embarrassed, but before Di Asturien’s cool clinical eyes he said, “Yes, sir. You can check this with Lieutenant Del Rey if you like.”
“Hm. I understand, Dr. Ross, that you and Miss Stuart are currently paired in any case, so perhaps we can discount that. But Mr. MacAran, you and the Lieutenant—”
“I’m interested in her,” he said steadily, “but as far as I know she’s completely indifferent to me. Even hostile. Except under the influence of—of whatever happened to us.” He faced it, then. Camilla had not turned to him as a woman to a man she cared for. She had simply been affected by the virus, or drug, or whatever strange thing had sent them all mad. What to him had been love, to her had been madness—and now she resented it.
To his immense relief the Medic Chief did not pursue the subject. “Doctor Lovat?”
Judy did not look up. She said quietly, “I can’t say. I can’t remember. What I think I remember may very well be entirely delusion.”
Di Asturien said, “I wish you would co-operate with us, Dr. Lovat.”
“I’d rather not.” Judy went on fingering something in her lap, and no persuasion could force her to say any more.
Di Asturien said, “In about a week, then, we’ll have to test all three of you for possible pregnancy.”
“How can that be necessary?” Heather asked. “I, at least, am taking regular anti shots. I’m not sure about Camilla, but I suspect crew regulations require it for anyone between twenty and forty-five.”
Di Asturien looked disturbed. “That’s true,” he said, “but there is something very peculiar which we discovered in a Medic meeting yesterday. Tell them, Nurse Raimondi.”
Margaret Raimondi said, “I’m in charge of keeping records and issuing contraceptive and sanitary supplies for all women of menstrual age, both crew and passengers. You all know the drill; every two weeks, at the time of menstruation and halfway between, every woman reports for either a single shot of hormone or, in some cases, a patch strip to send small doses of hormones into the blood, which suppress ovulation. There are a total of one hundred and nineteen women surviving in the right age bracket, which means, with an average arbitrary cycle of thirty days, approximately four women would be reporting every day, either for menstrual supplies or for the appropriate shot or patch which is given four days after onset of menstruation. It’s been ten days since the crash, which means about one-third of the women should have reported to me for one reason or the other. Say forty.”
“And they haven’t been,” Dr. Di Asturien said. “How many women have reported since the crash?”
“Nine,” said Nurse Raimondi grimly. “ Nine. This means that two-thirds of the women involved have had their biological cycles disrupted on this planet—either by the change in gravity, or by some hormone disruption. And since the standard contraceptive we use is entirely keyed to the internal cycle, we have no way of telling whether it’s effective or not.”
MacAran didn’t need to be told how serious this was. A wave of pregnancies could indeed be emotionally disruptive. Infants—or even young children—could not endure interstellar FTL drive; and since the universal acceptance of reliable contraceptives, and the population laws on overcrowded Earth, a wave of feeling had made abortion completely unthinkable. Unwanted children were simply never conceived. But would there be any alternative here?
Dr. Di Asturien said, “Of course, on new planets women are often sterile for a few months, largely because of the changes in air and gravity. But we can’t count on it.”
MacAran was thinking, if Camllla is pregnant, will she hate me? The thought that a child of theirs might have to be destroyed was frightening. Ewen asked soberly, “What are we going to do, Doctor? We can’t demand that two hundred adult men and women take a vow of chastity!”
“Obviously not. That would
“Hm. I understand, Dr. Ross, that you and Miss Stuart are currently paired in any case, so perhaps we can discount that. But Mr. MacAran, you and the Lieutenant—”
“I’m interested in her,” he said steadily, “but as far as I know she’s completely indifferent to me. Even hostile. Except under the influence of—of whatever happened to us.” He faced it, then. Camilla had not turned to him as a woman to a man she cared for. She had simply been affected by the virus, or drug, or whatever strange thing had sent them all mad. What to him had been love, to her had been madness—and now she resented it.
To his immense relief the Medic Chief did not pursue the subject. “Doctor Lovat?”
Judy did not look up. She said quietly, “I can’t say. I can’t remember. What I think I remember may very well be entirely delusion.”
Di Asturien said, “I wish you would co-operate with us, Dr. Lovat.”
“I’d rather not.” Judy went on fingering something in her lap, and no persuasion could force her to say any more.
Di Asturien said, “In about a week, then, we’ll have to test all three of you for possible pregnancy.”
“How can that be necessary?” Heather asked. “I, at least, am taking regular anti shots. I’m not sure about Camilla, but I suspect crew regulations require it for anyone between twenty and forty-five.”
Di Asturien looked disturbed. “That’s true,” he said, “but there is something very peculiar which we discovered in a Medic meeting yesterday. Tell them, Nurse Raimondi.”
Margaret Raimondi said, “I’m in charge of keeping records and issuing contraceptive and sanitary supplies for all women of menstrual age, both crew and passengers. You all know the drill; every two weeks, at the time of menstruation and halfway between, every woman reports for either a single shot of hormone or, in some cases, a patch strip to send small doses of hormones into the blood, which suppress ovulation. There are a total of one hundred and nineteen women surviving in the right age bracket, which means, with an average arbitrary cycle of thirty days, approximately four women would be reporting every day, either for menstrual supplies or for the appropriate shot or patch which is given four days after onset of menstruation. It’s been ten days since the crash, which means about one-third of the women should have reported to me for one reason or the other. Say forty.”
“And they haven’t been,” Dr. Di Asturien said. “How many women have reported since the crash?”
“Nine,” said Nurse Raimondi grimly. “ Nine. This means that two-thirds of the women involved have had their biological cycles disrupted on this planet—either by the change in gravity, or by some hormone disruption. And since the standard contraceptive we use is entirely keyed to the internal cycle, we have no way of telling whether it’s effective or not.”
MacAran didn’t need to be told how serious this was. A wave of pregnancies could indeed be emotionally disruptive. Infants—or even young children—could not endure interstellar FTL drive; and since the universal acceptance of reliable contraceptives, and the population laws on overcrowded Earth, a wave of feeling had made abortion completely unthinkable. Unwanted children were simply never conceived. But would there be any alternative here?
Dr. Di Asturien said, “Of course, on new planets women are often sterile for a few months, largely because of the changes in air and gravity. But we can’t count on it.”
MacAran was thinking, if Camllla is pregnant, will she hate me? The thought that a child of theirs might have to be destroyed was frightening. Ewen asked soberly, “What are we going to do, Doctor? We can’t demand that two hundred adult men and women take a vow of chastity!”
“Obviously not. That would
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