Variable Star by Robert A HeinLein & Spider Robinson Page B

going to have. I know that sounds melodramatic, hut that’s because you’re not eighteen anymore. I didn’t burst into tears—quite. But it was a near thing.
Ask anyone which way is God, and you know
    he will probably point to the stars …
    Not everyone, I thought. Some of us would point to a glacier somewhere in northern British Columbia.
    All at once I understood the real reason I had chosen not to hop a starship after all. I wasn’t done yet. I couldn’t even think about thinking about leaving for Immega 714 as long as my situation was still unresolved. Not until I’d done everything I could to try and fix it. I was still alive. Jinny was still alive.
    Well, there was no time like the present. Automatically, I started to look round for a ’fresher, to fix my appearance—then decided it could wait. Let Jinny see the state she’d reduced me to, first. All I wanted from her right now was a phone code, anyway. Then I’d get cleaned up. She and I would have our own conversation, after this upcoming one was done. I punched her code from memory—my own, I mean, not pod storage—and then the call went through, and—
    I flipped my wrist over to make the screen go away and shouted “ Coventry !” loud enough to startle my zoned neighbour into muting his music.
    Why was I so surprised? Ask me which way is God , I thought, and I’ll point to my phone .
    I turned my wrist back over, and Conrad of Conrad frowned up at me.
    I had wanted to talk to him, planned to talk to him, with great firmness and determination. In a few minutes, once I’d gotten his code from Jinny and prepared my lines. Now I was off balance. Great start.
    He began speaking nearly at once. I could see his lips move. But I was now forcibly reminded that I had thrown my earbeads into the Georgia Strait, last night. I could only point at my ears and shake my head, feeling like an idiot, even further off balance.
    He glanced way offscreen at someone to his right, lifted an eyebrow, and my phone put itself on speaker. I’d have thought of it myself in a second. I could feel my cheeks burning.
    “I said, I understand your problem, Joel.”
    I hoped to call myself a man one day. It simply did not matter it I was unprepared, or my hair was uncombed, or my pants were on. Showtime! “I’m very glad to hear that, Conrad.” There now—I’d remembered in time not to call him “sir.”
    “You have grave doubts that you’ll measure up.” I tried to respond, and he kept talking right over me until I stopped. “Any sane man in your position would. You have no life experience to reassure you yet. Or to reassure me, for that matter. Women’s intuition has historically been a chancy method of selecting winners—else Troy would still stand. But your genes and grades are excellent, for what that’s worth. And you have off-planet experience, which broadens a man. Maybe you are what we need. I think you are. In any case you are going to be given a chance. One moment, Joel.”
    His gaze shifted up and to his left slightly, and he began a conversation with someone in a corner of his screen. The audio cut off, and the image of his mouth fuzzed so that his lips could not be read. Very slick.
    I used the pause to get hold of myself, control my breath, and figure out what to say to cure his misconceptions. I even had a second or two to appreciate the surreality of having a phone conversation on a public slidewalk with one of the wealthiest living humans. Then I waited to seize control of the conversation the moment his eyes returned to mine.
    Waste of time; once again he simply ignored the fact that I was speaking. “If you do measure up, you will become a Conrad, with all that implies. If you don’t—well, you and your children will be Johnstons, but considerably better off than you would otherwise be. One of the pleasant things about this dynasty is that we can be liberal in pensioning off those who don’t quite make it.” I’d have tried to interrupt if