,’ she snapped back at him.
‘It’s a metaphor. Sheesh, talking with you is exhausting! I have to explain every last thing!’
‘I guess it’s like that with all of us stupid Terrans, eh?’
‘Hey, don’t get mad. You’re right, though, for the most part. Though it’s different with the telepathic ones. Then the conversation goes a bit smoother. Although in truth, the telepathic skills of the Terrans I’ve met are nothing to write home about, and they can’t read all your thoughts. Thank goodness – that’d be awful, no? If someone could see absolutely everything you were thinking?’
What are you saying, Sol? Are you trying to tell me you’ve got something to hide? Something you don’t want anyone to find out? That you are carrying out some kind of plot here on Earth, after all? But then as Emma was thinking this, a different suspicion crossed her mind. When she started down the path of doubt, there was no end to it.
‘So are you telepathic then?’ she asked with as much affected casualness as she could muster.
‘Nope,’ said Sol, plain as you like.
‘Not even a little bit?’ Emma looked at him probingly. He smiled, reached out a hand and mussed her hair.
‘My powers of understanding are greater than yours. That must be what made you think that. It seems to me that Meelians are better at understanding one another than Terrans. It’s the Mirinnians who have the greatest telepathic powers, although their comprehension of language and thought patterns is pretty low. Even if they can read the minds of people from other planets, there’s not that much they can do with that information.’
Sol’s hand drifted down from Emma’s hair to her cheek. As his eyes rested on her, they assumed that soft, slightly hazy look which she liked best of all. Just as she sensed he would, he leaned in and kissed her.
What did he mean that Terrans were quick to forget? What was he referring to in particular? Sol always found a way of glossing over everything. Now, when she thought about it, she realized that with his clever linguistic flourishes he’d managed to pull the wool over her eyes hundreds of times. She was finding it harder and harder to put the parts of Sol together and make sense of him as a whole. Was that because he expressed himself in such a complex way? And yet she was pretty sure that, at heart, he was a pretty straightforward guy.
But as he began to slip the straps of her vintage-style slip from her shoulders, Emma felt her concern for such matters evaporate.
‘Have you only ever slept with Terran women?’
Sol lifted his head from where it was buried in her chest. At first, he would roll his eyes and smile in exasperation when she probed him with questions like this, but not anymore.
‘No. I mean, intercourse with Mirinnians isn’t physically possible because they’re built so differently, but Balinians, Kamiroyans and Terrans are all sexually compatible with Meelians. Although it’s only Meelians and Terrans who can produce offspring, so maybe we’re actually the most compatible of the interplanetary pairings. I’d need to look into it … Anyway, I mean, I’m not particularly eclectic in my tastes, and I’m not interested in anything that feels too much like hard work. The Kamiroi aesthetic doesn’t really do it for me, although I hear that you Terrans really go for it. And Balians are way too irrational.’
‘So how are Terrans different from Meelian girls?’
This time, Sol didn’t raise his head to answer. ‘They’re built differently. The girls where I’m from have pretty great figures. There was this one girl I was with who was just beautiful, crazy sexy, with this amazing body—’
‘What are you doing with me, then? If I’m that unattractive in comparison.’ Emma’s breathing was ragged and heavy. Sol looked up at her.
‘Look, we’re together, aren’t we? So what does it matter? In all these fifteen years, I’ve only ever lived with one other girl. For three years, I lived with my parents. After they went back, I had to live in an apartment so small you’d have barely believed it, cooking for myself on an old-style gas burner.’ There were flames blazing at the back of Sol’s eyes.
‘Couldn’t you have stayed in the student dorms?’
‘To borrow your bigoted Terran terminology, Meele is a backward planet. I had no choice but to stand there and look on dumbly as the folks from all the other planets skilfully outmanoeuvred me to get the good rooms. That was how it was back then. And now, look! Suddenly your government decides to put me up in an amazing place like this, and for free. Earth is getting smaller, but here I am living in an apartment with two bedrooms, a living room, and a home bar in the kitchen.
I’m not even the official Meele correspondent – that’s some other guy. I’m writing mostly for the magazines, rather than the newspapers. And, yet, all of a sudden, they land me with this room – doesn’t that seem a bit fishy to you?’ Sol’s face was tense.
‘I guess,’ said Emma, non-committally.
‘What’s more, so that people wouldn’t get suspicious, your government requested similar kinds of apartments for all the correspondents they sent to Meele, of whom there are many. There’s an obvious intention behind that move. By sending in people in such large numbers, they’re trying to advertise the fact that Terrans have an interest in Meele. Well, frankly speaking, that “interest” is more trouble than it’s worth. Interest signifies future invasive action, if Terran history is any guide. I forget when it was now, but there was this guy who came to Earth on the run from Meele. As far as the Meelians were concerned, he was a criminal. His spiritual powers had sunk to the level of a crooked Terran businessman. Anyway, after carrying out a thorough assessment of his psychological state, the Terran government used him in formulating a sort of profile of what Meelians are like. I’m sure that was the basis on which they concluded they could travel over to Meele in safety, and that if it ever came to military conflict, they’d have the upper hand.’ Sol shut his mouth and retreated back inside his own head, as he always did.
‘You want a drink?’ Emma broke into his silence, as she always did.
‘Hmm? Ah, yeah, okay.’
‘Go get one, then.’
‘I can’t be bothered to put my clothes back on.’ He reached his hands behind his head.
‘Pfft, same goes for me! I always knew your planet was old-fashioned and conservative. Getting the women to do everything for you!’
The planet of Meele had plentiful natural resources. One working person could easily provide enough for an entire household. In their youth, Meelian women would spend three or four years out in society (how old-fashioned it sounded to even say that!), before deciding on an appropriate partner and settling down as housewives.
‘That’s not true, I’m just exhausted today. Go on, please. I’ll listen to whatever you say afterwards.’ He made the sweet face he pulled whenever he was trying to win her round.
‘Pfft.’ Emma got out of bed and began to get dressed. With great care, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders.
‘Ah, what a beauty! I chose the right woman to give my pure heart to.’
‘What rubbish you come out with! We all know how pure that heart of yours is. I might as well keep it by the door and use it as a shoe rag.’
Emma opened the door and went downstairs. She left the bedroom door open for when she came up carrying the glasses.
‘The reincarnation of Brigitte Bardot. The third coming of Claudia Cardinale. Monica Vitti’s younger cousin. Or else, Juliet of the Spirits. Gloria Wandrous from BUtterfield 8.’ Even at the bottom of the stairs, she could hear the old-movie buff droning on and on.
‘No, that’s not it! She’s Bud Powell’s Cleopatra’s Dream. She’s Bokko-chan.’
What was he talking about, honestly? Emma went to the bar, first mixing a drink for herself: a screwdriver. That disappeared soon enough, so she made another. She felt like getting obliterated. Tonight was not the night for playing innocent with a gin fizz or some other sickly-sweet cocktail.
What on Earth was Sol thinking? Were all Meelian men like him? ‘Territorial egotism’? When he put it like that, of course it sounded objectionable, but the truth was intelligent creatures tended to have a healthy dose of egotism – quite aside from whatever needs they might have. Yet, immediately, Sol’s retort to this floated up in Emma’s mind: ‘But Terrans are extremely mentally unstable. Their stubborn egotism isn’t complete. My home planet is no match for Earth in terms of scientific and technological development, but at least most people there consider how they want to live their lives. Our history is unfathomably long, and yet there have been only five wars recorded – including a couple of really small-scale ones. And the last of those wrapped up over two millennia ago.’
Emma’s second drink had disappeared as swiftly as the first. They were out of orange juice. She diluted some vodka with water and clambered up onto the barstool.
War – would there really be an interplanetary war? No, surely not. Earth had been getting along well (superficially, at least) with all the other planets. Over thirty years had elapsed since Earth had discovered Meele.
Emma’s head was spinning, like the time she’d contracted acute pneumonia. It must have been alcohol mingling with the last hit she’d taken. She attempted to grab hold of the bar, but it was too late. She slid right off the stool and struck the side of her head, hard, against the counter on her way down
Her body had turned to jelly. She felt powerful arms peel her from the floor.
‘I thought you were taking a while, so I came downstairs to see what was going on, only to find you like this. Oof, you’re heavy! What’s going on, Emma? You’ve been acting strange of late.’ Sol picked her up.
‘Ah, my shawl.’
‘Leave that for now. You can get it later.’ He began to carry her upstairs.
‘But it’s my favourite!’
Sol didn’t answer. Stepping carefully under her weight, he ascended the stairs.
Oh Sol, when you hold me like this I’m done for. By now I’ve come to admit (albeit reluctantly) that I do love you. I can’t stand that that’s true. I’ve fallen for several men in the past, but you’re the first person I’ve ever felt serious about. The very idea that I would fall in love with a man, that class of people I secretly feel such contempt for … I hate you for making it happen.
‘Did you say something?’ Sol asked, as they entered the bedroom.
‘No.’ Emma shook her head. She could feel herself lapsing into misery. He tucked her into bed.
‘One day, Sol, you and I …’
There would come a time when they would accept one another entirely. One day that time would come – it had to come.
‘When I’m a senile old lady.’
Sol laughed a little, then retreated into himself. In Meelians, night-time was characterized by a combination of psychological disengagement and sleep. When Sol spoke of his dreams, did he not in fact mean his waking fantasies?
Emma gave up thinking and closed her eyes. In the morning, she decided, she would go and see her friend who was studying pharmacology; she would get herself another pendant and a new supply of drugs. There was no way anyone could live in a world like this with a fully functioning mind. You only found yourself feeling angry from morning until night. If she ended up joining some kind of political movement as a result, her mother and father would be upset. Using drugs, she told herself, was her way of being a good daughter.
Sol turned over and wrapped his arms around her. She lay there, her eyes open, as the night wore on.
‘You shouldn’t do too much of this,’ Luana said as she handed Emma a small baggie. It was afternoon, and the two of them were sitting on the café terrace eating some odd-looking fruit imported from Meele.
‘Yeah, I know. Thanks.’
Emma put the baggie away inside a large bag made of fabric woven from tree bark. Earth relied on Meele for almost half of its agricultural produce, such as this bark; it been woven by Kamiroyans in a Martian factory.
‘I don’t think you understand. It’s fine by me if you get addicted. What I mean is, whatever way you look at it, this stuff has a devastating effect on your personality.’
Luana placed both her elbows on the table and leaned in towards Emma.
‘Keep it up for long and you’ll find your willpower weakening. You’ll be easily swayed by external suggestions and instructions. In that sense, it’s similar to Scopolamine. It makes you forget the passions and principles you once had.’ Luana had a deathly serious look to her.
‘Does it make you lose your memory?’ Emma narrowed her eyes. What Sol had said about forgetting had stuck with her.
‘No, it’s more like the vividness of your emotions fades. You start to feel like the you from the past was mistaken about all kinds of things. The past you becomes unrecognisable. Who benefits from that, I wonder?’
‘But the state is cracking down on it,’ Emma said, lowering her voice.
‘That’s only for show, though. I mean, it’s still popular, isn’t it? You know they’ve recently announced a drug that makes people less susceptible to fear.’ Luana was frowning, as she was prone to do.
‘Why, though?’ Emma asked stupidly.
The Mirinnian waiter approached, and the two fell silent. The waiter began to clear the table with two of his tentacles, keeping the other two hanging neatly by his sides.
‘Would you like anything else?’ he asked, although he already knew the answer.
‘No, we’re done.’ Luana stood up.
‘Mirinnians gross me out,’ Emma murmured once they’d paid and got out onto the street.
‘What about them? Their bodies?’
The pair began heading down towards the entrance to the Subterrail.
‘No, more like that you have absolutely no idea what they’re thinking. They’re so expressionless.’
‘Maybe they’re not thinking about anything. You know, a professor from ____ University tried to develop their telepathic abilities. But they were no help to him whatsoever. Apparently they could only pick up simple words.’
The platform was deserted. Emma leaned up against the wall and thought about where she should go next.
‘Where’s Sol?’ Luana pulled out a cigarette designed to help you quit smoking from her bag and put it to her lips.
‘I don’t know,’ Emma replied honestly.
‘My boyfriend will have cleaned the room, done three days’ worth of washing and will right about now be roasting us a chicken.’ Luana smiled with evident satisfaction. Emma pouted.
‘Don’t you think Sol might be with another woman? He’s quite a catch, after all.’ Luana contorted her lips as she asked this, suppressing a smile.
Emma had never even considered such a possibility. She’d been too caught up in her thoughts of herself. But come to think of it, Sol did sometimes stay out overnight.
‘Where can you get those tiny spy cameras? Would they let someone like me buy one?’ Just voicing the question made Emma blush.
‘For surveillance? You can buy them anywhere, and you don’t need a licence or anything. The buttonhole type is the most common. Although if the wearer undresses, all you’ll see is the ceiling.’
The shuttle compartment drew up to the platform.
‘Go ahead,’ Emma said. She’d given up on her plans to return home.
‘Okay then. Don’t get too het up about this though, okay?’ Luana opened the door and stepped inside, and Emma watched her press the button and speak her desired destination into the microphone. Emma waved. Once the compartment had disappeared, she took the escalator leading up to ground level.
Emma was looking at a small screen, which showed the face of a Meelian man.
‘That’s not true. People from our planet aren’t that immature,’ the man was saying. The voice, filtered as it was through the automatic translation device, was high and shaky. Naturally, the two men were talking in their native tongue.
‘You’re quite the optimist, aren’t you! How do you know there’s not going to be another Opium War?’ Sol’s low voice sounded close to the microphone.
‘Oh, I forgot you’d studied Terran history. Which country was it again that smuggled opium to China then tried to colonize it? But in any case, isn’t our conception of pleasure slightly different from those on Earth? It’s sex and drugs that does it for them. Or else, speed, thrills, suspense. In other words, that giddy feeling.’ There was a faint smile on Jebba’s face as he spoke.
‘That’s true. Whereas we can always disengage. That’s not pleasure, exactly – it’s something deeper,’ Sol said seriously.
‘So how are the Terran women?’ Jebba asked, teasingly. Emma readjusted her posture.
‘They’re good.’ Sol said, straight-faced.
‘What’s good about them?’
Sol must have moved, for now the camera showed only half of Jebba’s face. Where the other half had been, Emma could now see a curtained window. It was a shabby apartment somewhere.
‘Their race knows sadness, but it doesn’t come to the fore-front of their consciousness. We know sadness too. In fact, if anything our sense of sadness is better defined. But between the two of our races, it’s the Terrans who are the more tragic. They have limits in the form of decrepitude and death.’
‘Do you feel proud that death is something you have to choose?’
‘Yes.’
‘Even if that choice is occasioned through despair?’
‘Despair is an incredibly deep, clear emotion. In a way, it’s similar to the very peak of psychic disengagement. That’s why it’s not really accompanied by sadness.’
‘Your parents went half a year ago, right?’
Emma’s ears pricked up at Jebba’s words. What did he mean by ‘went’?
‘If I was a Terran, I’d have wailed and wept when it happened. Scholars from Earth are up in arms about the suicide rate on our planet. They don’t understand why we do it, when we could live for longer. Even some Meelians don’t understand despair. Then you end up like that person who lived for six hundred years.’
‘Did you hear they died recently? In an accident – a totally meaningless death. To think of someone living that long and never understanding despair.’
‘That’s what was so impressive about my parents’ death. Of course what they did was nothing unusual, but when it’s your own parents, it feels different. From about half a day before they went, I felt their consciousness moving inside me. Wherever Meelians are when they die, their family members always know. I didn’t fully understand what was going on, but it moved me.’ Sol’s voice grew rich with emotion.
‘I can imagine.’ Jebba’s eyes had taken on a tender hue.
‘But Terrans aren’t entirely a lost cause. In some cases, the limitation placed on their lives gives them a powerful energy. That’s especially true of women. Their field of interest is terribly narrow. They’re primitive and strong. If we could somehow—’
‘Use that?’ offered Jebba.
‘I don’t like putting it that way. And, no, that’s not what I mean,’ Sol said, apparently struggling.
‘Okay, then. You mean —?’
Jebba cut out for an instant. The red cannot-translate light flickered on. It must have been a word unique to the Meelian language, Emma thought.
‘Yes.’ It seemed as though Sol nodded. Emma, who was growing uneasier by the second, made to turn off the switch. Use that? She felt enraged that Sol shared only such a tiny fraction of himself with her. His affection for her was all a pretence – a sham, a poor imitation. What an idiot I’ve been, she thought.
‘I’ve had an idea. I’m going to head off,’ Sol stood up.
‘Bye, then,’ Jebba said.
Sol would likely be back soon, Emma thought, and touched a finger to the screen. The automatic translation device went black, so that at a glance, it looked like just a regular compact mirror. She shut it away in her dresser drawer and went downstairs.
Two weeks had passed since that eye-opening conversation with Luana. After thinking it over a long while, Emma had taken the decision to switch a button on Sol’s jacket for a concealed camera.
Emma moved to the front of the bar and took down a bottle of Mirinnian spirits from the shelf. The pearl-coloured liquid swirled around inside the bottle. It had been a present from her older sister. Emma took off the lid and a bittersweet medicinal aroma permeated the air.
The glasses were dirty. She opened the lid of the dishwasher and put a glass inside. In twenty seconds, the indicator light went out. She removed the glass and poured herself some of the liquor.
What was she supposed to do? The tension she’d felt while staring at the screen evaporated and she was left with a feeling of utter exhaustion. Honestly, she felt like a dog that had just collapsed and died.
Emma drank. The drink had no taste, only a cold, smooth texture. And all this when I’ve given up drugs and have been being so well behaved, she thought. Soon she’d be out of money. She’d have to go and ask her father for some. Emma had been out of work for a year and a half now, since she’d quit her job at the Space Bureau after falling out with her boss.
The Space Bureau – yes, if Sol had some motive for being with her, it may well have something to do with her job there. Quite possibly, he’d been trying to trick her into stealing classified documents for him. But then she’d gone and quit …
But, no, that couldn’t be true. She’d just been a low-level employee, loading tapes into computers. She highly doubted they’d store any top-secret information on the computers. Things only made it there once their plans had taken a certain degree of shape. If Sol had wanted someone dealing with things that never made it to surface level, he’d have targeted the director’s secretary.
Emma pictured the secretary. She’d got divorced a long while back and seemed to have been single ever since. She was into her forties now, but was still pretty attractive …
Emma topped up her glass.
What was she doing, anyway, pursuing such a ridiculous train of thought? Trying to establish a link between Sol and the secretary – honestly! And yet, she was convinced Sol was trying to ensure the protection of his home planet. How could such a thing be achieved? If it came down to sheer military force, Meele wouldn’t last a second. And Earth would hardly go starting a war without a reason.
A reason: they could accuse the Meelians of plotting against Earth – it didn’t even matter if it was a total fabrication – and then spread the idea. The Meelians carry some kind of terrible germ, something like that would do. No, on second thoughts, that was no good. They carried out stringent scans and disinfection at the spaceport. If anything, Terrans were the ones spreading disease. Just recently, there’d been an outbreak of a Terran strain of influenza on Meele. Earth-dwelling Meelians would occasionally die of a brief cold. For them, dying before they’d fulfilled their potential, before they’d attained either absolute despair or the resolve to die, must have been truly tragic.
Emma propped an elbow on the counter. The alcohol was gradually going to her head. Her body felt floppy and hot. Those deceitful Meelian motherfuckers!
Outside, the day grew dimmer.
Sol still wasn’t back. What was taking him so long?
She reached a hand inside her pocket. There were two notes and a few coins in there. She could roughly calculate how much she had without looking. What a miserly little skill she’d managed to acquire for herself!
Emma picked up her coat and left the house, heading for the restaurant on the corner. There was a Meelian waiter working there – could she not avoid them? With a glum face, Emma made her way through soup, bread and an omelette. She was making to leave, without indulging in an after-dinner coffee, when a man walking in greeted her. ‘Hi!’
Who was this again?
‘Do you live around here? I’ve forgotten.’
Ah, yes, this was the guy who’d escorted her home recently. His name was … Ceno.
‘Are you alone?’
‘Yes,’ Emma answered, looking at the ground.
‘You don’t seem too happy, what’s up? Will you have a coffee with me?’
Taking the decision for her, Ceno took a seat by the window, raising a hand to order two coffees.
‘I’d like mine weak.’
The place only played old music: there was ‘Time of the Season’ and ‘Sunny’, followed by ‘Also Sprach Zarathustra’. Now they were playing Raymond Lafèvre’s ‘La Reine de Saba’.
‘I live round here too. Why don’t you come up to my place?’ Ceno said with the utmost casualness when they were midway through their coffees.
‘Hmm …’ Emma was in the mood for a bit of fun, but there was something about Ceno that felt hard to pin down. He said he was working for a TV station, but it was impossible to say if that was true. Now Emma remembered a guy she’d dated a while back who, when they’d fought, had come out with the most awful insults in a supposedly ironic way (like a glimpse behind the scenes at Hollywood). About the least offensive of his offerings was ‘you filthy mucous membrane’. Why had she suddenly thought of him?
‘Not today.’
‘Really? Why so cold, eh?’
Emma hated being spoken to like this. She held her breath, then exhaled slowly.
‘Did I say something wrong?’ Ceno’s words expressed concern, but he looked annoyed. Have I started viewing men differently since being with Sol? she wondered. Oh, Sol, you swindling swine!
‘I’m going home.’ Emma stood up.
‘I’ll walk you.’ Ceno also got to his feet, taking advantage of the moment to squeeze her hand, ever so naturally. She pulled it away, fearfully.
Back home, Emma made a beeline for the bar, not climbing the stairs. She was getting very fond of that pearl-coloured drink.
A noise from above. Emma flinched, almost dropping her glass. Sol must be back.
Then Emma heard something that could have been a mirror breaking. Had he worked out that it wasn’t just a regular compact?
‘Emma!’ Hearing a harsh voice from upstairs, Emma hugged the bottle close. ‘Come upstairs.’
Casting a look up the stairs, Emma saw Sol’s face in the doorway, oddly pale, his expression twitchy.
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Just come up.’
Reluctantly, Emma forced a smile. ‘You promise not to get angry?’
For a brief moment, Sol gave her the very faintest of smiles. ‘I promise. Just come up.’
With the bottle and two glasses in hand, Emma slowly made her way upstairs.
‘What’s this?’ Sol pointed to the bits of the screen now strewn across the floor.
‘It’s a mirror.’
Sol’s eyes glinted with a fierce light. He stared down at the ruined screen for a while.
‘Yes, I can see it’s a mirror.’ He seated himself on the bed. ‘A mirror with an inbuilt translation device,’ he added, as if speaking to himself. How did he know?
‘Would you, um … like a drink?’
‘Are you an alcoholic now?’ Sol’s voice was calm and restrained. He didn’t take his eyes off Emma.
‘No.’
‘Yeah, I’ll have a drink.’
She handed him a glass and poured him some of the liquor. Sol wasn’t wearing a jacket. She looked round and saw it on the chair. Its third button had been ripped off.
‘Luana found it. She’s a sharp one.’
Luana? But she was the one who’d egged Emma on! Surely not her, that didn’t make sense. Had she deliberately tried to incite Emma’s jealousy?
‘When did you two meet?’ Emma tried to sound casual, but her voice was trembling.
‘You introduced us, half a year or so ago.’
‘I didn’t!’ Anger flared up in Emma.
‘But we only got friendly about ten days ago. There’s something I needed her help with.’
‘So you used her. Like you did me.’
‘Tell me when exactly I used you.’ Sol’s tone was forceful.
‘Don’t get angry. You’re the one who said it.’
‘So you were watching? Well, in that case you’ll know that it wasn’t me that said it. It was Jebba.’
‘Yes.’
Emma’s tears took her by surprise. Once she’d begun to cry, there was no chance of her stopping. She stood stock still, clutching her glass as the tears rolled down her face.
‘What a rotten man you are!’ Her voice was trembling – trembling so much it was hard to get the words out.
‘That’s not true. You’ve misunderstood.’ Sol stood up and went to embrace her. ‘I was trying to get Luana to get us stuff – reagents, drug samples and so on. That’s why I needed to get friendly with her.’
‘Don’t touch me. You can’t fool me like that.’ Sol ran his fingers through her hair.
‘She has her suspicions about the Space Bureau’s methods, you see. They look for other planets’ weak spots and then try to worm their way into the holes. For them Meele is just a … come on, stop crying! What’s wrong?’ Sol attempted to raise her chin. Emma resisted.
‘I’m not crying any more … But you’re a spy, aren’t you?’
He snorted. ‘Your way of thinking is so childish! A spy? It’s your friend that’s the spy.’
In the soft light of the room, Sol’s face had resumed its regular expression. The tense paleness had gone.
‘Who?’
‘The man who brought you to the door. Where did you meet him?’
‘Does that matter? He’s just some guy I know. Not a friend, and definitely not the kind of friend that—’
‘I’m not questioning the nature of your relationship,’ Sol cut her off sharply. ‘I’m asking where you met him.’
‘Um … Outside the hat shop. I was standing by the window.’
‘Oh. Who started the conversation?’
‘He approached me, obviously!’
‘Really?’ He peered into her eyes.
‘Really.’
Sol sat down on the bed. With his slippered toes, he attempted to draw the broken screen close to him.
‘This breaks just like a mirror. Designed so that people suspect nothing … What’s his name?’ Sol shook his head, moving the hair that had fallen across his forehead.
‘Ceno.’
‘And what does he do?’
‘He said he works in TV.’
Sol said nothing for a while. Emma poured liquor into their glasses and sat down beside him.
‘Would it bother you if war broke out between Earth and Meele?’ he asked finally, in an extremely kind and gentle voice – the kind of voice people used with children or the simple-minded.
Emma felt like she might cry again. ‘Yes.’
She felt like she was standing alone, barefoot and totally exhausted, in the depths of the night.
‘Why?’
‘Because you’d be put in a camp or something.’
‘You wouldn’t want to leave me?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Emma replied, without confidence.
‘You don’t think so. That’s so typically you.’ Sol grinned.
‘Is there going to be a war?’
‘Lately I’ve been feeling like one’s coming. Yesterday, when I got off the Subterrail, I came over all dizzy and then my mind filled with all kinds of images.’
‘What’ll happen to us?’ Emma asked in a frail voice. Sol hung his arms between his knees and lowered his head. In a very low voice he said, ‘I had a vision of you dying.’
‘Struck by a bomb?’
‘No. You were on a bed. It doesn’t mean it’s going to happen soon. Maybe in a few years … I mean, in a few decades everyone alive on Earth now will be dead anyway.’
‘True,’ Emma said, but inside she felt wretched. The majority of Meelians took their own lives. It was death, just the same as what befell the Terrans, and yet it was totally different. Sol was an alien.
Emma squeezed his hand.
‘There’s nothing to be frightened of,’ he said.
‘Right.’ Emma’s head also began to droop.
‘How do you feel about the idea of getting out of here?’
Emma knew what Sol was thinking, so she replied quietly,
‘Not as badly as I used to. But I don’t completely trust you.’
‘You’re so honest.’ He patted her head. ‘Honest and good.’
‘Although I do feel like I’m coming to trust you.’
‘You see? Did you watch me with Luana?’
Emma shook her head.
‘You didn’t? Well that’s a relief.’ Sol gave a cheery smile. It was as if he was trying to cheer her up.
‘Was it full-on?’ Emma smiled for the first time that day.
‘Yes, pretty full-on.’
‘Enough to make me lose trust in you?’
‘Yes, most likely.’
A faint bitterness spread through her. Was this jealousy? But, no, as far as Luana was concerned, it wasn’t jealousy that Emma felt. This was a feeling she’d had before. Without being aware of it, Emma was jealous of Sol’s very existence in this world.
Sol was impossible to understand.
Even when she clung to him like this, she felt that the largest part of him was off wandering through some unknown territory all alone. Even in her arms, he was always able to liberate himself from her, to make himself free. She envied him that. Sol was an alien.
‘What is it?’
‘I feel so lonely.’
‘That feeling will go away when you learn to trust me completely.’
‘Complete trust is a delusion.’ Emma rested her head on his shoulder.
‘What about complete forgiveness, then?’
‘Complete forgiveness …’ Emma lifted her head and looked at him. Then she said very slowly, ‘That’s really difficult. I don’t think I can do it.’
‘But if you could, you wouldn’t feel lonely.’
‘True,’ she agreed weakly.
‘The thing about you is that you’re never satisfied.’ Emma knew that he wasn’t talking about any rational satisfaction – he was talking about her spiritual condition. Now he wrapped her in his arms.
’Ceno is a fake name. Jebba did some research on him when he was making a list of all the people connected with the Information Bureau. I got a real surprise when I looked out the window and saw him standing there, I tell you.’
The world around them went on moving, regardless of their desires or their feelings, like a huge river. Its surface might appear calm, but charging along its bottom was a fast, powerful current, exerting a silent pressure on them.
Emma was enveloped in a feeling of unbearable loneliness.
‘Take off your clothes,’ Sol instructed. Emma took off her jumper, then pulled down her tight-fitting slitted skirt. The type of clothing she wore was no longer in fashion. Nowadays, men and women alike wore boiler suits made of coarse fabric. On top they would wear metallic coats or chunky knitted mantles. Sol had once said the way she dressed was ‘wonderfully kinky’, but that ‘it would land even better with more of a 1930s twist’. He always expressed himself bluntly and honestly, which gave him an air of incredible innocence.
‘If only your stockings had seams. Have you heard of garters? Those wide elastic bands people used to wear to hold their stockings in place?’ Sol said, as he watched Emma taking off her clothes.
‘Yeah, I saw a picture of some in a book about fashion history. You see them in old films sometimes too.’
‘Black garters embroidered with red roses – ah, they drive me wild.’
‘Where did you hear about them?’
‘Oh, the same place as you,’ Sol said, caught off guard and seeming to panic slightly.
‘They’re expensive though, and really hard to track down. Get me some next time.’
‘Mmm,’ Sol hummed non-committally. From out of her melancholy, Emma gazed at the green face that came looming over her.
Emma hadn’t slept the previous night – Sol hadn’t come back to the apartment. Two months had passed since the smashed-screen incident, and the atmosphere between them had grown increasingly intolerable.
Thanks to her insomnia, she’d come over all sleepy in the afternoon. She eventually got into bed at six in the evening. She’d not been asleep twenty minutes when Sol woke her.
‘We’ve got to go. Leave everything behind.’
She understood what he meant.
Into a large bag, Emma stuffed a couple of books and some sleeping pills. Cinebooks would probably have been a better option than old-style paper – they were less bulky, which meant she could have taken more. But cinebooks required special contact lenses to read – if you ran out, you were done for. Emma had to remind herself: she didn’t know where she was going.
In the entranceway, she moved to step into her red high heels, but Sol stopped her. She pouted and went instead for some flats, although it seemed to her a terrible shame.
Sol didn’t utter a word during the heli-taxi trip. That fact alone conveyed the urgency of the situation.
When they arrived at Jebba’s apartment, he was waiting for them outside. There were two others there too, both Meelians.
‘We’re going to dye your hair and skin green. Don’t worry, it’s just stage foundation so you can easily remove it with this spray. It won’t come off if you sweat either,’ the woman explained in an accented voice.
‘What is this all for?’ Emma asked as she was surrounded by people preening and prodding her.
‘There’s a woman who died two days ago. A friend of mine. Her death hasn’t been reported to the Space Bureau, so you’re going to pretend to be her.’
Looking at the photo shown her, Emma saw the friend was a beauty of Vivian Leigh calibre. Her confidence instantly took a dive but the woman, who seemed to be some kind of beautician, set about doing her make-up.
While this was going on, the three men were busy contacting various people.
‘We’re leaving in three hours, on the last flight out of the spaceport.’
‘If our party is just Meelians, we should be okay. Although if they find out about her,’ he nodded toward Emma, ‘it could mean trouble.’
‘But if all the Meelians from the Tokyo area just up and vanish, they’ll get suspicious, no? All the Meelians on Earth are going to head home within the month, after all.’
‘If that’s what you’re worried about, I think our story about a seven-yearly pilgrimage should cover us. We’re also carrying out historical research, so the Terran government can hardly complain. The real trouble will occur when we get back to Meele.’
‘Yes, because none of the returnees have any intention of ever coming back to Earth. The Terran government might not like it, but they can hardly use that as a reason for starting an interplanetary war. The other planets wouldn’t stand for it.’
‘You say that, but the other planets have their own interests, and that complicates things.’
Emma was given Meelian-style clothes to put on.
‘Ooh, it’s Marianne de ma Jeunesse! Although the proportions are somewhat off,’ Sol said, making a theatrical gesture.
The screening process at the spaceport went smoothly. ‘That’s because they’re just temps,’ Jebba explained to Emma. ‘The regular employees are off with stomach complaints … They ate too much Mirinnian wild beef.’
‘You’re such a schemer, Jebba,’ Sol chipped in.
‘This is all for the sake of your grand old love story, Sol. One in Tokyo, one in Ginza …’ Jebba broke into the lyrics from an old song. There was barely anyone in the spaceport. Sol put a cigarette to his lips, shoved his hands in his pockets and began spouting excuses: ‘I’m telling you, it’s not like that.’
‘What line are we flying with? World New Space? Or Stardust Space Service?’ Emma asked quietly.
‘No, not one of the big ones. We’re taking Meele Space Line.’ Sol tossed away his final pack of cigarettes with a regretful expression.
‘Thank goodness. At least the captain and the engineer will be Meelians. I was afraid you were planning to space-jack the flight midway.’
‘If we did that, we’d be playing straight into Earth’s hands. I looked up the passenger list and was surprised to see Terrans on there, but it turns out they’ve all got some Meelian blood. It’s tough to get onto Meele these days. There are only two Terran groups that can get in: the Scientific Investigation Commission, which charters its own flights, and an agricultural products company. But even with them, there are just a very few Terrans in the upper ranks. The rest of the workers are people from other planets, like us.’
Anxiety rose up in Emma. She took Sol’s arm and made to ask him something.
‘Time to go.’ Glancing at the information screen, Sol patted her back, urging her forward. The announcement resonated across the empty waiting room. Around them, green-faced people slowly got to their feet and made their way over to the beltway entrance.
‘This is my first time on a spaceship,’ Emma said. ‘I’ve never even been to Mars. My sister went to Kamiroi on her honeymoon, though.’
‘Oh yeah?’
Sol seemed absorbed in his own thoughts. This was nothing new for him, but in this moment Emma found it particularly distressing. She squeezed his arm harder.
In front of them the huge silver form of the spaceship came into view.
And so began life in the cabin with a low cream ceiling. Emma was sharing a room with Sol, but he was always off doing something. On the rare occasions he did return to the cabin, he’d quickly disengage. Their conversations were fragmentary, and she had the feeling that he was trying to evade her in some way. At mealtimes, her meals, and hers alone, would be brought to her room on a tray like the ones used in hospitals.
‘I can’t do anything about it. I have to eat with the others in the canteen so we can hatch our plans and talk over all the possibilities,’ Sol explained patiently, squeezing her hand.
‘But I’m the only one who’s being excluded. I know it’s because I’m a Terran.’
Beyond the reaches of Emma’s understanding, a complex situation was unfolding – and Sol was concealing it from her.
‘I wish I’d never met you. I’ve left my family and my home behind me, and all you do is ostracize me.’
‘Not this again. Please try and understand my position.’
‘And how am I supposed to do that? There’s no way of understanding it when I’ve no clue what’s going on!’
‘Look, I understand that you’re angry because you’re cooped up all alone here. But we can’t let you go walking around. There are also their feelings to consider.’
‘I’m not well, Sol. I feel like I’m going mad.’
If only Sol would look her in the eye when he was talking to her. He’d begun to lose weight and had become lethargic, his eyes alone hinting at his old energy with a glint of intense colour. He reminded her of a dragonfly. Was he eating properly? Was he not getting enough sleep?
‘I find it hard to breathe, Sol. I’ve no appetite, and I feel dizzy all the time. Symptoms this bad can’t just be a matter of a change in environment. I don’t think it’s a question of the food not agreeing with me, either. Is there something in the food here? Some kind of drug?’
Sol continued to stare at the wall. She went to touch his shoulder but then felt, instinctively, that she shouldn’t. His face in profile looked unspeakably depressed.
‘I’ll send for a doctor,’ he said after a while, his voice gravelly.
‘Are we still not there yet? How much longer will it take?’
‘The ship’s pilot isn’t very good at navigating the warps. He got his licence over thirty years ago.’ He turned to look at her and smiled.
‘What are you hiding, Sol? What’s happened?’ She reached out and touched his shoulder.
‘I’m not hiding anything!’ Sol roared. She saw a muscle in his cheek spasm. His eyes narrowed and blazed with a violent green light. His white face looked like it was made of plastic.
‘I’m sick of this! I want to go back to Earth!’ Emma cried, her voice faltering.
‘Go back then! Right now! Get them to send out a rescue rocket.’
Sol’s face was blanched to transparency. Emma stood up, making to push past him and leave the room. At the very last moment, Sol’s arm flew out and knocked her down. Emma registered the blow to her forehead and then came the pain. Sol squeezed the fist he’d used to punch her with his other hand.
‘Don’t make a fuss,’ he said in a strangely restrained voice. ‘If you can’t trust me, then forgive me. But even if you can’t do that, you can’t just give up.’ His voice had regained its usual composure. He sounded sad. ‘You mustn’t forget, Emma. I’ll never forget how you were when I first met you, and all the things that’ve happened since. Why do you think it is that we haven’t had a war on my planet for two millennia? It’s because we don’t forget. We don’t forget the fear or the tragedy. When feelings like that are powerful enough, they get into our genes – just a small amount, but that’s all it takes. When an emotion’s sufficiently strong, we can’t ever forget about it.’
Emma pressed a hand to the lump already forming on her forehead.
‘Does it hurt?’ Sol said, drawing closer and touching her face.
‘Yes.’
‘Why do you forget things so quickly? Meelians could never look back on war with nostalgia – nationalistic, planetary or otherwise. Our feelings don’t change or get eroded over time. And so when we reach a certain age – it differs from person to person, but when that person’s mental capacity reaches its capacity, it means their time has come.’
Now Sol was looking her straight in the eye, speaking in a voice that was almost a whisper as if he were trying to soothe her to sleep. She could smell his breath.
‘Will that happen to you too, Sol?’ She looked away from him.
‘Yes.’
‘When? You’re not trying to tell me that your time is coming?’
‘I can’t say. Even if I knew, I couldn’t tell anyone,’ he said. He seemed to be suffering.
‘Are there some people who tell others?’
‘I suppose.’
Silence reigned between them. The cabin had no windows, so there was no looking out at the stars outside. How much more of this would she have to endure – this confinement for reasons she didn’t even understand? The cream ceiling seemed to get lower all the time.
Emma could hear the faint growl of an engine. Was that the ship’s computer? There would be no returning to Earth, Emma thought to herself.
‘I’m exhausted.’
She went back to bed. She had all the time in the world to sleep. That was all she did of late. Every day she grew thinner and frailer; every day more of her physical strength deserted her.
‘Tomorrow we’re going to get married,’ Sol said as he left the room.
Emma felt so despondent she didn’t know what to do with herself. It seemed as though she was falling into a fathomless dark pit. It took everything she had to crawl out of bed.
For her wedding, Emma didn’t change out of her indoor spacesuit. She felt terrible for the duration of the ceremony. She understood that she and Sol were marrying solely in order to procure the paperwork that would allow her to enter Meele. But she didn’t want to be tied to Sol at an unhappy time like this. She felt she’d been dragged into marriage.
When it was over, Emma returned to bed and was given medicine and an injection. I’m going to die soon, she thought. It’s possible I’m being used as a guinea pig here.
Jebba appeared in her room. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Awful.’ It was an effort to speak, and her voice came out raspy.
‘You’re not happy?’ he asked solicitously.
‘As if I could be happy! I never imagined that marrying Sol could make me feel this awful. I know that this is all part of some plot.’ She shot Jebba a piercing glance.
‘You shouldn’t talk too much, you’ll tire yourself out.’
‘Do you think I care? I’m going to die soon anyway. I’ll talk all I want. You can all fuck off and die! There’ll be plenty of time for your goddamn reasoning then!’
‘Look, the Terran government went and announced that the Space Bureau director’s sister has been abducted by Meelians. We had to carry out a wedding ceremony to show it was consensual. But the Earth side won’t believe it, anyway. They’re going to say you’ve been blackmailed or you agreed while under the influence of drugs. Of course it’s not like they actually believe these things, but that’s the message.’
‘None of that matters to me.’
Emma was feeling utterly desperate. How miserable it would be to breathe her last in a spaceship like this one!
‘And they’re pinning another crime on Sol as well. Do you know Luana? She was killed two days before we left.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised Sol did it,’ Emma wailed.
Sol chose this moment to enter the room.
Emma glared at him, eyes full of malice. Jebba took his leave, and Sol sat down in the chair, his eyes glinting as they turned on her.
The noise of the computer was joined by a different dull thumping sound, resonating all around the room. Sol sat there, saying nothing.
‘So you’re being charged with murder? That’s just great.’ Emma said, coughing. She even managed a faint smile.
‘You think so, do you?’ His face was a strange shade, as if he was feverish.
‘I don’t know what you did to Luana, but I know that you’re gradually killing me.’
She was out of breath. It hurt.
‘Why do you think that? Why would I have brought you along if I planned to do such a thing?’
‘You’ve diverged from your original plan. Things have happened that you never predicted. Besides, the people from your planet hate me. I’m not needed. I’m excess baggage.’
Emma was now totally convinced that something toxic was being mixed in with her meals and medicine. And Sol was letting it all happen. It was now beyond her to try and think about things from his perspective or about how he might be feeling.
‘This is probably the last time I’ll come to see you,’ he said suddenly.
Summoning all the strength she had, Emma sat up.
‘Has your time come?’
‘I don’t know.’
The air between them was stifling. Emma switched on the radio. Even if they couldn’t pick up any broadcasts from Earth, they might be able to tune in to a relay station or the Spaceship Broadcasting Corporation’s pirate reports.
There was no news on the radio – it was all music. ‘Love Potion No. 9’ began wafting through the empty space.
‘So, this week is sixties week! We’ve been flooded with so many great listener requests, I want to play them all. Next up is “Satisfaction”. You all heard this one, by any chance? It’s by a group called the Rolling Stones …’
‘I can’t get no satisfaction …’ Emma sang along weakly with Mick Jagger. Almost immediately, she felt out of breath. I’m going to die, she thought, and soon.
‘Okay, and next up is … What the …? Bessie Smith? Look, first off that’s the wrong decade, and just because something’s old doesn’t make it good, you hear? I hate to see the evening sun go down, says old Bessie. Oh well, I don’t care, maybe I’ll play it anyway. Man, I’m definitely going to be out of a job …’
The disk jockey’s chirpy monologue continued for a while, then ‘St Louis Blues’ came on, but it wasn’t Bessie Smith singing.
‘You said you’d never forget. Is that still true?’ Emma said.
‘Forget what?’
Sol’s eyes were hollow. He could easily have been a patient in a psychiatric ward.
‘What happened between us. The things you said.’
Sun Ra’s ‘Heliocentric’ came on. This playlist is all over the place, Emma thought, and snapped off the radio.
Sol stretched out his neck and looked at Emma with an expression she’d never seen before, one she found impossible to read.
‘Or have you forgotten after all?’
Silence tumbled in on them like water flooding the room. Sol remained silent.
‘Say it!’ Emma said, her voice forceful.
‘I’ve forgotten,’ Sol said. A burst of clamorous modern jazz went spiralling around in Emma’s head. She let out a long sigh and dropped her hand to her side.
That night, Sol’s last thoughts entered Emma’s consciousness. And come the morning, he was gone.
There was no intergalactic war, just a minor skirmish. Six months later, Meele became a colony of Earth.