Felicia rose early, kissed a groggy Brad lightly, then dressed and left for her own quarters. She spent the morning with nearly a dozen other young women, dressing and gossiping and making ready for the wedding ceremony.
In the week that had passed since the contact with the octopods, Brad realized that he didn’t have any really close friends. He’d always been something of a loner, and outside of his fellow anthropologists, he barely knew any of the other men among the scientific staff.
Brad had made a point of seeing Kosoff privately to explain why he and Felicia had laughed when Kosoff offered to give the bride away. After a painful hour Kosoff seemed mollified, but only minimally.
“I know you think I exiled you to Alpha as punishment for snatching Felicia away from me,” the director had said. Grinning ruefully, he admitted, “Well, maybe I did. But you turned your exile into a triumph, and I’m proud of you.”
“Really?” Brad blurted.
“Really,” said Kosoff. “You have the mind of a fine scientist, young man. And what’s more, you have the stubbornness of an Arkansas mule. You’ll go far, I’m sure.”
Brad felt his cheeks flush.
Littlejohn was warier. In his cramped little office, he made a wry face when Brad told him of Kosoff’s praise.
“Beware of Greeks bearing gifts, son. Kosoff’s report back to Earth about contacting the octopods didn’t mention your name. Not once.”
“I don’t care,” said Brad.
“But you should. It’s important to get the credit, when you’ve earned it. That’s how reputations are made in science. I think it was Faraday who said, ‘Physics is to make experiments and to publish them.’ You’ve got to make your work known, and your name known, as well.”
Brad accepted the advice with a nod. Yet inwardly he wondered how he could get his own name known when Kosoff controlled the links back to Earth.
Now it was his wedding day, and Larry Untermeyer had come over to Brad’s quarters to help him get ready.
Larry sat on the edge of the unmade bed watching Brad pulling on the dark blue suit that had been made for him by one of the ship’s 3-D printers.
“Fits pretty good,” Larry said.
Looking doubtfully into the bedroom’s full-length mirror, Brad complained, “Feels kind of stiff, like it’s made of plastic instead of cloth.”
Untermeyer laughed. “That’s because it is, mostly. Besides, I bet you haven’t worn anything except jeans and tunics since grad school.”
Brad shrugged.
With a sardonic grin on his round face, Larry went on, “Well, you look like a bridegroom, all dressed up for his last day of freedom.”
“First time I’ve worn pants with a crease in them since god knows when,” Brad admitted.
Untermeyer sighed. “Just be glad the printer got the length right for those giraffe legs of yours.”
“Nobody’ll be looking at me, anyway,” Brad said, reaching for the suit’s golden cravat. “All eyes’ll be on Fil.”
His grin stretching, Larry agreed. “She’s a lot better to look at than you are.”
Just like Kosoff, Brad realized. He gets the credit for what I did. No, he corrected himself: he takes the credit for what I did.
* * *
As Brad entered the ship’s auditorium, he was staggered by the size of the expectantly buzzing crowd. The big space was almost filled. Just about the entire scientific staff had come to see the wedding, and a good deal of the ship’s crew, as well.
Felicia showed up in a sleeveless white dress that Brad had never seen before, holding a bouquet of red roses plucked from the hydroponics farm. Three other women accompanied her, smartly dressed, all looking very serious. But Felicia broke into a gleaming smile the instant she saw Brad standing with Untermeyer alongside Captain Desai, who had donned an actual uniform of gold with blue trim for the occasion.
The traditional wedding march, played by an ancient synthesizer, started to drone through the ceiling loudspeakers. Kosoff—wearing a sumptuous plush maroon jacket and dark trousers—took Felicia’s arm and slowly walked her up the aisle through the crowd toward Brad, Untermeyer, and Desai. The captain was smiling graciously, Untermeyer grinning, Brad totally serious.
Kosoff released her arm and Brad took it in his. Desai’s face went solemn as he read off the marriage ritual from a computer printout. Brad could barely hear his voice, he spoke so softly.
At last he said, louder, “I pronounce you husband and wife.”
Brad stood unmoving for an awkward moment.
Desai broke into a toothy smile and said even louder, “You may kiss the bride.”
Brad took Felicia in his arms, her face radiating happiness. They kissed, and the crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Then Felicia bussed Untermeyer, but Kosoff clasped her close and kissed her solidly. Brad clenched his teeth.
Abruptly, the crowd surged toward them, and Brad saw that a pair of makeshift bars had been set up along opposite ends of the auditorium.
The party lasted well into the night. Everyone wanted to congratulate the happy couple, although all Brad wanted was to get back to their quarters and relax.
When they finally managed to get to Brad’s compartment, he saw that someone had put on their coffee table a sizeable ice bucket containing a glistening bottle of champagne.
Feeling totally sober, Brad looked for a note. There was none.
“I wonder who sent this?” he asked.
“Kosoff,” said Felicia.
“You think?”
“Who else?”
Brad nodded glumly. “You’re probably right.”
Felicia yanked the bottle out of the bucket and headed for the kitchen.
“What’re you doing?” Brad asked.
Opening the minifridge, Felicia tucked the bottle inside. “Saving this for some other evening. We have more important things to do tonight than get drunk.”
Brad grinned, took her hand, and led her to the bedroom.