this direction was interlaced with small gently flowing brooks that all combined into a rather large river some thirty kilometers away that, in turn, flowed into the sea.
The brooks were welcome, of course. They supplied the Dome with its natural water supply, once the prokaryote content was removed (actually, 'killed' was the better word). There had been some biologists, in the early days of the Dome, who had objected to the killing of the prokaryotes, but that was ridiculous. The tiny specks of life were so incredibly numerous on the planet, and could proliferate so rapidly to replace any shrinkage of their numbers, that no amount of ordinary killing in the process of ensuring a water supply could hurt them, in any significant way. Then, once the Plague began, a vague but strong hostility to Erythro rose up, and, after that, no-one cared what one did to the prokaryotes.
Of course, now that the Plague did not seem to be much of a threat any longer, humanitarian feelings (Genarr privately felt that 'biotarian' was the better word) might rise again. Genarr sympathized with those feelings, but then what would the Dome do for a water supply?
Lost in thought, he was no longer looking at Marlene, and the shriek sounded deafeningly in his ear. 'Marlene! Marlene! Siever, what is she doing?'
Now he looked up, and was about to answer with automatic reassurance that nothing was wrong, that all was well, when he caught sight of Marlene.
For a moment, he could not tell what she was doing. He just stared at her in the pink light of Nemesis.
Then he made it out. She was unhitching her helmet and was taking it off. Now she was working at removing the rest of her E-suit. He had to stop this!
Genarr tried to call out to her, but in the horror of the emergency, he couldn't find his voice. He tried to run to her, but his legs felt leaden, and barely responded to the urgency of his feelings.
It was as though he found himself in a nightmare where dreadful things were happening, and he could do nothing to prevent them. Or, perhaps, his mind, under the stress of events, was dissociating from his body.
Is this the Plague, striking at me? Genarr wondered in panic. And, if so, what will happen to Marlene now, as she is baring herself to the light of Nemesis and the air of Erythro?
Chapter 26. Planet
58
Crile Fisher had seen Igor Koropatsky only twice in the three years since he had assumed the post formerly held by Tanayama, and had become the actual - if not the titular - head of the project.
He had no trouble recognizing him, however, when the photo-entry had signaled his image. Koropatsky was still his portly, outwardly genial self. He was dressed well, with a large and flufly cravat in the latest style.
As for Fisher, he had been relaxing through the morning and was scarcely presentable, but one did not refuse to receive Koropatsky, even when he came without warning.
Fisher signaled the tactful 'Hold' image, the cartoon figure of a welcoming host (or hostess, for the sex was made conventionally ambiguous) with a hand upraised delicately in a gesture that was universally understood to mean 'Just a minute' without the crassness of actually saying so.
Fisher had a few moments to comb his hair and adjust his clothes. He might have shaved, but he felt that Koropatsky would consider any further delay insulting.
The door slid aside and Koropatsky walked in. He smiled pleasantly and said, 'Good morning, Fisher. I intrude upon you, I know.'
'No intrusion, Director,' said Fisher, making an effort to sound sincere, 'but if you wish to see Dr Wendel, she is, I'm afraid, at the ship.'
Koropatsky grunted. 'You know, I rather thought she might be. I have no choice, then, but to talk to you. May I sit down?'
'Yes, of course, Director,' said Fisher, chagrined at not having offered Koropatsky a seat before the request was made. 'Would you care for refreshment?'
'No.' Koropatsky patted his abdomen. 'I weigh myself every morning and that alone is sufficient to cost me my appetite - almost. Fisher, I have never had a chance to talk to you, man to man. I have wanted to.'
'It is my pleasure, Director,' mumbled Fisher, beginning to grow uneasy. What was this all about?
'Our planet is in debt to you.'
'If you say so, Director,' said Fisher.
'You were on Rotor before it left.'
'That was fourteen years ago, Director.'
'I know it was. You were married