Free Jupiter Project by Gregory Benford Page B

stopped slurping and made a raucous noise.
    “That sneak!”
    “Huh?”
    “Remember when we told him about the Walker? I know just how his mind works. Sagdaeff thinks we’re making points by, doing the inspection tour. He wants his share.”
    “What for?”
    “Yuri wants to rack up points with Captain Vandez and hope the word gets back to Commander Aarons about what a sharp guy our Yuri is. He’s not dumb.”
    “Aren’t you being a little cynical?”
    “Every realist is at first called a cynic.” he pontificated.
    “You don’t think I should go?”
    “You’re just giving him a break. After all, you and I have been out in the Walker before, doing odd jobs. The guys here at the base know you’re not a Johnny-come-lately.”
    “The work has to be done.” I said firmly. “The project is more important—”
    “Okay, okay,” Zak said, rolling his eyes. “Go ahead. Tramp the icy wastes with Yuri for the glory of the ISA. I’ll stay here and write terrible things about you in my diary and starve to death.”
    I gritted my teeth, thinking. I was nervous and jittery. A small voice was nagging me in the back of my mind. Don’t be a sucker, it said. It had some good arguments, too.
    But I knew, finally, what was right. So I went back to Vandez and volunteered again.
    “Look, we can’t all be like you,” I said to Zak, later.
    “Uh huh.”
    Zak wanted me to go out and see if any girls were around the base, just in case we’d missed any. To amuse him while I was gone, he said. “Didn’t you bring your tapes?” I asked him. “Just conjure up ol’ Rebecca. She’ll keep you delighted.”
    “Don’t knock her, kid,” he said, smiling cynically. “She’ll make me a buck yet.”
    “Uh huh,” I said, and went to sleep.
    I woke up that night, sweating.
    The dream had come back again. I’d thought it was gone for good, but no—my pajamas were soaked, my heart pounding. I was breathing in short, desperate gasps.
    And I was in that sun-bleached Costa Mesa schoolyard again. The two Chicano kids had backed me up against a wall. They were elaborately casual, chewing gum, sneaking amused looks at each other.
    “Smart kid. aren’t ya?” the biggest one said. He put his hand on my chest and gave me a light shove. I stepped back to keep my balance.
    My lip trembled. “I’m not slow, if that’s what you mean.”
    The big one looked over at his friend. “They always got somethin’ ta say. Little smartasses.”
    The second kid punched me in the shoulder. I moved back and felt the rough brick wall behind me. There were more Chicano kids behind these two now; a crowd was gathering.
    “He’s gonna fly off into space, too,” the big one said to the crowd. “Too good for us compres down here in the mud.”
    “I don’t see any mud here.” I said, my voice sounded weak and distant. “Just dust.”
    The big one whirled around, fists clenched, face reddening. “You’re always right, ain’t cha, kid? Mebbe you oughtta taste dust.”
    He hit me in the face. I felt something break in my nose. Somebody punched me in the side. Suddenly everybody was shouting. I tried to take a swing at someone, anyone. The big kid cuffed my fist aside and slapped me again, laughing. There was a buzzing in my ears.
    I tried to run. Something struck me in the stomach and I stumbled, reaching out. The crowd was all around me. They were thick and close and everywhere I turned arms pushed me away. They spun me around in a circle, taunting me, calling names.
    I struck out blindly. I was crying, begging them, throwing punches in a red mist that smothered me. I heard them jeering. Something smashed me hard in the stomach. I went down.
    The noise washed over me. Somebody kicked me and I felt a sudden stab of pain in my ribs. The dust clogged my nose. I choked.
    The world seemed to blur and drift away. I grunted, clawing at the dirt, and rolled over. The jeering was a hollow echo, an animal chorus.
    I felt a wetness on my lips. I licked at