The Complete Stories_ Volume 1 - Isaac Asimov [126]
He was the most brilliant of the four, the most hopeful, the most intense —and he could not even finish his schooling and get his doctorate.
Worse than that, he could never leave Earth; the acceleration of a spaceship's take-off would kill him. Talliaferro was marked for the Moon, Ryger for Ceres, Kaunas for Mercury. Only Villiers stayed behind, a life-prisoner of Earth.
They had tried telling their sympathy and Villiers had rejected it with something approaching hate. He had railed at them and cursed them. When Ryger lost his temper and lifted his fist, Villiers had sprung at him, screaming, and had broken Ryger's nose.
Obviously Ryger hadn't forgotten that, as he caressed his nose gingerly with one finger. Kaunas's forehead was an uncertain washboard of wrinkles. "He's at the Convention, you know. He's got a room in the hotel—405."
"I won't see him," said Ryger.
"He's coming up here. He said he wanted to see us. I thought— He said nine. He'll be here any minute."
"In that case," said Ryger, "if you don't mind, I'm leaving." He rose. Talliaferro said, "Oh, wait a while. What's the harm in seeing him?"
"Because there's no point. He's mad."
"Even so. Let's not be petty about it. Are you afraid of him?"
"Afraid!" Ryger looked contemptuous.
"Nervous, then. What is there to be nervous about?"
"I'm not nervous," said Ryger.
"Sure you are. We all feel guilty about him, and without real reason. Nothing that happened was our fault." But he was speaking defensively and he knew it.
And when, at that point, the door signal sounded, all three jumped and turned to stare uneasily at the barrier that stood between themselves and Villiers.
The door opened and Romero Villiers walked in. The others rose stiffly to greet him, then remained standing in embarrassment, without one hand being raised.
He stared them down sardonically. He's changed, thought Talliaferro.
He had. He had shrunken in almost every dimension. A gathering stoop made him seem even shorter. The skin of his scalp glistened through thinning hair, the skin on the back of his hands was ridged crookedly with bluish veins. He looked ill. There seemed nothing to link him to the memory of the past except for his trick of shading his eyes with one hand when he stared intently and, when he spoke, the even, controlled baritone of his voice.
He said, "My friends! My space-trotting friends! We've lost touch."
Talliaferro said, "Hello, Villiers."
Villiers eyed him. "Are you well?"
"Well enough."
"And you two?"
Kaunas managed a weak smile and a murmur. Ryger snapped, "All right, Villiers. What's up?"
"Ryger, the angry man," said Villiers. "How's Ceres?"
"It was doing well when I left. How's Earth?"
"You can see for yourself," but Villiers tightened as he said that.
He went on, "I am hoping that the reason all three of you have come to the Convention is to hear my paper day after tomorrow."
"Your paper? What paper?" asked Talliaferro.
"I wrote you all about it. My method of mass-transference."
Ryger smiled with one corner of his mouth. "Yes, you did. You didn't say anything about a paper, though, and I don't recall that you're listed as one of the speakers. I would have noticed it if you had been."
"You're right. I'm not listed. Nor have I prepared an abstract for publication." Villiers had flushed and Talliaferro said soothingly, "Take it easy, Villiers. You don't look well." Villiers whirled on him, lips contorted. "My heart's holding out, thank you." Kaunas said, "Listen, Villiers, if you're not listed or abstracted—"
"You listen. I've waited ten years. You have the jobs in space and I have to teach school on Earth, but I'm a better man than any of you or all of you."
"Granted—" began Talliaferro.
"And I don't want your