The Stardance Trilogy by Spider & Jeanne Robinson Page B

built.”
    “So you have not yet completed what you came here to do?” Panzella asked her.
    “Oh, no. Not by any means. The next dance will show the world that dance is more than controlled falling. And the third…the third will be what this has all been for.” Her face lit, became animated. “The third dance will be the one I have wanted to dance all my life. I can’t entirely picture it, yet—but I know that when I become capable of dancing it, I will create it, and it will be my greatest dance.”
    Panzella cleared his throat. “How long will it take you?”
    “Not long,” she said. “I’ll be ready to tape the next dance in two weeks, and I can start on the last one almost at once. With luck, I’ll have it in the can before my month is up.”
    “Ms. Drummond,” Panzella said gravely, “I’m afraid you don’t have another month.”
    Shara went white as snow, and I half rose from my seat. Carrington looked intrigued.
    “How much time?” Shara asked.
    “Your latest tests have not been encouraging. I had assumed that the sustained exercise of rehearsal and practice would tend to slow your system’s adaptation. But most of your work has been in total weightlessness. And I failed to realize the extent to which your body is accustomed to sustained exertion—in a terrestrial environment. There are already signs of Davis’s Syndrome in—”
    “How much time?”
    “Two weeks. Possibly three, if you spend three separate hours a day at hard exercise in two gravities. We can arrange that by—”
    “That’s ridiculous.” I burst out. “Don’t you understand about dancers’ spines? She could ruin herself in two gees.”
    “I’ve got to have four weeks,” Shara said.
    “Ms. Drummond, I am very sorry.”
    “I’ve got to have four weeks.”
    Panzella had that same look of helpless sorrow that McGillicuddy and I had had in our turn, and I was suddenly sick to death of a universe in which people had to keep looking at Shara that way. “Dammit,” I roared, “she needs four weeks.”
    Panzella shook his shaggy head. “If she stays in zero gee for four working weeks, she may die.”
    Shara sprang from her chair. “Then I’ll die,” she cried. “I’ll take that chance. I have to.”
    Carrington coughed. “I’m afraid I can’t permit you to, darling.”
    She whirled on him furiously.
    “This dance of yours is excellent PR for Skyfac,” he said calmly, “but if it were to kill you it might boomerang, don’t you think?”
    Her mouth worked, and she fought desperately for control. My own head whirled. Die? Shara?
    “Besides,” he added, “I’ve grown quite fond of you.”
    “Then I’ll stay up here in space,” she burst out.
    “Where? The only areas of sustained weightlessness are factories, and you’re not qualified to work in one.”
    “Then for God’s sake give me one of the new pods, the smaller spheres. Bryce, I’ll give you a higher return on your investment than a factory pod, and I’ll…” Her voice changed. “I’ll be available to you always.”
    He smiled lazily. “Yes, but I might not want you always, darling. My mother warned me strongly against making irrevocable decisions about women. Especially informal ones. Besides, I find zero-gee sex rather too exhausting as a steady diet.”
    I had almost found my voice, and now I lost it again. I was glad Carrington was turning her down—but the way he did it made me yearn to drink his blood.
    Shara too was speechless for a time. When she spoke, her voice was low, intense, almost pleading. “Bryce, it’s a matter of timing. If I broadcast two more dances in the next four weeks, I’ll have a world to return to. If I have to go Earthside and wait a year or two, that third dance will sink without a trace—no one’ll be looking, and they won’t have the memory of the first two. This is my only option, Bryce—let me take the chance. Panzella can’t guarantee four weeks will kill me.”
    “I can’t guarantee your