The Seed of Earth

CHAPTER THREE

Cherry Thomas came awake all at once, but reluctantly, and looked around. The apartment was a mess. Two empty bottles sat on the floor near the bed, cigarette ashes were sprinkled everywhere. It had been a pleasant evening and it was good to know that somebody enjoyed your company, Cherry thought.

She lugged the cleanall out of the closet, plugged it in, and set it to work gobbling up the scattered ashes while she herself showered. The gentle cleansing spray felt good. After ten minutes under the water she stepped out, stretched, yawned, did her calisthenics. Mustn't let the middle start to sag, dearie. You're only as good as your figure is.

Morning dunes over, Cherry flipped the switch on the radio; music streamed into the apartment. She jabbed down on the window-opaquer and the polarity of the glass shifted, letting in the morning sunlight. It looked as if New York would have another perfect day. The wall clock said 1123 hours, 10 October 2116.

She knew there wasn't much time. At 1300 she was due downtown for an audition; one of the big sensie-theaters needed usherettes. It was cheap work for a girl who had once danced and sung in the best establishments of three continents, but time moved along; she was twenty-five, no longer in the first golden bloom of youth, and these days the night club managers seemed to have a cradle fetish - the younger the better. Next year, Cherry thought sourly, somebody would come up with the ultimate in that line - the ten-year-old singer.

She punched out breakfast on the autocook. Cherry's apartment was automatic in almost every respect. She had always dreamed of living surrounded by the latest gadgets, and, one year when she'd really been taking in the cash, she had bought herself all the gadgets there were. An automatic backscratcher that came out of the bed's headboard when she wanted it, an autocook, automatically opaquing windows, light-dimmers, a cleanall.

Her apartment was a nest for electronic wizardry of all kinds.

Cherry ate without interest. Breakfast was just something that had to be eaten, not any source of pleasure.

She was tense about the audition at 1300. An usherette had to prance up and down the aisles in nothing more than a bit of hip-length, translucent fluff. She was sure she had the figure for the job, but her confidence was low.

In the past year she had been gaining weight, slowly, inexorably, unstoppably.

It wasn't like this when Dan was here, she thought.

Dan had been the world to her: manager, trainer, coach, father-confessor, agent. Dan had found her when she was a dime-a-dance girl in Philadelphia, and before Dan had finished with her she was the toast of Las Vegas, Paris, Bucharest. Dan had slimmed her down, taught her poise, forced her to fight temptations, found her the best jobs and compelled her to turn down everything but the very best.

But Dan was gone. They had selected him, two years ago. And nothing had been the same since.

Without him she could not fend for herself. Within a year Cherry Thomas was no longer a name to put in lights; she was back singing in the dives, the flashy but tawdry joints on the wrong side of town. The big wheel had spun and the pointer had pointed at Dan, and they had taken him away and sent him out to some brand new world to build a civilization. She had wept and raged for two days, and then she drank for three more, but nothing brought him back.

Selection. The word was the foulest in Cherry's vocabulary. When someone said it in her hearing, her eyes slitted, her jaws tightened, her stomach contracted in anger and pain. Selection was a dirty word. And the man who had invented selection, whoever he was, would rot in Hell if Cherry Thomas' muttered curses could put him there.

And the worst of it was, Cherry thought, rubbing the old wound with salt for the millionth time, that she could have gone with him, if she had wanted to. 'You can always become a volunteer,' Dan had told her as she wept hysterically that morning. You can come with me wherever I'm going, if it means that much to you.' And he had knotted his hands in his thick dark hair and waited for her answer, and she had refused to say anything.

Well, what the hell would you do? she demanded fiercely of nobody in particular. She had been twenty-three, rolling in money, the toast of the entertainment world. He was ten years older than she. Sure, she had thought she loved him, but how can anyone be sure of that? It seemed like so much to ask, for her to give up her limousine and her apartment and her pet ocelot and her cozy, luxurious, pampered life to follow him out to the stars.

So she had finally said no, she would stay here, and Dan had shrugged calmly, telling her that it was better that way, that she was probably not fitted for the rugged frontier life anyway. And he had gone, leaving her behind. And then the anguish began for her in earnest.

She had sold the fancy cars and given away the ocelot.

She still had the apartment but very little else. She had lost her cozy, luxurious life, and she had lost Dan. There had been the quick, crazy, bad marriage right after Dan was taken, a marriage that lasted only a couple of months, and after that the long, slow, gentle slide downward. The slide hadn't ended yet. Soon she'd be performing for ten bucks a night. And she would drift wearily on into her thirties and forties and maybe her fifties, growing heavier and lonelier, while Dan built log cabins in the stars. Perhaps he was dead now. What did it matter? If she had chosen to go with him, everything would have been much different.

But I was selfish. I stayed behind. And what did I get for it?

Cherry shook her head sadly, put her coffee cup into the autowash, and took a cheeriup pill from the medicine cabinet. The pill took effect practically at once: a fine, false buoyant feeling of optimism and good cheer replaced the introspective mood of gloom. She punched the dial three more times and three more little yellow pills popped out. One every four hours would see her through the day without a moment of depression; maybe the good mood was phony, but it was better than brooding about Dan all day.

She hung up her robe and eyed herself critically in the elaborate three hundred degree full-length mirror, something she never dared to do before taking her cheeriup. Fortified, she could observe her body without fear. She nodded approvingly. A visit to the steam bath, she thought, was in order, to shave a bit of poundage off the rear end. Otherwise, she was satisfied. Her belly was still flat, her bosom high and firm. She grinned at herself. That usherette's job wouldn't present any problems at all.

She dialed the wardrobe control for her clothes, and slipped rapidly into them - a one-piece blue dress with scanties underneath. No sense dressing elaborately for this kind of audition, she thought. The wardrobe indicator had already sampled the outdoor weather and reported that it was coolish; it proffered a wrap for her, and she took it.

One last check in the mirror: makeup was okay, hair well groomed, face scrubbed. Thanks to the cheeriup, she looked happy, enthusiastic, eager. The auditioners would never be able to see the core of misery deep beneath the surface.

'Good morning, Miss Thomas,' said the elevator's voice as she stepped in. A photoscanner in the elevator's roof was rigged to recognize all of the building's tenants and give them a personal greeting.

'Good morning,' she said. 'Nice day.'

There was no reply. The elevator's brain-center was programmed only for one sentence. But she believed in returning the greeting, anyway. It was the least she could do.

The elevator deposited her in the glittering chrome-and-green-glass lobby. She started to break the photo-beam that controlled the front door; then, as an afterthought, she decided to see if there had been any mail for her.

That was when she found the selection notice from the Colonization Bureau.

Mirror-bright fingernails slashed the blue envelope open. She read the message carefully, slowly; reading had never been one of her strong points. When she had gone through the brief notice the first time, she doubled back and read it again.

Yes; no doubt of it. It was a selection notice.

'Well, I'll be a - So they got me, too!'

You have been selected to be a member of the colonizing expedition departing on 17 October from Bangor, Maine, aboard the starship GEGENSCHEIN. You must report at once to your nearest Colonization Bureau registry center. You are now subject to the provisions of the Interstellar Colonization Act of 200g, and any violation of these provisions will meet with severe punishment.

By order of D. L. Mulholland, District Chairman.

Her first reaction was an outraged one: Who the hell are they that they can grab hold of Cherry Thomas and say that she has to go out and go to the stars? They can't push me around like that!

But after the first wild flare of defiance came a quieter, more sobering thought: Maybe it won't be so bad. I could use a change of air. I'm not going anyplace here on Earth. In ten years I'll be a two-bit floozie. So why not go where they want me to go?

And then came the last thought, the clincher: Maybe you can pick the place where you're going 1 Maybe I can go to the planet where Dan is!

She hurried upstairs. According to the notice, she had to report to the nearest registry center at once. The phone directory told her that there was a center ten blocks away. To blazes with that audition! For the first time in two years she felt genuine enthusiasm.

She took a cab to the registry center - no need to worry about economizing now. She practically ran up the stairs and into the big office. A receptionist blinked at her and Cherry shoved the blue slip forward.

'Here. I just got this. I've been selected. Where do I go?'

'I'll take you to the director.'

The director was a blank-faced man in his fifties who turned on a smile when Cherry entered. She said at once, 'I'm Cherry Thomas. I just got selected.'

'Won't you have a seat? I'm Mr. Stewart. I realize this day is an unhappy one for you, but may I assure you—'

She cut him off. 'Look, Mr. Stewart, I want you to do me a favor. I don't mind getting selected, I suppose. But I want you to send me to the same planet where they sent Dan Cirillo in 2114.1 don't know the name of the planet, but you ought to be able to look it up somewhere, and—•'

Mr. Stewart's blank moon-face was furrowed by a frown. 'You don't seem to understand, Miss Thomas.

You're not being sent to a planet that's already been colonized. You'll be going to a completely untamed world, a virgin planet.'

'But I want to be near Dan 1 Listen, he was everything to me, we were practically getting married, and then you came along and selected him. So he went out there. Well, now it's my turn, and I want to go to him! Can't you see how important it is? Damn it, don't you have any heart?'

Mr. Stewart shrugged gently. 'I'm afraid it's utterly impossible for you to follow him now. For one thing, don't you see that he's been married up there for two years?'

'Dan - married?' Cherry shook her head. Stupid of me not to think of that! Of course, when they send you up there you have to be coupled off! Slowly her fluttering nervous system calmed. 'I - hadn't figured on that,' she said in a soft voice. 'Sure. He got married up there.' She felt a lump sprouting at the base of her throat.

Mr. Stewart leaned forward, smiling now. 'So you see, we couldn't send you to him. Not now.'

'But I could have gone two years ago! All I had to do was come here and say the word, and you would have sent me! And I'd be up there with him now! I'd be his wife!' Her voice reached a pitch of near hysteria. She burst into sudden tears and put her head in her hands.

The peak of emotion passed in a moment or two. When she looked up, she saw Mr. Stewart watching her calmly, as if he went through this sort of thing every day.

'So I'm going to some other planet?' she asked quietly.

'Which one?'

'Only the higher authorities know that, Miss Thomas.

Does it really matter?'

'No - no, I suppose it doesn't.'

He fussed uncomfortably with papers on his desk. 'I've sent for your records, but it'll take a little while. You didn't register at this office.'

'I registered in Philadelphia,' she said. 'Six years ago.'

It seemed an eternity. And now, at last, her number had come up. In her mind's eye she pictured the Cherry Thomas of 2110, timidly filling out the registry form.

Just a scared kid of nineteen, then. A lot had happened in six years.

Mr. Stewart said, 'I take it you're not currently married, Miss Thomas?'

'No, I was - a couple of years ago. Not now.'

'I see. And - and there isn't anyone who might possibly care to volunteer to accompany you?'

Cherry thought down the list of the men she knew.

No, none of them had the stuff of a volunteer in them.

She shook her head silently.

'May I ask your profession?' Mr. Stewart said.

'I'm - an entertainer.'

'That's a very general category. Would you care to be more specific?'

'Right now I'm sort of unemployed. I was supposed to get a tryout for a job this afternoon, but I guess that's out now. I've been a night-club singer, a dancer, and a couple of other things.'

She smiled ironically. Ever since they had taken Dan away, she had started every day by cursing selection and the men who ran it. But now that she herself was meshed in the net, she saw that selection was the thing she had waited for without knowing. It offered escape - escape from the harsh tinsel world she lived in, escape from the jeering booking agents who grudgingly paid her price now and who in a few years would bargain and haggle with her, escape from the inclosing wall of loneliness and fear.

A new world; a husband; children.

Her eyes felt misty with unaccustomed moisture.

'Look,' she said. 'I ain't appealing. You see they don't turn me down, hear?'