Star Dragon | Page 7

a lesbian who apologizes to Papa that she cannot be what he desires her to be. The man with the maracas shakes them at the right places and several wrong ones, too. The song is bittersweet to the "man" Papa is now, for he isn't what he would desire himself to be and could not take advantage of the lesbian should he now inspire the desired change.
He could simulate it, as he is doing now, but it would not be the same. Not at all.
"You know the mission," Biolathe says. His head is pink and fleshy, but with the flat-top of Boris Karloff's Frankenstein monster. He hands Papa a folder. "Now know the crew as well."
Papa leafs through the papers a hundred times. He says, "I see."
"I know. A motley bunch, children of a soft, over-privileged age. Dilettantes, hedonists, even a neo-Skinnerian. Give people the power to be anything they want to be," he pauses for effect, "and they will use it.
"Don't get me wrong -- they're all competent -- we wouldn't send anyone who wasn't. But uncertain five-hundred-year trips don't attract the most balanced personnel."
"We'll come through."
"How do you know?"
"This isn't the kind of trip you take to fail, balanced or not. And we know Lena, don't we?"
"Do we? This isn't a cattle drive."
Two large daiquiris arrive, and they drink them standing up, the way Papa writes. The drinks are icy and strong and taste of grapefruit.
"This is an unusual expedition, Papa. An unknown animal with unknown capabilities in a hazardous environment. An unpredictable payoff. We're making an appropriately sized investment. We will not send another ship. You'll be alone."
"Been there before. We'll manage."
"I know your capabilities, Papa. But you may not be able to do it alone."
"That's fine. If we have to, we'll make them do it. We'll find a way to do what must be done." He means what he says and does not think it right to speak of such things out loud.
Even though there is five-sixths of his daiquiri left, Biolathe drains it through a straw in seconds. Biolathe will not get a headache. "Well then, I wish you a good trip. Bring back something useful. Even better, something profitable."
"We will."
Biolathe pauses at the door before stepping back into the heat. "See you in a half millenia."
Papa nods and the big, flat-headed man vanishes into the sunlight.
A great expedition indeed. He needs to get ready.
Papa finishes his daiquiri, then takes advantage of the Floridita's john. It is a good old-fashioned john with a proper chain to pull, and he prefers it to the beasts people currently use in their bathrooms. He takes a moment to spar with the Negro attendant.
The man blocks a left jab, chuckling. "When you gonna grow old, Papa?"
Papa grins, and takes another jab. "Never."
As far as he's come, there is much further to go.
#
Phil Stearn loved freefall. He loved the way it made his stomach turn back flips, the way it made foods taste funny, but most of all he loved the way his ear wings -- purely ornamental on Earth -- permitted him to fly. Not like a bird. More like an elephant. But he could get around.
Flapping around in the passenger cabin of the orbit-to-orbit shuttle taking them toward a rendezvous with the Karamojo, Stearn told Fisher, "You really ought to try some more radical bodmods. I just don't understand why people like you stick with the basic model. What do you have against them?"
"Hmm?" said Fisher, who had been gazing out a view port in an absent-minded way. "Oh, I don't have anything against bodmods, per se. I'm just too busy to think about it."
Ha! Too busy to think? That's all this guy did! "Takes no time at all these days. You're limited only by your imagination."
"Yes, I can see how that would be a problem."
Stearn laughed. "That's why I'm going, see?"
"Why you're going? I don't follow."
The shuttle hold was absolutely boring, except for the freefall. Stearn tried to start some sideways rotation, but his wings were too synchronized. It was like trying to wiggle just one ear. Exactly like that. He stopped trying so he could answer Fisher as he glided past. "Imagination is limited by the time and culture you're born into and raised in. Can't help it, see? For instance, we can imagine things the ancient Americans couldn't, like going for brunch on Mars just because rain is scheduled for Tucson. You follow? In five-hundred years, people will imagine things we can't. I mean, I think we have it pretty good now, but once we got diseases and aging licked, everyone's thought they've had it pretty good. But really it's just gotten better and better. The games, the stims, the sex, the bodmods. And it'll be better still in the future. I want to check