Open Writing

Texas. April, 2124

Holly walked quickly but quietly along the corridor of
the main hacienda, aware that she was already a few
minutes late for the meeting with her employer. Maynard
Glendenning III was, on the whole, a fairly easy man to
work for, but could be a stickler for punctuality. No one
built an empire such as his by being casual all of the time;
there was an underlying ruthlessness in him, and Holly
had seen it once or twice when they had disagreed with
certain aspects of the children’s education. He had usually
deferred to her knowledge and experience, but a couple of
times she had seen a glint of the steel underneath the
bluff, hearty exterior.

She had, of course, always known it had to be there.
The Glendenning Ranch was a huge concern, and the man
running it had many fingers in many other pies besides
cattle-raising. Therefore, Holly knew he had to be a
tough, no-nonsense businessman, no matter how he
appeared on the outside. There was no current Mrs.
Glendenning; all of the children had different mothers, all
divorced, and Maynard had been dropping hints lately
that he would not be averse to Holly becoming number
four.

Despite the obvious financial advantages involved in
such an arrangement (the other three Mrs. Glendennings
having become very rich women by their husband’s
generous settlements), Holly had never been tempted to
take up the offer. When she thought about it, which
wasn’t often, even she wasn’t certain why she had
rebuffed the cattle baron’s advances, however covert. The
children adored her, and Glendenning himself was a
reasonably presentable and, so far as she knew, decent
man.

She supposed it was the idea of becoming part of an
arrangement, of being just another chattel that turned her
off. The whole notion had a definite reek of the stables
about it, and she knew she would become just another
possession, to be trotted out and paraded when the
occasion suited. Holly was convinced that she was no
beauty, and that her employer might well have very
different feelings for her that he had had for his other
wives, but she still could not bring herself to marry a man
for whom she harbored no feelings. Holly was holding out
for love, and she would continue to do so, even if it meant
she remained single for the rest of her life. Or at least the
foreseeable future.

No, she thought as she approached Glendenning’s
private study, life with such a man was not for her. Her
life was teaching, molding young minds into receptacles
to receive and hold the knowledge of mankind. Not for
her a life of idle luxury, pointless and without direction,
wasting away in some ivory tower somewhere. She was
happier alone in her room, ensconced with her poets, than
she would ever be as the mistress of the most magnificent
mansion.

Good Lord, she thought, as she approached the doors
leading to the old-fashioned room, listen to me. You’d
think he’d gone down on bended knee, swearing undying
love and vowing to throw himself off a cliff if I turned
him down. Stifling a threatening giggling fit at the
comical image that thought dredged up, she paused before
the large double doors, made of real mahogany, and
nervously wiped her hands on her dress. Glendenning had
said she was to meet someone today; who it was, he
would not say, except that it was someone who could
change her life. He had urged her, if she could find the
time, to keep the appointment; in other words, be there.

Composing herself, she drew a deep breath and rapped
firmly on the right-hand door twice. Immediately, the
door swung inwards, revealing the lush interior of the
room. From within, a deep voice that she did not
recognize said, “Come in, Miss Parmentier.” After a
moment’s hesitation, Holly entered, and the door closed
behind her with a solid ka-chunk.

Holly stood by the door, feeling its solidity behind her
as she looked around the room. She had been in it a few
times before, but she still took a moment to look around.
The paintings on the walls, the lush, living grass carpet
underfoot, the dark tones of the wall paneling (like the
door, real wood). Taken together, they all lent an
atmosphere reminiscent of how Holly imagined the
private men’s clubs that had all but vanished from the
major cities of the world had once looked.

“Come on in, Holly, don’t be shy.” This time, the
voice was that of Maynard Glendenning; smooth and
sleekly groomed, he beckoned her from behind the
enormous desk opposite the door, framed against the bay
window behind it. Hesitantly, Holly approached, and
Glendenning gestured to a comfortable-looking
overstuffed chair in front of the desk.

“Sit down, Holly,” he said. “Make yourse’f at home.”
He turned to his right, and Holly followed his gaze, and
saw the man seated in the other chair for the first time. He
was older than Maynard, and was smoking a large cigar,
no doubt made from the tar-free variety of tobacco from
the lunar colonies. Her employer spoke again.

“Ah’d like y’all to meet an old friend of mine, m’dear.
Allow me to introduce Senator Eugene Rathbone, one of
our great state’s representatives in Washington. Gene,
meet Miss Holly Parmentier.”

The man in the other chair inclined his head, and
removed the cigar from his mouth long enough to
murmur, “Mah pleasure, ma’am,” before replacing the
glowing cylinder and drawing on it, all the while studying
Holly with a disconcertingly inquisitive gaze. For few
moments there was silence in the room. Holly’s eyes
flicked from one man to the other, back and forth, while
they watched her like a pair of predators waiting for the
right moment to strike. Her employer’s guest dropped the
remains of his cigar into the receptacle beside his chair,
where it vanished in a microwave flash. Then he
uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. Looking at Holly,
he spoke to Glendenning.

“Tell y’what, May,” he drawled in a thick, East Texas
accent, “why don’t y’all leave Miz Parmentier and me to
git acquainted? Y’must have urgent business to attend to,
and Ah wouldn’t want to delay you. We’ll be fine right
here.”

Maynard looked from the senator to Holly and back
again in mild surprise as it dawned on him that he was
being quietly asked to leave his own study. He hesitated a
moment, then pushed back his chair and came out from
behind the desk.

“Well, sure thing, Gene. Y’all just take all the time you
need. Anything you want, y’hear? Jest ring the bell…” he
indicated the vidcom on the desk with a smile, “and
someone’ll come a-runnin’.”

Senator Rathbone stood and clasped Glendenning’s
hand in a politician’s handshake; short, firm and artificial.
Then he took him by the elbow and steered him towards
the door. With a final murmured assurance that they
would be fine, he ushered the cattleman out, then turned
to face Holly. He regarded her solemnly for a few
moments, and Holly turned in her chair and forced herself
to look back at him. He was a large man, not unattractive,
and gave the impression of being even larger than he was.

When her employer had introduced him, Holly had
immediately recognized him from the Net. The senior
Republican senator from Texas, one of the great movers
and shakers on Capitol Hill, tipped as a possible future
Earth President, Eugene Rathbone was a regular fixture
on news and current affairs programs, and was often seen
in the company of world leaders, both on and off-planet.
The senator had thick, silver hair, which, if real, was one
of his greatest assets. That, and his dark, piercing eyes
beneath equally dark brows, and his commanding voice,
made him an imposing figure. He was dressed in an old-
fashioned one-piece suit, at a time when men were
beginning to return to the styles and fashions of the mid-
to-late twentieth century, all flared pants and belted
jackets and colored shirts. Not too surprising, perhaps,
since the senator appeared to be in his mid-sixties, and
might be expected to be set in his ways.

He was tall, almost two meters, and probably massed
more than a hundred kilos. He had, in fact, played college
football as a young man, a linebacker for Texas State who
had been famous for his brutal, crunching defense, and
was secretly proud of his physique. He pushed himself
away from the door and walked slowly towards Holly,
who still sat turned sideways in her chair, watching him.
He walked slowly past her and returned to his own chair,
her eyes following him as he sat down. When he was
comfortable, he studied Holly for a moment longer, then
spoke.

“What do you know about space travel, Miss
Parmentier?”

The question took Holly by surprise. “N-not very
much, I’m afraid,” she stammered. “I’ve never been
terribly interested in such things, except where they affect
my teaching. My children; that is, the children I teach,”
she added, self-deprecatingly, “only study that sort of
thing in a very general, basic way. Later on, when they
specialize, they may choose to study one of the related
fields, but I fear my own knowledge is quite limited.”

Holly fell silent again as the senator lit another cigar
and watched her through the swirl of blue-gray smoke,
taking his time about getting it lit to his exact liking.
Satisfied at last, he sat back in his chair and pointed the
fragrant-smelling cylinder at Holly.

“Let me ask you something. How would you feel about
improving that knowledge first hand, so to speak?”

Holly frowned at him, puzzled, and he went on. “You
have, of course, heard of the upcoming colonizing
mission to be undertaken by the starship Isaac Asimov?
Even someone as sequestered as yourself could surely not
have failed to notice this momentous event unfolding
daily in our living rooms?” Holly began to stammer
vague generalities, and the senator waved her silent.
“Never mind,” he said, “I’ll summarize.” He drew on his
cigar, and studied the glowing tip as he recited.

“On 22 November this year, the United Earth Ship
Isaac Asimov will leave earth orbit carrying five thousand
colonists from twenty-two countries, and will proceed
under fusion/tachyon drive in a complicated parabola
which will eventually take it in the direction of the star
Procyon. This star, actually a binary or double star
system, the larger of which is six times as bright as our
sun, has recently been found to have several planets
orbiting it. Most of these are either lumps of rock, too
close to the main star to be habitable, or gas giants too far
away and equally inhospitable. One, however, has
captured our attention.

“The planet in question, designated Procyon VII, but
not yet named, is believed to be earthlike. Our
astronomers have determined that it has an oxygen
atmosphere, and is capable of supporting human life.
Apart from it having a moderate climate, not much else is
known about it; even with the new telescopes on the dark
side of the moon, we can only see so much. It is, after all,
more than eleven light-years away.”

Rathbone paused to refill his brandy balloon from a
decanter at his elbow. He offered it to Holly, but she
shook her head and sat still, demurely attentive, her hands
folded in her lap. The senator took a large swallow from
the glass and continued, and Holly noted how the Texas
accent was less pronounced now that they were alone.

“The ship will carry people from all walks of life, Miss
Parmentier. Doctors, engineers, tradespeople, merchants,
planetary landscapers, geologists, administrators,
scientists…” he paused for a moment… “And teachers,”
he finished, watching her closely.

Holly sat still, hardly breathing, scarcely daring to
believe what she was beginning to suspect. The senator
continued.

“On board the Asimov will be about 1,000 children
aged between five and seventeen years. Anyone aged
eighteen or more is considered an adult, although
advanced education will be available for all that desire it,
up to doctorate level in all the sciences. Don’t worry,” he
said, holding up a hand to forestall her expected
objection, “the basics will not be ignored, neither will the
classics. English, history, literature, all are well covered.

“All of these children belong to family groups,
although not every adult on board has children, not by any
means, or is even married, for that matter. Approximately
three thousand of the adults are single men and women
who are making the trip to start a new life, for whatever
reason. Frankly, we did not examine those reasons too
closely. You’d be surprised how difficult it was to find
three thousand single, unattached people who were
willing to leave the earth behind and embark on this
adventure, Miss Parmentier. So much so that, as long as
they met certain criteria, and were not wanted by the
authorities for any felonious reason, we were happy to
accept them, or at least have them take the tests to
determine their mental and psychological fitness.”

He fixed Holly with his penetrating gaze. “Now we
come to what my grand-daddy used to call the nitty-gritty.
Due to a sudden and unexpected illness, we find ourselves
short one teacher, Miss Parmentier. To cut right to it,
would you like to take the tests? I hasten to add you
would be under no obligation should you pass, although
we would need your decision very soon. Time is, after all,
getting on.”

Holly sat perfectly still, momentarily at a loss for
words. Then she found her voice. “Mr., er, Senator
Rathbone, I, ah…why me? Surely you must have better,
more suitable people you can ask. And, come to think of
it, why on earth would you think I would even consider
such a thing, to leave my home, the place of my birth, to
travel to this, this…alien place, so far away?”

The senator blew smoke and said, nonchalantly,
“Pioneers come from the most unlikely backgrounds,
Miss Parmentier. Even the Old West had its town
schoolmarm, and some of them were among the hardiest
of them all, and became prominent figures in their
communities. But mainly, I’m asking you because you
were recommended to me by your employer, May
Glendenning.”

Holly stared at the senator for a few moments in open-
mouthed astonishment, unable to believe what she had
just heard. Why would Glendenning recommend her for
such a thing as a colonizing mission? Finally, she
found her voice and asked the question aloud. The
senator’s reply was casual, offhand.

“Can’t say. But…maybe it’s his way of telling you it’s
time to move on.”

“Move on?” Holly replied incredulously. “Move on?
To the next town or the next state, perhaps, but to the next
star?” She shook her head, dismissing the notion. “No,
senator, Mr. Glendenning has never expressed any
dissatisfaction with me or my work with the children.
There has to be some other explanation.”

Rathbone shrugged, and uncrossed his legs. “Well,
have it your way. Whatever the reason, the offer stands,
but don’t leave it too long.” He dropped the cigar in the
tray. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, rising from the
chair, “I’ve got a Washington shuttle to catch.”

Holly stood also, her hands automatically and
unnecessarily smoothing the front of her antistatic,
creaseless dress. There was an awkward moment of
silence, then the study door opened, and Maynard
Glendenning walked in.

“Well, Gene,” he said, rubbing his hands together,
looking now, to Holly, for all the world like some greasy
merchant, not at all the man she had thought she knew,
“you just about through? How did my star tutor take your
news?” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard every word
through the sophisticated eavesdropping devices the
office contained.

“I’ll let her tell you that herself,” smiled the senator, as
if he didn’t know that the cattleman already knew.

The two powerful men shook hands, smiled insincerely
at each other, and Maynard ushered the senator out of the
room. When he reached the door, he turned back to Holly.
“I’ll be back in just a moment, m’dear. Why don’t you
just make yourself comfortable?”

Holly sank back into the chair and watched as the two
men left the room, closing the door behind them. Dimly,
she heard their voices receding down the corridor. What
on earth was that all about? she asked herself. Why would
Glendenning suggest her for a colony mission? Why, for
that matter, would he even think she might want to? It
was all very strange, and she was no closer to
understanding when the door opened again and her
employer re-appeared.

“Well, now,” he said, crossing the room and sitting
behind his desk, “did you have a nice talk with the
senator? I’ll tell you, he can be pretty persuasive when it
suits him. Which is most of the time,” he added with a
chuckle.

Holly hesitated, then said, “Mr. Glendenning, I’m
afraid I’m a little confused. Why did you suggest to
Senator Rathbone that I might be interested in such a
venture? Are you unhappy with my work? Is that why you
thought I might want to be a part of such a thing?”

Glendenning held up a hand, his round face registering
concern. “Now, Holly, don’t you go gettin’ yourself all
het up. I was only lookin’ out for your welfare. Y’know,
since your Momma passed away, you’ve got no one else
in the whole world that you can call kin. I just thought it
might be good for you to get away, make a fresh start.”

Holly stared at him. “But what about the children?
How are they going to continue their education? Are you
saying there is no longer a position here for me?”

The cattleman raised his hands in what Holly was
certain was only mock horror. “No, no, nothin’ like that!
You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want.” He
paused, then went on, diffidently.” ‘Course, if you should
decide to go, I’d be the last one to stand in your way.”

Holly nodded, composing herself. “I see. When do you
want me to leave?”

Glendenning shook his head and raised a hand, running
his fingers through his thinning hair. He smiled and tried
to look casual, uncaring; he failed. “Oh, I don’t know.
Didn’t the senator mention something about a month or
so?” he said, either unconscious or unconcerned that he
had revealed the fact that he had overheard their
conversation.

“Not to me,” Holly replied, tight-lipped.

Glendenning nodded absently, neither listening nor
hearing. “Well, why don’t we make it that, then,” he said,
totally oblivious to Holly’s distress and discomfort. “I’m
sure that’ll give you plenty of time to decide what you’re
going to do.”

He stood up, indicating that their meeting was over;
Holly rose, and he walked her to the door, one arm draped
around her shoulders. “Now, don’t you worry about the
children,” he said, opening one half of the massive doors.
“I’ve arranged for someone else to take over their
schoolin’, startin’ tomorrow. You just take the rest of the
day off, then come and see me later this afternoon.”

Holly stared at him, perplexed; unable to find any
words, she nodded numbly and left the study. She walked
quickly through the huge rambling house, back to her
suite of rooms. Closing the door, she sat on her bed and
tried to sort out in her mind why she was being treated
this way and, more importantly, what she was going to
do. It was obvious that Glendenning wanted her out by
the end of the day, not in a month; she supposed he would
have her severance pay ready when she saw him later.

Why? she wondered. What had she done? Surely it
wasn’t because she had rejected his romantic advances.
Surely it couldn’t be something as basic, as primitive, as
that. Then, with a sinking heart, she realized that it could
indeed be. The more she thought about it, and the newly-
revealed character of her soon-to-be-ex-employer, the
more she became resigned to the idea that it was his
spurned hormones that were responsible for her losing her
job. And when she was gone, another prospective Mrs.
Glendenning would take her place, also unaware of the
strings attached to the appointment.

Holly lay back on the bed and stared at the dark, rich
beams in the ceiling, trying to think of what to do, and
was soon lost in thought.