Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter Five: The Menagerie

Posted on 2009-12-22

The day of what was soon coming to be called the "Bingley Ball" dawned as all days on Deimos Base do -- with barely anything more than the clicking of the atomic clock from 30-hour to zero hour to mark the passage.

If the anticipation of everyone on base were enough to accelerate time, the hours would have flown past with alacrity. But as it was the minutes dragged on slowly until finally, at 18-hour, all work ceased in the near and far reaches of the base. Pens and pads and boxes were left lying on desks. Hallways were deserted, a ghost town of corridors. Clothing, not good enough for the company and celebration, remained discarded on bunks and floors of bedrooms, while in the bathrooms the faint scent of cosmetics and hair applications lingered, testament to the havoc of preparations complete.

Everyone who was anyone was now there in the dining hall, amid the festive balloons, streamers, and confetti clouding the air. Music swelled, talking and shouting filling the large, ballroom-like space. Bingley, flanked by his sisters and a jovial William Lucas, stood in what in the old days would have been called a receiving line, welcoming the queue of revelers to the gathering.

Darcy had long since abandoned the welcoming party. Though he had been a silent sponsor of the event and was a good friend of the host, he had felt awkward meeting the curious and intrusive stares of all of those people, had hated embarrassedly shaking hands with people whose faces -- much less names -- he barely recalled.

Instead, he had begun to circle the floor, his sharp eyes remarking everything from the too-young men sneaking glasses of wine to the cluster of girls pointing and giggling at something on his side of the room. He had not yet spotted the Bennets, or one Bennet in particular, but he had noted with relief that neither had he seen Lieutenant Wickham. There was no question that he had to be invited, Darcy had assured Bingley -- not to do so would have been a greater scandal, and would have opened him to uncomfortable questions. He was mildly surprised that the man had the tact to stay away, but no doubt there was a small amount of self-preservation involved. There always was.

As Darcy came to the corner of the buffet, he paused, considering returning whence he'd come to avoid the crush of people seeking food. He turned, and the crowd for a brief moment parted enough for him to see across the floor, to where the Bennets had just entered. Forgetting all he had convinced himself of in the past few days, he drank in the sight of her, resplendent in a rich blue satin sheath dress, her silver hair falling in waves down her back. She was looking around the room with an eager expression, her head turning this way and that, when suddenly, as if sensing his gaze, she looked straight at him. Her expression changed, but before he could more than register the alteration, the people once again came between them, and she was gone.

For a minute at least he stood stock-still, cautiously examining his reaction to her presence. His heart beat like a drum, his chest felt tight, and his palms were damp. He breathed out, realizing that such a necessary action had gone undone since he had first seen her. And with each new breath he cursed himself for becoming such a lack-wit as to have abandoned all his solidly reasoned arguments within a few nanoseconds of being in the same room as her.

He concentrated on her family. His eyes caught sight of the two youngest, dressed in inappropriately tight skirts and tops and flirting with a group of marines in formal dress. With a snort of disgust, he then looked around and saw her mother, flitting about Bingley and her eldest daughter, giggling and flapping her hands like a demented Denebian waterbird as she said something excitedly to the embarrassed young people. Her husband stood a few feet away, schadenfreude writ plainly on his face, and their middle child stood beside him, her scorn revealed in curled lip and furrowed brow.

Even as his own lip curled, his eyes involuntarily swept the room in search of a familiar form. There he saw her -- on the dance floor as a new song began, her hair bouncing and her lithe form swaying as she attempted to move in time with her spindly-legged partner. The sight of the awkwardly large hand resting lightly on the small of her back made his own hand clench, but the space between them -- as wide as she could comfortably maintain, it seemed -- was enough to make him relax. He watched them spin around the floor, her grace matched conversely by her partner's two heavy left feet, and felt a smile curving his lips. Already he could feel her in his own arms, smoothly circling the floor as if they were made to dance together, and he closed his eyes for a moment, imagining the scene. His eyes opened again, and his gaze caught hers as the two dancers turned. The annoyance in her eyes made his smile widen slightly, and her expression grew even more reproachful, but he could feel nothing but admiration for her patience and grace.

He had to dance with her.

As he began to circle the floor again, keeping the two dancers in sight, the thought solidified into conviction. He had to dance with her, hold her in his arms in the traditional pose, moving in the age-old steps, his hand at her waist, her hand resting in his. There was no risk, he told himself, in one dance. There were no promises made, no expectations raised. It would simply be a dance between two well-matched dancers -- no more.

But could he leave it at that? came the niggling doubt in the back of his mind. He paused at the bar and got himself a glass of wine as he addressed this wayward thought. Could he hold her in his arms and not want more? Could he let her go when the dance was finished and not want to take her back in them and resume where they left off?

He sipped at his drink as he struggled with the answer, watching as the final notes were played and the dancers came to a halt, applauding the musicians for their skill. She was led off the dance floor by her partner, where she sought out the company of her friend Miss Lucas as the gangly young man sought out the hand of one of her sisters. Now would be the time to ask her, Darcy told himself. But he hesitated, unsure for the moment of his willpower.

At last, however, having wrestled his doubts back into submission, he set his glass down and crossed the floor. He wove among the crowd, his eyes fixed on the form in blue. She was magnificent, he thought, watching her gesture in brief, snapping motions as she spoke with her friend. He bumped into someone, apologized absently, and stayed on target, his breath short and nervous. As he drew near, Miss Lucas saw him approach. Her eyes widened and she said something shortly to her friend, who turned.

The moment was abrupt as they met, her eyes flashing angrily and then widening in surprise. "Miss Bennet," he began, then faltered as she raised one brow in seeming amusement. "Elizabeth, may I have this dance?"

She stiffened almost imperceptibly, so slightly that he almost thought he imagined it, but then, with what seemed to be confusion in her gaze, she accepted. He felt a glorious feeling of triumph swell through his breast as he led her out onto the dance floor, where a new song was just beginning. Having such a woman on his arm -- the two of them the cynosure of all eyes, no matter her family, no matter the surroundings -- was an achievement. This moment was the culmination of days of wanting, and though it could, of necessity, only last a moment and be less than he might deep in his heart long for, he was determined to savor it.

She fit perfectly in his arms, the ideal height for him to settle his hand on her waist, for her to set her hand easily on his shoulder. She rested her other hand lightly on his, barely touching, but he grasped it firmly, establishing his role as he gently led her into the smooth steps. She seemed startled by his proficiency, but they danced steadily and silently as the music played until finally she remarked, quite intentionally, "The party is impressively well attended."

He agreed, and they fell into silence again. After a quarter revolution, she said, "I think it's your turn to say something, Mr. Darcy." When he looked at her in confusion, she said with a smile, "I've noted the number of people; perhaps you might say something about the decorations, or the vast spread at the buffet."

Darcy smiled. "I would be happy to say whatever you wish."

A smile curved her lips in return. "I suppose that will have to do for now. Maybe later I'll say that the musicians harmonize very well, but until then we can be silent."

"Do you usually talk by rule when you're dancing?"

"Sometimes it's best, I think. It would look strange for all the dancers to wordlessly float about the floor, avoiding each other's eyes for ten minutes. So for some it may be more advantageous to choreograph the conversation as well."

"Have you employed this arrangement for other people, or am I in particular a target for the execution?"

Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "You are the first, so we'll see if my aim holds true. You see, most people are not unwilling to talk as a general rule. But, alas, there are those of us who are unfortunately of a rather reserved disposition, unwilling to speak unless we expect to stun the entire room with our wit and sparkling conversation."

"Somehow, I doubt this applies to you," he said. "How much it mirrors my own personality, I couldn't say -- but you think it a perfect reflection, I gather."

She smiled slyly. "It would be unfair of me to say."

They were silent again, as he was vaguely uncertain he wished to continue that line of conversation. He would have been content to dance in silence, feeling the smooth fabric slide beneath his hand, her arm resting gently on his, catching the scent of her perfume as they turned. But feeling his responsibility to talk, whatever his feelings on it, he searched for an opening gambit, grasping on the first cohesive thought to enter his head: "Do you and your sisters spend a lot of time at the barracks?"

She seemed surprised at his question, but answered, "Some, certainly, but they are fairly independent from the base so my work takes me there infrequently." She thought for a moment, then added, "The other day when you came across us there we were just making a new acquaintance."

He missed a beat and struggled to get back on rhythm as his mind whirled. He felt his face flush with both embarrassment and anger, and he carefully enunciated every word of his response: "Wickham has the happy knack of making friends. Whether he keeps them is another matter entirely."

"He's certainly lost your friendship," she said. "And in a way that'll likely affect him the rest of his life."

Darcy was startled, annoyed, and more than a bit confused, but he concentrated on schooling his expression to betray none of these thoughts. Focused as he was on this, however, he missed seeing William Lucas crossing the floor and bumped into him from behind. He apologized stiffly for the other man's mistake and made to carry on, but Mr. Lucas took the opportunity to engage them in conversation. He complimented the gentleman on his dancing and his partner, winking broadly as he did so.

"It's such a pleasure to see such a fine young couple on the dance floor, my dear sir," he said genially. "I have always been most impressed by such accomplished dancing, and may I say that my dear Miss Eliza here is such a fine match for your skill. I hesitate to say something so soon," he said, lowering his voice confidentially, "but may I also say that I hope, especially when a certain desirable event takes place, we can have this pleasure repeated often." He winked again at Elizabeth and nodded toward Bingley and Jane, who at that moment danced by, entirely enrapt in each other. "What a coup that will be! I must say, Mr. Darcy -- ah! But that's right. I shan't detain you -- I should let you get back to your dancing and your lovely partner, whose sparkling eyes are clearly telling me I'm intruding. Carry on!"

Darcy at first had begun to ignore the older gentleman's talk, but at the mention of his friend, his eyes narrowed and he looked to where the couple was dancing. After a moment, however, he seemed to shake off his thoughts and started them dancing again. After a few steps he said, "I apologize. The interruption made me forget what we were discussing."

"I don't think we were really discussing anything at all. Mr. Lucas couldn't have interrupted any two people who had less to say to one another. We've tried two or three subjects already. I can't imagine what we'll come up with next."

"How about air filtrators?" he asked with a smile.

"Or perhaps we might simply do long division," she said with a laugh. "No, I can't speak of anything so horribly technological as that at a time like this. There's just too much else to think about."

And, indeed, she was thinking of other things, for a short moment later, failing to reply to his response to her last statement, she blurted out, "You once said that your good opinion, once lost, is lost forever. You are careful to ensure your judgment is sound?"

"I am," he replied stiffly.

"And you're never blinded by prejudice?"

"I sincerely hope not."

"I suppose it's important for people who are firm in their opinions to ensure they judge properly first."

He frowned. "What are you getting at?"

Elizabeth, shaking off her contemplation, replied, "Oh, I merely was trying to figure out who you are."

"You could have just done a search in the archives."

She shook her head with a laugh. "You haven't been here long enough, then, Mr. Darcy, if you think that. We're out in the hinterlands here; we don't have those sorts of connections. I must rely on my own impressions, I'm afraid."

"And what is your success?"

"Not very good, I'll admit," she replied with a sly smile. "You're a constantly moving and changing subject, Mr. Darcy; I hear such varied accounts of you. It's hard to take a portrait if you won't stay still."

Darcy's jaw clenched, but he made no answer as the music came to a halt. With a gentlemanly offer of his arm, he led her to the edge of the makeshift dance floor. When they reached the crowd that ringed the floor, she made as if to take her hand from his arm, but he laid his other hand over hers, arresting her escape. "Then I would suggest, Miss Bennet," he said, leaning in towards her and pitching his voice so as to lessen the chance of being overheard, "that you refrain from the attempt for now. I fear the result would reflect not well either on the subject or his photographer."

"But if I don't do it now, I may never have a better chance," she said, darting a look at him askance.

He bowed briefly, archaically. "I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours." And without another word, he released her hand and, turning on his heel, left her alone. She stood for a moment gazing after him, baffled by his behavior. She had meant to nettle him, to see him react to her words, but still his responses, both verbal and physical, had been more and yet less than what she had expected. His answers with regard to her allusions to Wickham were cryptic and cold, as devoid of facts or solid reasons as the other's had teemed, but the rest of his behavior had been both pointed and warm, at times almost bordering on playful. It simply didn't jibe with what she had known of his personality so far.

Mulling on these thoughts, she went to the bar for a drink. Smiling at the young man behind the counter whom she recognized as a temp from Earth, she opened her mouth to ask for a Deimosian and Tonic but was forestalled by a woman who saddled up to the bar and imperiously requested a Green Vegan. "And be quick about it. I don't wish to stand about here all night. Ah, Miss Eliza," Caroline Bingley said, turning to sneer at her neighbor. "I hear from Jane that you've quite fallen in love with George Wickham."

Elizabeth, embarrassed by such an accusation and certain Jane would never have phrased it like that, made to reply, but Caroline continued with barely a pause: "She was talking about him, of course, and asking me all kinds of questions. But from what she was saying, it seems as though Wickham's left out a few of the salient points of the story. I thought, as a friend, of course, I should take the opportunity to give you a little piece of advice: don't believe everything he tells you. He's nothing but the son of Darcy's father's accountant, and he's treated Darcy in a reprehensible manner. I don't know all the details, but I do know that Darcy wasn't in the least to blame for any of it."

Caroline snorted and looked across the room towards her brother. "Charles had to invite Wickham to this party, you know; he didn't have much of a choice. But it was nice to see the villain decided not to come. Darcy hates even to hear the man's name mentioned, and I was pretty peeved when Charles told me we had to include him in the guest list. Personally, I think it was rather rude of him to have come to this base at all." She took the glass that was slid across the bar to her, then slanted her eyes back at Elizabeth. "I'm sorry I had to break your heart, Eliza, but, really, considering his low class, you could hardly have expected any better."

Addressed in such a way, Elizabeth at first flushed, but now she narrowed her eyes in anger. "It seems to me you think Wickham's birth and his character are the same thing. You haven't accused him of anything worse than being the son of Mr. Darcy's accountant -- and I assure you he informed me of that himself."

Caroline's lip curled. "I apologize," she said, her tone betraying her words. "My interference was kindly meant." And turning on her heel, she disappeared in the crowd.

Shaken by the encounter, Elizabeth stared after her for a moment before being recalled to the present by the bartender. After getting her drink, she retreated thoughtfully to a tall table set up near a corner. The night, which had begun with at least hopes of enjoyment, had plunged into a perfect nightmare. And it only continued to get worse. Her youngest sisters somehow got drunk and were making a spectacle of themselves, dancing with the marines and other young men with abandon. Her mother was loudly chatting with her fellow gossipmongers about the absolute certainty of Mr. Bingley's marriage to Jane and all its associated benefits, heedless of her audience and the bystanders. Her sister Mary interrupted the band to make a long, drawn-out, patriotic speech about the history of Deimos Base and its importance. Mr. Collins then followed Mary up with an approving speech about how impressively informed everyone on the base was about their relative role in the universe, only to be interrupted by the band, which had clearly gotten tired of all this perorating and decided to start up the music again. As Mr. Collins without embarrassment rejoined the crowd, Mr. Bennet merely thumped the table he and Elizabeth were sitting at, declaring with a laugh, "Excellent."

And it wasn't yet over. Elizabeth still had to meet the haughty and disdainful gaze of Mr. Darcy as he scanned the crowd and stalked with stormy expression around the perimeter of the room. Her only solace was the company of Charlotte Lucas and Jane. But Charlotte had been called into the kitchens to deal with a minor emergency at one point, and Jane was too often absorbed in the attentions of Mr. Bingley to be of any relief. So Elizabeth was left on her own to fume and flush over every ensuing embarrassment.

Her solitary state on the periphery of the room led her to at least one embarrassing encounter, in which Mr. Collins cornered her and, somewhat the worse for wear from the few drinks he had, asked her to marry him. Interrupting his longwinded speech on her suitability as a mate, she quickly declared her unwillingness to marry -- him in particular. He was one who couldn't take no for an answer, however, and tried all his arguments in favor of their match, following her around as she sought escape from him.

At last she managed to elude his importuning and left the party, slipping from the room as quietly as she could. She retreated along the empty hallway to her rooms, hearing the echoes of laughter and music fade behind her. Even the prospect of the pseudo-fireworks show at the end of the night was not enough to keep her.

She was able to hear all about it the next morning, however, from everyone she met along the hallway and in the offices and rooms she visited. The stories from the night before even eclipsed the news of Mr. Bingley's departure from the base to attend to some business on Earth. The rest of the party was still here on Deimos, they all said, so it was assumed he would return.

Most astonishing to Elizabeth of all the stories she heard, however, was the one that alleged Charlotte Lucas had accepted the marriage proposal of William Collins.

"Tell me it's not true," Elizabeth said when she at last cornered her friend in the pod bay that afternoon.

Charlotte put aside the paperwork she was filling out and turned patiently to her friend, leaning her elbow on the console beside her. "Tell you what's not true?"

"That you're going to marry my cousin. Gads, the man is a toad!"

"But a pleasant, earnest, and kindly toad," Charlotte said with a smile. "And I'm not likely to receive any better offer, so why shouldn't I have accepted his proposal?"

"Because you deserve better!" Elizabeth exclaimed, and then lowered her voice when the yeoman at a nearby console looked up in confusion. "Besides, he proposed to me last night, too. How do you know he wasn't just proposing to anything in a skirt?"

"I was wearing trousers," Charlotte replied dryly. "And deserving better doesn't mean I'm ever going to get it." She sighed at the expression on her friend's face. "Look, Lizzy, I'm not a romantic person -- you know this. If I'm given the opportunity to go out, start a new life in a comfortable position with a man who wouldn't ever intentionally hurt me in any way, who I can't imagine would ever stray or do anything but treat me as a man should treat a wife, why shouldn't I accept it? I'm only getting older, and I'd like a chance to have children, carve out a space of my own. There certainly isn't much of that here."

"But my cousin...?"

"Yes, your cousin," Charlotte snapped, finally displaying anger at her friend's refusal to accept her decision. "What? Do you think that just because he failed to get your seal of approval, he wouldn't be able to get any other woman's? Perhaps I do like him, Lizzy. Perhaps I don't think he's quite as repulsive as you seem to think. Have you ever considered that?"

Shamed and embarrassed at this glimpse of her character, Elizabeth didn't respond for a moment. "I'm sorry, Charlotte," she said at last, her voice unsteady. "I wasn't thinking, and I apologize. You're right -- if he has gotten your approval, then I am happy for you. I really am. But I'm going to miss you."

Charlotte gave a sad little smile, taking her friend's hand in hers and pressing it gently. "And I'll miss you, too. But the wedding won't be for another few weeks yet, as my mother wants us to make a quick trip down to Earth for a dress. And I'd like you to come to Altair to visit me when we're all settled. It would mean a lot to me."

"I would love to," Elizabeth said with a genuinely happy smile. "And perhaps, if I'm lucky, I could even meet the gloriously famous Catherine DeBourgh -- or, heavens, be allowed a glimpse of her office!"

Charlotte laughed. "Perhaps if you visit Mr. Collin's desk -- it's only an aisle away!"

They both laughed at that, and Elizabeth began to feel a bit better about the situation. As her friend then turned back to her paperwork, she was searching for something else to say when one of the screens in the console under Charlotte's elbow captured her attention, her heart stopping in sudden apprehension. "Why is hangar three empty?" she asked.

"Hangar three?" Charlotte echoed, confused.

Elizabeth pointed at the screen, where the docket clearly read "open," and turned to call out to the yeoman at the other desk. "Where did the Bingley cruiser get moved to?"

"The Bingley cruiser?" The young clerk shook his head. "It wasn't moved. They left."

"Who left?" Elizabeth asked dumbly. "What do you mean? They were just here this morning. I didn't get any paperwork."

He shrugged and said the forms were probably on their way to her office. "Or it's on your runner," he suggested. "They only left a few hours ago. Packed up and shipped out. Besides -- we assumed you knew, what with your sister being engaged to Mr. Bingley, and all."

"They're not engaged," Elizabeth said absently as she scrolled through her messages. "Jane would have told me."

Charlotte looked concerned. "That's what everyone's saying, Lizzy. I heard it straight from your mother, in fact ... though I admit I took the news with a grain of salt."

But Elizabeth wasn't listening; she was staring at her runner, at the brief message that informed her that the Bingley party had left, not expected to return. In shock, she sat down on the chair behind her, then immediately sprang up again, leaving the bay with only a hasty farewell to Charlotte.

She found Jane in the control room, sitting at Elizabeth's desk, reading a piece of paper, fat tears rolling silently down her cheeks. The other people in the room sent surreptitious glances in her direction, but avoided making eye contact, busily working at their own tasks.

"You heard?" Elizabeth said softly as she came to a stop in front of her desk. "I'm so sorry Jane. But he should be back, don't you think, if he asked you to marry him--"

Jane shook her head. "He didn't," she said in a small voice. "He never made any promises. But I thought..." She shrugged, a wealth of expression in that one, resigned motion.

Pushing aside her growing anger and her suspicions of foul play, Elizabeth pulled her extra chair around the desk and sat beside her sister. She threw an arm around her and hugged her close, patting her shoulder as she said, "I'm sure he'll be back, Jane -- within the next few days, I'm certain. I'm sure there was just a mistake. He loves you; I'm sure of it."

But he didn't come back, and Elizabeth's first assertion became less and less likely. And as the time passed away, with only one brief note from Caroline Bingley to tell Jane about how enjoyable Earth was this season, they even began to doubt the latter.

Chapter Six: People from Another Star

Posted on 2010-01-05

Time passed quickly for Elizabeth in the next few days. A senator was visiting from the Outer Colonies, and she had too much on her hands already at work to spend time considering the implications of the Bingley party's removal from Deimos Base. As well, as Charlotte's attendant and witness for the wedding between her and Mr. Collins, Elizabeth was swamped with details to iron out and guests and family members' concerns and well-meaning opinions to deflect from the bride's shoulders. Though by no means a befrazzled or a bossy bride, Charlotte was nonetheless happy to let someone else take over the more stressful elements of the event as the day approached.

But despite these demands on her time, Elizabeth yet noticed the strain Jane was under. Her longsuffering sister made no mention of her absconding admirer, but Elizabeth could see the pain in Jane's eyes when Mr. Bingley or his family were mentioned, when the Deimos Day ball was discussed, and when Charlotte pledged her troth to love, honor, and obey her husband until death do they part. As she watched the tears be mopped up with an increasingly sodden handkerchief, Elizabeth vowed she would speak to her aunt and uncle about taking Jane for a vacation on Earth to get her away from the memories here.

Mrs. and Mr. Gardiner, aunt and uncle on her mother's side, were favorite relatives of Elizabeth's. They lived on Earth in London, where her uncle operated a small manufacturing business for specialty glass. They were of a moderate and happy middle class, had a loving marriage, and were a shining example of what Elizabeth had always looked for in her relationships. Sensible, polite, and balanced, they could always be counted on to listen and advise without a hint of censure.

They came up to Deimos every year on Christmas, an ancient celebration held in late December on the Earth calendar. It was a brief holiday, a chance for the Bennets, Philips, and Gardiners to reconnect and see how much the children had grown in the past year. They would be returning to Earth within a fournight, and it would make complete sense to send Jane back with them, Elizabeth argued.

"It's been a long time since Jane's taken a solid vacation," Elizabeth was saying as she balanced her two-year-old cousin on her hip. Mrs. Gardiner, engaged in a struggle with her five-year-old to keep his Christmas clothes on, didn't answer, so she continued: "Aside from a few off days here or there she's been rather disgustingly dedicated and I daresay hasn't used up more than a tenth of her vacation in the past two years. Which means she's got more than two Earth months saved up, at least. I can't see why she couldn't just take it all at once. We'll get a temp for her here."

"Any reason for this sudden change of scenery?" Mrs. Gardiner asked, giving up on keeping the tie on and sending the child to the other room to see his father.

Elizabeth sighed, shifting her cousin higher on her hip. "You saw how she was when you arrived. And she's been like that for months. Never saying anything, of course -- Jane never complains -- but just down, disheartened, and not her usual optimistic self. If it weren't for the fact that I think the blame lies more firmly on his sisters and his friend than on Mr. Bingley himself, I would hunt him down and ... oh, I don't know. Kick him, or something."

Mrs. Gardiner laughed. "And why is it not Mr. Bingley's fault? It seems to me that he was the one who ran away."

Elizabeth snorted. "Yes, but I have no doubt he would have come back soon if not for them. He's a very trusting person and, I think, very easily persuaded by people he's known a long time. I don't have any proof, but I would bet anything Caroline Bingley or Mr. Darcy had something to do with it."

"Mr. Darcy?" Mrs. Gardiner echoed. "Mr. Darcy of Pemberley?"

"Do you know him?"

Mrs. Gardiner shook her head. "No, but I knew of his father. I grew up on Procyon, you know. My father worked for him before moving back to Earth where I met your uncle. I haven't been back there since, so I know little of the family anymore."

"Well, the son is nothing like the father," Elizabeth said, and then filled her aunt in on all the details of the past few months that she'd left out of her earlier recitation. She talked of Mr. Darcy's rude behavior, the strange events of the Deimos Day ball, and of Wickham's story. Her manner at first was lighthearted and mocking, but by the end her face was flushed and her voice clipped with anger.

Mrs. Gardiner looked shrewdly at her niece. "And do we know that this is the truth?"

"How could it not be?" Elizabeth said. "Besides, Mr. Darcy practically verified it."

Her aunt didn't reply at first, calmly folding her children's clothes and putting them back in the closet. "Are you interested in this lieutenant?" she asked after closing the door and turning to her niece again.

Elizabeth laughed. "Oh, heavens, no," she replied. "I mean, I won't lie and tell you that I wasn't just a bit in love with him like everyone else when he first came, but I'm far too sensible to moon over him anymore. He's a nice enough sort, but a little too free with his affections for me. And I'm a little too poor for his tastes, I think. He's already dating Mary King -- old Mr. King's goddaughter, visiting from Capella. She came into a nice inheritance last year, I've heard. Kitty and Lydia, on the other hand, are continuously bemoaning their comparatively impoverished state."

A faint look of relief crossed Mrs. Gardiner's face. "I didn't think he sounded quite like your type, from what you say," she said. But then, changing the subject as she took possession of her youngest from Elizabeth, she asked, "So now that we have Jane's next few months mapped out, what about you? You have some time saved up, too. Why don't you come back downside with us?"

"I couldn't," Elizabeth said with a sigh. "Charlotte's already asked me to come out to Altair to visit her in about thirty days with her father and sister. And I'll be there for a fivenight, our time, so I'll have used up nearly all the rest of my vacation this year in one go."

"What of our tour of the planets in August? Or, rather, what is that in universal time? I can't keep track of the calendars anymore," she laughed. "Too long on Earth, I think."

Elizabeth grinned. "I've had that vacation blocked off for nearly a year," she said. "I was counting it in my calculations. Oh, two months of traveling, seeing the reaches of the universe! Earth and Deimos are one thing -- I can't wait to get out of the solar system. Altair will only whet my appetite for more."

So Mrs. Gardiner, and Mr. Gardiner when he was acquainted with the plan, persuaded Jane to come with them to Earth for a holiday. The party left only a few days later, and with their absence Elizabeth was again left for the most part on her own. Charlotte was gone to her new home, Jane was on Earth, and her father, though he occasionally spent time in the workroom with her poring over their engines, was busy with a proposal for expansion of the hydroponics laboratories. But still the days passed quickly, involved in her work as she was.

All too soon, the hour to depart for Altair arrived, and as Elizabeth threw her luggage in the fourth pod of their Altair-bound clusterpod, she looked around the pod bay, at her home, with a bit of anxiety. She had traveled by pod before and had been off moon before, visiting Earth a few times with her father, but this was the first time it was for such a length of space or time.

Distance between stars and planets meant fairly little now, merely coordinates in a grid, directions for the pod to be delivered. But there was something to feeling the vastness, the knowledge that between you and your loved ones was a void, a great expanse of nothing littered by millions of planets, stars, and detritus. And the expense of such a trip was nothing to be sneezed at. Only the rich could afford to flit about the stars with such ease, and those with private vehicles were the cream of the elite. She thought again about Mr. Bingley -- and, undoubtedly Mr. Darcy as well -- with a touch of envy for their freedom, but also with a bit of pity. For all their wealth, it was doubtful they had a place like Deimos to ever leave.

With a sigh, she turned and waved to everyone who had come to see them off, then gave her father and her younger sisters hugs, and even wrapped her arms briefly around her mother, who was still upset with her for not catching Mr. Collins. As short as Elizabeth's and the Lucases' visit to Altair was to be, the whole base had come to bid them farewell; one person had even created a sign wishing them "bon voyage" and another had baked them a cake.

Elizabeth and the two Lucases retreated into their pods and the doors were closed. After a countdown and that strange moment of disorientation that Elizabeth had always hated, they were flung across the galaxies to the hangar on Altair. What seemed like only seconds later, the door was unlatched and Elizabeth stepped out into the bright sunshine of an early Altairian morning.

Thanking the engineer who had handed her out of the pod, she turned and looked around the busy open-air pod bay, where pods appeared and disappeared in rapid succession. A short distance away, a concrete field was littered with cargo crates blinking in and out of existence under the Altair sun. Ahead, its great shadow stretching out nearly to their own tiny pods, was the Aquilan Intersystem Spaceport, the first stop for all Altairian visitors. She and the Lucases, laden now with their luggage, were hustled in that direction, down a passenger walkway into a sparsely furnished waiting room.

Their certifications checked, they were then directed to the intercity transport bay where they caught the rail to downtown Rosings City. It was here in this city, the largest on the planet, that the majority of industry and residential areas were centered, though the mines and their associated settlements and certain farming villages were scattered across the primary continent. Some of the wealthier of Altair's populace had second homes outside the sprawling city's limits in the yet-untamed wilderness, but even they had their primary residences in the neo-deco buildings that towered above the skyline.

Altair was the first of the four planets to be settled in the Age of Exploration, its bright primary, Altair Aquila, drawing human interest across the nearly 17 light years that separated it from Earth. The planet itself was the approximate size of Mars, its mass giving it a gravity and rotation similar to Earth and its atmosphere and distance in its orbit around the star providing a year of varying temperatures comfortable to the Earth-accustomed human.

Its settlement, being the first off planet, was restrained, with scientists cautious of the effects of introducing a new, foreign, and potentially invasive species to the ecosystem. For centuries, even as human colonization on this and other planets showed success, Altair had continued to be ruled in strict fashion, its conservative laws constricting movement about the planet and restricting human settlement to a minimum of impact on the planet's environment.

The society, therefore, had grown up rigid, a class system hammered out through the inevitable pecking order of space, money, and influence. The DeBourghs, powerful from the first as the founders of the Altairian mission, had quickly established themselves as the center of this new world's authority and maintained that control with an iron fist across the generations. Their role, central to the Altairian government, was reflected in the building that had housed them from the beginning, a towering compound in the center of Rosings City. Casting its shadow over several blocks of the city at a time, the tall, architecturally bold series of white brick skyscrapers, spread out around a green campus, surrounded the one primary tower at the top of which the DeBourgh family resided.

It was to this building Elizabeth and the Lucases were headed. Directions in hand, she led them out of the rail station and through the streets to the tall, white brick-and-glass portico of Rosings One. The door was held open for them by a man in gold-and-red livery, and they were ushered into the imposing entrance of DeBourgh Hall. Mr. Collins, his thin and lanky figure nearly lost amid the profusion of narrow, bright, and geometrical shapes of the rich carpeting and wall hangings, was awaiting them, Charlotte by his side.

"We were expecting you some ten minutes ago," Mr. Collins began as they approached.

"I hope my directions did not give you trouble?" Charlotte said kindly, taking one of Elizabeth's bags to put on the trolley.

"Not at all," Elizabeth said, smiling. "And we do apologize. If we had realized you were waiting, we would have run."

"Your consideration does you credit, cousin," Mr. Collins replied. He then graciously waited for his wife to put all of the bags on the trolley and send it on its way, and then turned and began the tour of the building. Drawing passerby's attention as he gestured magnificently at various objects, he pointed out all of the items of interest, specifically mentioning Catherine DeBourgh's influence on particular purchases or changes; occasionally, in an awed and hushed voice, he indicated their monetary worth, as well. The three visitors made appropriate noises of amazement and admiration, with Elizabeth generously refraining from rolling her eyes at Charlotte at least a half dozen times.

They toured slowly upwards to their visitor's quarters, noting the artwork and the architecture on the way. Coming to Elizabeth's room, Charlotte hung back with her friend after Mr. Collins, having noted the many improvements Catherine DeBourgh had made to the quarters ("Shelves in the closet!"), moved on to show the Lucases to their rooms. "I'm really very glad you came, Lizzy," she said quietly, watching the door to the hallway slide shut.

"It was my pleasure," Elizabeth said with a laugh, unzipping her bag and beginning to pull out some of her clothes. "I anticipate a very enjoyable vacation. How are you settling in?"

"Nicely."

Elizabeth paused in her unpacking and looked shrewdly at her friend. "Marriage suits you?"

"It does."

"I'm glad," she said softly, hearing something in her friend's tone that inspired her to leave a silence, one brow raised.

"William often works for a good portion of the day," Charlotte said, running her hand along the back of a chair as she slowly walked around the room. "Catherine DeBourgh is a rather demanding employer, you understand."

"Naturally."

"He's often up long before I am, so as to ensure he's at the office when Ms. DeBourgh arrives, and then he stays late to finish up the work for the next day. And on offday I encourage him to check his runner frequently, in case his employer needs something, which she commonly does," she added, casually adjusting a photo frame on the wall. "And then, of course, I've joined a few clubs here in Rosings, and have my morning group classes, and sometimes go to the gym late. So it's very often that I don't see him at all during a normal day.

"No, marriage suits me just fine," Charlotte said, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth. "I am quite ... content."

Elizabeth didn't reply, but smiled in resigned amusement at her friend and resumed her unpacking. When she was finished, they rejoined Mr. Collins, Mr. Lucas, and Maria in the Collins family quarters for a cup of tea, where Mr. Collins shared some exciting news:

"Catherine DeBourgh has invited us for dinner!"

The announcement was greeted with the appropriate expressions of awe and amazement, and Elizabeth, withholding her chuckle, asked, "Tonight?"

"No, naturally not," Mr. Collins assured her hastily. "Don't worry, cousin, you shall have plenty of time to prepare yourself for the honor of her presence. We were asked to dine in the DeBourgh family dining hall tomorrow night, at seven."

"I shall attempt to contain my excitement until then," she replied.

And she did -- just barely, she assured her cousin the following evening as they waited for the elevator to arrive to carry them up to the lofty heights of the DeBourgh floors.

"And, pray, calm yourself about your appearance, cousin," Mr. Collins said as Elizabeth smoothed out a wrinkle in her sleeve. "Ms. DeBourgh is far from requiring the elegance of dress in others that she and her daughter are accustomed to wear. She believes strongly in the preservation of rank, of course, and your perhaps less-than-fashionable apparel will not overly offend her." He paused and looked at his timepiece, his brow furrowing. "I do hope the elevator arrives soon. Ms. DeBourgh has always stressed most strongly the importance of punctuality, and I should dread arriving at dinner late."

Elizabeth hid her smile as the woosh of arrival of the DeBourghs' exclusive elevator could be heard and the next moment the doors opened. When they had all boarded, the operator closed the doors and they began the ascent. The few minutes they were inside, Mr. Collins continued his monologue, preparing them for the presence of his noble boss, but when the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, his words dried up and he stepped out into the foyer, his expression respectful and cringing.

The entrance to the DeBourgh family floors was much as Elizabeth expected it to be, judging by the rest of the campus. Rich and opulent, decorated in an overblown neo-deco style with bold geometric patterns contrasting the stark, rigid furniture and fixtures. A butler, dressed in the royal red-and-gold colors of what Elizabeth was coming to recognize as the DeBourgh uniform, came forward to greet them and lead them to the drawing room. The DeBourghs were awaiting them there.

Catherine DeBourgh received them in the large, open room, seated in an imperious manner on what could be easily called a throne chair, its richly patterned back rising high behind her, her hands resting indifferently on its tassel-laden arms, her sharp nose lifted as if the garbage had just been brought in. Her daughter reclined back on a chaise lounge nearby, her position rather affectedly apathetic, Elizabeth thought, until she took in more fully the thin, anemic features and sallow complexion. A shrinking woman in white repeatedly offered the young woman a glass, which was peevishly waved away each time.

Overall, Elizabeth was left unimpressed. Displays of wealth and power, calculated to intimidate those without, never had the intended effect on her. Her courage always rose to the occasion, and more often she saw fit to laugh at the attempt than to fear it.

But it seemed she was the only one. Mr. Collins, immediately cowering and obsequious, introduced the rest of the party in a rushed, fawning manner, hastily moving onto the next person as soon as Ms. DeBourgh had acknowledged each with a bored wave of her hand. Mr. Lucas was unnaturally quiet, his whole posture seeming to wilt under the grand dame's quelling stare; his daughter Maria hadn't said a word since that afternoon, and she only let out a nervous squeak when she was presented, then sat back, practically fainting, when she was released from the lady's attention.

Even Charlotte had become calmly servile, her expression polite and properly submissive and humble in the face of such nobility. For her friend's sake, Elizabeth hoped that these occasions were few and far between. She didn't like to think of Charlotte toadying to this intrusive and domineering woman.

"And who is your family, Miss Bennet?" Ms. DeBourgh asked later at dinner as the servants, having revealed the second course's dishes and served the guests, now melted back out of the room. She had already grilled Charlotte on certain points she had advised her on several days past, and offered Maria Lucas counsel on various subjects, and now seemingly wished to delve into her more unconnected guest's antecedents. "I understand from Mrs. Collins that your father is a governor on your home planet."

"He is, indeed, governor on Deimos Base, ma'am," Elizabeth replied politely. "And we're on a moon."

Ms. DeBourgh waved away any explanations, her beringed hand lazily cutting through the air. "I suppose your mother works, as well?"

"No, she does not," Elizabeth said. "My father has always maintained the position of bread-winner in our family, which allowed my mother to raise us, as such."

"Well that's something," Ms. DeBourgh murmured. She elaborated to the rest of the group: "I've always thought it important for one of the parents to be allowed to stay at home with the children, to raise them properly. Sometimes these poor people have to send both of the parents out to work, and I've always thought it quite indecent of them, as I told the council the other day when we were debating a law to change that. It's become quite an epidemic. They should think of the children, I said. Why, just the other day I was talking with Dhina Metcalfe, whose husband died a few months ago, and even she was talking of finding work. The woman has two children! She should be thinking of what they need, not her own wants. And so I told her." She turned back to Elizabeth. "Do you have a sibling, then?"

"Four sisters."

"Five children?" Ms. DeBourgh said, her penciled brows rising under her dyed red hair. "What, do you have no population controls on your planet?"

"No, we do not."

"Odd."

"Some might say so, but truly, ma'am," Elizabeth continued calmly, drawing a gasp from Maria Lucas beside her, "I do think population controls are an antiquated system and often simply a way of weeding out the undesirables in a society and not much to do with overpopulation at all -- look at what happened on Earth before the space age. And especially in our universe, with the vast amounts of space we now have on all of our planets, the ancient Malthusian fear of populating past our technological and agricultural advancements is a thing of the past. Especially for us, who as a moon base with limited expansion should be the most to fear overpopulation, we find that society generally regulates itself without any need for burdensome, intrusive, and choice-limiting laws. Even with regular immigration and new births, we have never had a problem with our population size. Don't you think so, Mr. Lucas?"

Thus appealed to, Mr. Lucas stammered out something about chickens. He was saved from his embarrassment by Ms. DeBourgh, who, narrowing her eyes, said to Elizabeth, "You speak very decidedly for someone as young as you are. You cannot be more than twenty. Exactly how old are you, Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth smiled mischievously as she half winked at Charlotte. "Eleven years old, ma'am."

The eyes narrowed even more. "Universal time, please."

"Nearly one and twenty."

Ms. DeBourgh made a self-satisfied noise and then, casting one last look in Elizabeth's direction, changed the subject. She spoke at some length throughout the next few courses on her commendable efforts to introduce several species of Earth flora to the greenhouses on the campus, an award she would be given in the next few days by a humanitarian agency on Altair, and the hospital expansion that would result in a wing being named after her. During the after-dinner coffee and dessert, she directed a few more comments and questions toward Elizabeth, but as those forays were as before met with pert replies and contradictory and solid reasoning, she soon gave up the attempt and satisfied herself with cool glares and a cold shoulder.

But while the evening might have closed with a decidedly negative impression of the character of Elizabeth Bennet by one particular member of the party, Elizabeth on the other hand left it with her cup brimming with mirth. She had had a delightful evening enjoying herself at Ms. DeBourgh's expense and watching the antics of her cousin, who seemed overly embarrassed by their familial connection, and by the actions and reactions of the others in the group. She felt certain that she could see a resemblance between Ms. DeBourgh and her nephew, though she acknowledged at least that Mr. Darcy did not feel the need to share his opinions verbally quite as much.

She soon, however, had an opportunity to study them both in closer confines a few days later. Charlotte had not been feeling well in the morning and apologized profusely that she could not take her friend on a tour of the city as she had wished. Elizabeth had laughingly replied that she rarely got lost and would simply bring the holomap with her to ensure she could find her way back when she did.

"But would you mind terribly, Lizzy," Charlotte said, her voice thready as she nibbled on a thin cracker, "stopping by Mr. Collins' office for me? He left some paperwork here this morning, and I'm sure he'll be missing it soon. I'd rather not have to take it up there, and it's a little more confidential than I would send with a runner."

Elizabeth saw no reason not to agree, and so wandered generally through the tall building in the direction the DeBourgh offices -- and Mr. Collins' desk -- were located. When she at last arrived outside the imposing doors, however, she discovered no one there. She set the papers down on Mr. Collins' desk, but rather thought it better to wait for him and ensure they arrived in his hands than to simply leave them out for anyone to cast their eyes upon.

So she leant back against the edge of the desk, idly tapping her fingers on its surface as she waited, gazing in profound amazement at a painting hung on the wall opposite. It was of Catherine DeBourgh, dressed in an outfit befitting an old-time queen; in one hand she held a scepter, and the other hand rested on the head of a rather evil-looking cat whose eyes were mystifyingly irregular. It was not poorly painted, though in a style that Elizabeth had never liked, but there was something, even aside from the cat's eyes, that seemed slightly off, though she couldn't put her finger on what it was.

"It is rather hideous, isn't it?"

Surprised to hear her thoughts spoken aloud, she turned to discover a man, tall and dressed in a well-tailored space marine colonel's uniform, standing beside her, his gaze also on the painting. When he caught sight of her startled expression, he laughed. "I hope I didn't scare you," he said. "You were so intent, I didn't know how to announce my presence."

"That's quite all right," Elizabeth replied, liking the man's smile. He was not overly handsome, but his friendly expression went far towards gaining her approval. "I'm not usually so oblivious to my surroundings. It's simply that painting is so ... mesmerizing."

"Don't stare too long at it, or you'll be hypnotized -- obey Lady Cat," he said, pitching his voice deep in a mock-hypnotic tone. "So, are you the new secretary, then?"

"Me?" Elizabeth echoed in surprise. "Oh, no. That would be a disaster beyond all proportions, I think. Ms. DeBourgh and I are not ... compatible personalities. No, I'm just here on a visit to my cousin, who is the new secretary. He married one of my best friends from home."

"Ah!" The colonel's smile warmed. "Then you're on holiday, like me. My cousin and I just came in for our semi-annual visit with my aunt. Horrid tradition, and a pain every time, but as the pater says, family must be paramount. Where are you from?"

"Deimos Base," she replied.

"Old System, then. Never been there, myself. First time on Altair?"

When she nodded, he asked if she had gotten out to tour the city. When she replied that she had thought of doing so that morning, he eagerly said, "I'd love to show you about. I've been coming here for years, so by now I've gotten to know the area pretty well. And wherever I don't know, my cousin is sure to. He's always had a good sense of direction, lucky dog. I'm always more likely to put my platoon in a bog than lead them back to base."

Elizabeth hesitated. "I'm really not sure. I mean, I've never met you before -- I don't even know your name."

"Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, at your service," he said, sketching her a bow.

"Fitzwilliam!" she echoed in surprise.

He grimaced. "I know, quite a mouthful, but ancient family, noble heritage, blah, blah, blah," he said with a wave of his hand. "At least I got it as my surname. My poor cousin," with a thumb toward the office doors, "is stuck with it as his first name. But I think it suits his personality."

"Then -- oh, no, you couldn't possibly be..." Elizabeth stammered, comprehension dawning as she realized who his aunt and cousin must be. "I mean, you seem nothing like--"

"Ahem."

The two people standing close to each other at the desk both looked as one toward the door of Ms. DeBourgh's office, to the man who stood grim-faced in the opening.

"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth greeted him coolly, though her cheeks heated in embarrassment.

"Do you know each other?" the colonel said, his gaze going back and forth between them.

"We do," Darcy said. Regaining his poise, he let the door fall closed behind him and approached the desk. He bowed formally to Elizabeth. "Miss Bennet."

"Oh, wait! So you're the Bennet I've heard about," his cousin said, turning back to Elizabeth with a broad grin. "You met Darcy and Bingley during their recent holiday. Lisa, wasn't it?"

"Elizabeth," she and Darcy said at the same time.

"Right; exactly. Well, that solves everything, then!" the colonel continued with a laugh. "What do you say, Darcy? I suggested we escort Elizabeth about town, show her some of the highlights of Rosings."

Elizabeth, not liking the idea of spending hours in Darcy's company, tried to demur. "I really don't know, colonel. I mean, the two of you I'm sure have other things to do today than bear-lead a poor yokel like me around," she said with a self-deprecating smile. When the colonel tried to object to that excuse, she added, "And, besides, I have to wait for my cousin, to deliver some paperwork."

The colonel looked disappointed. "I'm sure we could wait with you."

"There's no need," Darcy said, striding to the door of his aunt's office. After a quick word inside he returned, followed by a harried-looking William Collins and, lastly, by a curious Catherine DeBourgh. When she saw Elizabeth there, she scowled.

"What's this about, Nephew?" she said, turning to Darcy for an explanation.

"Richard and I may not be back for dinner, Aunt," he said, watching as Elizabeth gave her cousin the paperwork she had brought. "We'll be showing Miss Bennet around town, and may stay out late for dinner or a show."

"That's a fine idea!" the colonel put in.

Catherine DeBourgh thought otherwise. But her objections that surely a resourceful woman such as Miss Bennet could do fine on her own and why should her nephews be forced to escort her were overruled by the two men. At last she was forced to return to her office to receive a conference call from the Altairian mine owners, leaving the three young people to do as they willed.

As Elizabeth descended in the elevator with the two men, she wondered how the day would turn out and how she could bear being in such close proximity with Darcy for such a time. But she was soon drawn out of her worries by Colonel Fitzwilliam. As they toured the city in the DeBourgh limousine, seeing sights and visiting shops, the latter gentleman more than made up for his cousin's silence and increasingly sullen demeanor by his open countenance, friendly manners, amusing if intellectually simplistic jokes, and wry teasing.

"I found it surprising to hear you say you and my cousin are not ... the 'best of friends' -- was that how you put it?" the colonel was saying later in the evening while Darcy talked with the maitre d' at the restaurant they had chosen. "Although, judging by his behavior today, if this is how he acted on Deimos I'm not surprised he gave you a poor opinion of himself."

"On the contrary, he gave us a fine opinion of himself," Elizabeth rejoined. "We simply didn't agree with him."

They were still laughing when Darcy returned, his eyes narrowed and his mouth thinned. His expression, as severe as it had been most of the day, might have boded ill for their intention to eat there, but instead he informed them that he had managed to gain them a quiet table.

"You find me quite impressed, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said as her gaze drifted over the clientele chatting softly and eating under the dim lights of the restaurant. "I shouldn't have expected us to find a table, considering how busy it is and our lack of ... more formal attire."

"It's amazing what a few words in the right ears can do, Miss Bennet," he replied, holding out her chair for her. His voice held a note of pleasure at her compliment.

Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled. "Or a few names."

Elizabeth smiled. "I have the feeling your aunt's name is something of a golden ticket here in Rosings."

"Perhaps not everywhere," the colonel replied. "My aunt does like to throw her weight around a bit, so naturally she has her critics."

"Everyone does, I imagine."

"Surely not you, Miss Bennet," he said graciously. "You must only have admirers."

She laughed at this rose-colored impression of herself. "No, indeed, Colonel. Even I have been known to attract a few criticisms on occasion." She shot a look at Darcy, but he was busy reading his menu and didn't appear to notice.

At that moment, however, the waiter approached and the conversation was shelved. They spoke on general topics for the rest of the dinner -- the weather on Altair, Elizabeth's impressions of the city, the wearying effects of travel and the difficulties of adjusting to a different gravity and circadian length. The colonel and Elizabeth kept up a steady stream of conversation, with few interjections by Darcy. In the course of discussion, Elizabeth discovered that the colonel had worked as an engineer in his brother's company before joining the marines and soon they were talking about air filtration and irrigation systems and other mechanical subjects. The colonel, she decided, though probably close to a decade and a half her elder, was not only a good conversationalist but also a kindred spirit. As a whole, she was having a pleasant enough time and was glad that she had been persuaded to this outing.

They arrived back at Rosings One late. The sun had long since set behind the horizon and the lights of the city were bright in the darkness. Walking in the front entrance, they were greeted by the night porter, who called Colonel Fitzwilliam over to deal with a package the colonel had intended to be sent that morning. The colonel apologized, but insisted that they go on without him, as he wasn't sure how long "sorting out this mess" might take.

Darcy, without a word, turned to Elizabeth and offered his arm. After a moment's hesitation staring at the object of courtesy, unsure how to refuse it without seeming rude, she accepted. They walked to the bank of elevators, and Darcy pressed a button to call one, then turned to his companion. "Would you care to come up for a drink?"

Elizabeth, taken slightly aback by the request, shook her head. "No, I think the day has worn me out," she said. "I shall be grateful to find my pillow. But, uhm ... thank you."

"My pleasure," he replied. They stepped into the elevator that had just arrived, and he pressed the button for her floor. She at first was surprised by his knowing where she was staying, but reflected that perhaps either he was staying on that floor, as well, or that it was where all visitors of her caliber stayed.

They spoke not a word during the brief ascent, and when they stepped out of the elevator he immediately turned in the direction of her room. She followed, a growing feeling of unease rippling through her.

"Do you enjoy going out walking, Miss Bennet?" he asked, startling her out of her thoughts.

"I do. And I am looking forward to exploring the parks. I'm very impressed by the amount of greenery here in the city. We have our plants on Deimos for air filtration, and I've been to Earth before and seen the lawns and parks, but this is quite impressive."

"They have done much here on Altair to provide a good deal of green space in the city. Have you been to the greenhouses here on campus yet?"

"I have not," she replied.

"You should visit them," he said, coming to a stop by her door. "I think you would enjoy them."

"Thank you," she said. "Mr. Darcy, may I ask how you knew which room was mine?"

He looked at her oddly, a small smile playing about his lips. "Miss Bennet, my aunt knows everything of what goes on in her hotel. I knew you were coming even before you were here."

And with a brief, archaic bow, he left her and returned down the hall to the elevators. She stood for some time in the hallway, staring after him, before going into her room. Not surprisingly, it took her a long time to fall asleep.

Chapter Seven: Enemy Mine

Posted on 2010-01-12

The following morning, Elizabeth had breakfast with Charlotte, who was again feeling under the weather but up to eating. Maria and Mr. Lucas had gone out exploring the city, and Mr. Collins was already at the office.

"I hear you had a nice outing yesterday," Charlotte was saying as she buttered a piece of toast. "William said Ms. DeBourgh was quite peeved you had stolen away both her nephews."

Elizabeth snorted. "Through no fault of my own, I assure you. I would gladly have left Mr. Darcy here."

"It's quite a compliment to you, I would say," Charlotte replied. Then, with a wink, she added, "And I still say he's in love with you."

"And I still maintain that you're nuts."

Charlotte didn't take offense. "Well, just remember me when you two get married. I wouldn't mind having your firstborn named after me. Provided it's a girl, of course." Dodging the piece of flying toast, she held her hands up in surrender and laughed. "All right! I'll give up. So what are your plans today?"

"Well, much as I enjoyed yesterday, I think I'll leave the gentlemen to themselves and maybe go check out the greenhouses. Mr. Darcy mentioned they were impressive."

Charlotte waggled her eyebrows at her friend. "Oh, did he?"

"Yes," Elizabeth said repressively. "And I'll check them out by myself. Alone."

But her intention, unintentionally, did not last long. Soon after she entered the second greenhouse, where a great variety of tropical Earth flora had been transplanted, she suddenly came across Mr. Darcy. He was seated on a bench a few yards ahead, leaning back slightly with his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his arms folded across his chest, and his head tipped forward. At first she thought he might be asleep, but he suddenly looked in her direction and at the sight of her straightened and stood, stepping forward.

"Miss Bennet," he greeted her with a bow. "I'm pleased to see you took my recommendation."

She gave a small sigh. "You were completely right, Mr. Darcy. The greenhouses are lovely, and it's a beautiful, quiet place to enjoy a bit of solitude." She paused intentionally. "I would hate to interrupt yours."

"Not at all," he said with a small smile. "I would enjoy the company. Shall we walk?"

She really wished she could be rude, Elizabeth thought grumpily as they ambled slowly up and down the paths of the greenhouse. It would make all of her interactions with Mr. Darcy that much briefer. And thus more tolerable.

They barely talked as they walked, with only an occasional comment by Darcy about a particular bloom, and where it could be found on Earth, or an observation by Elizabeth that she really liked how pleasantly quiet it could be amid the greenery.

But for some reason Darcy took no offense at her silence, and when they at last reached the doors of the greenhouse again, he suggested that they might move on to the next, and then perhaps get a bite to eat afterward. But, unwilling to prolong the experience, she laughed and said that for the day she was finished with greenhouses. Perhaps tomorrow she'll be interested in them again, but thank you for the tour.

Again, he insisted on walking her back to her room, and when they arrived she slipped inside quickly after thanking him again. What was that all about? she thought as she leaned back against the door, shaking her head in bafflement. When she couldn't hear his footsteps receding along the passageway anymore, she slipped out again and went to see if Charlotte had yet returned from her appointment. After only a moment's thought, she knew she could not share her morning's adventure with her friend, and instead crafted a paler, but more Darcy-free version of the tale to share. It was almost so good that she might have been able to believe it herself.

But the following day, when she went in the morning to the greenhouse she had not been able to visit the previous day, she again encountered Darcy. This time he was standing near the entrance, his gaze ostensibly trained on a delicate flower she had once seen referred to in a book as a "rose." When she hesitated in the doorway, cursing her poor luck and considering a silent retreat, he looked up and the moment of opportunity was lost.

When he politely joined her on her walk, she resigned herself to another near silent tour of another greenhouse, but she soon found that he had this time decided to be slightly more articulate. He made a few comments about the plants they passed, but also ventured to branch into other subjects, such as her enjoyment of her stay and the comfort of her rooms. The only thing that gave her some moments of confusion was when in one of his comments he seemed to imply that, should she ever visit Altair again, she would rather be staying in the DeBourgh family suites. But he quickly moved on to another subject, and she decided that she most likely had merely misheard his remark.

But these accidental meetings could not continue, she decided, and she endeavored to give him a broad hint that she would probably not visit the greenhouses the following day, having gotten a fair idea of the contents, and would probably extend her solitary wanderings to the nearby city parks. So she of course thanked him for his condescension to share his rambles with her, but she was sure he would again enjoy the greenery in silence.

Nevertheless, the following morning she discovered him by chance in the main hall as she went through on her way out. He was this time speaking with the porter, but hailed her as she made to exit and offered to join her on her walk. She could not very well refuse without awkwardness, especially with the number of people around them, staring in curiosity at their interaction, so she accepted his escort. They visited the nearby Kirk Park, and as they strolled along the paths, watching children play, pets run, kites fly, and people picnic in the midday sun, she began to lose some of her disdain for this arrogant and haughty man. He was almost -- almost -- approachable, she thought as they strolled through the park. When they stopped for lunch at a small canteen on the way back, she actually found she enjoyed sparring intellectually with him as they discussed books and philosophies.

But she reminded herself again, when they parted at her door, that she ought not to forget what Darcy was. For all that he might be capable occasionally of politeness, it did not erase his earlier remarks or his proud and prejudiced behavior around those he viewed as a lesser class of human. She recalled again to herself Wickham's remarks regarding Darcy's ability to please where he wished -- especially among those he considered his equals. She ruthlessly suppressed the spurt of pleasure at the thought that he might consider her his equal.

The following morning, she tried to walk out even earlier than her wont, in order to avoid another recurrence of the day before, but again she found Darcy in the main hall, sitting in a chair and reading the newspaper. He joined her this time without a word, and they proceeded out the door and along the walkway to the park.

Feeling slightly nettled, Elizabeth began their conversation as they entered the park by saying, with a view to unnerve him, "It was quite a surprise when you and the Bingleys left Deimos Base. I understand that you went to Earth afterward. Mr. Bingley and his sisters were well when you left them?"

"They were," he said, his voice hesitant and questioning.

"My sister Jane has been in London there the past few weeks, as well. You never happened to see her, I suppose?"

"I have not had that pleasure."

"Ah well. It's a large city, I recall," she said. After a pause, she began again with, "I believe I understand that Mr. Bingley has no intention of returning to Deimos."

Darcy pursed his lips slightly, then answered tightly, "I am not intimately acquainted with his plans, but, yes, I believe that's true."

She didn't answer at first, and he, moved to begin a new subject, said, "I ran into your friend Charlotte Collins yesterday afternoon. She seems to be adapting well to the Altairian life."

"She has always been a very practical person," Elizabeth replied. "The structure, I suppose, suits her."

"Mr. Collins seems fortunate in his choice of wife."

There was something in Darcy's tone that made Elizabeth glance in suspicion at him. But as there was nothing in his expression to indicate his thoughts, she answered, "Indeed. I think my cousin managed to find one of the few sensible women who would have both accepted him and been a good match. Charlotte has always been an intelligent person -- though I am still unsure marrying Mr. Collins was the wisest thing she ever did. But she seems happy, and in a practical sense she found a good place for herself."

"Well, and being so near, so easy to visit or be visited by family, must be comforting."

She stopped walking, looking at him in confusion. "Near?" she echoed when he stopped, as well, turning to face her. "It's nearly 17 light years from here to Deimos."

He shrugged. "But what is 17 light years of clear space? Twelve nanoseconds of travel. Yes, I should call that a very easy distance to cross."

"But I would never have listed it among the advantages of the match," she said. "I would never say she was settled near her family."

He smiled. "Proof of your own attachment to Deimos. Anything beyond the Old System would seem far to you, I think."

Elizabeth flushed, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation and his assumption. "I don't mean to say that, with our technology now, we can ever be more than a second away from each other. But I do think it safe to say that sometimes we can be settled too near our family. And, really, far and near are such relative terms; if you have money, the expense of travel is unimportant. And I know the Collinses have a comfortable income, but they're certainly not wealthy enough to make frequent journeys between here and Deimos. I'm sure that even if the distance were half this Charlotte still wouldn't call it near."

"But you wouldn't have any reason for such a consideration," Darcy said, closing the distance between them, his expression intent. "You, I think, couldn't have such strong attachment to Deimos."

Elizabeth couldn't hide her confused surprise at his statement, and he seemed to have a sudden change of heart, for he stepped back and said, "But perhaps we should return now. I believe the weather is turning."

And it was, for by the time they reached Rosings One, the wind had picked up and the swirling clouds threatened imminent rain. For once, Darcy did not escort her to her room, excusing himself on account of being expected elsewhere. But she had enough to think of without his company. Especially as, when she arrived back at her rooms, she discovered she had received another letter from Jane. She quickly opened it, hoping that this one might show an improvement in her sister's spirits.

Jane's previous letters had been somewhat distressing in their between-the-lines suggestion of her sister's sad state. One had even indicated that Caroline Bingley had responded at last to Jane's notes and visited her at the Gardiner's, only to suddenly, after mentioning her brother's interest in some other eligible young lady, recall an appointment she simply had to attend. Jane had been disappointed, but resignedly decided that perhaps Caroline was simply being kind; she would survive, she wrote. There could be little doubt this letter would bear much of the same stoicism.

Elizabeth was confirmed in her suspicions, and so remained for much of the rest of the night in a rare ill humor with Mr. Bingley, and by extension, the rest of the party that had visited Deimos. And the following morning, as she dressed to walk again outside, taking a few of Jane's letters with her to re-read and reflect, she thought that perhaps it might be nice if she could avoid having to walk with Mr. Darcy.

But, to be certain, she found a staircase at the back of the building to descend and then exited out a side door, glancing around her every so often like a thief that was breaking out instead of in. She made it out without drawing notice, and breathed in a sigh of relief as she made her way across the campus.

Just as she was to step outside the dome and into the street, however, she heard her name called. With a stifled sigh, she turned, but a smile broke out across her face as she saw, instead of the tall figure of Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam hurrying across the lawn towards her.

"Well, fancy meeting you here!" he said brightly as he reached her. "Are you on your way out?"

"I was about to go for a walk, perhaps in one of the parks," she replied.

"Precisely what I had intended," he said. "I generally do like to visit a few of the parks before I leave, to remind myself why I come every year. It certainly isn't for my aunt's company," he added with a grimace.

"What, have you been getting your fill?"

He laughed, opening the door for her to make their way out onto the street. "Oh, indeed. Especially as my cousin has been so kind as to abandon us nearly every morning, so she has taken to using me as his replacement. But, there we have it. I am something at Darcy's disposal. He tends to arrange this trip as he sees fit, and I just pack when he tells me."

"Rather officious, isn't it? But I suspect," she said, softening her words with a smile, "that your cousin enjoys being able to have things arranged just as he wishes."

"Ah," the colonel said with a smile, "but I do think we all enjoy having things go our way most of the time. I certainly do, though I have less choice in many ways, perhaps, than Darcy. Not quite as much wealth to spread around, as they say. Whereas he runs a multiplanetary company and operates several research laboratories, I am merely a humble colonel in the marines."

"Merely!" Elizabeth laughed. "You're still much more blessed than most, I should say."

"Indeed, that is true. And yet, I'm accustomed to a certain standard. I grew up connected by family to wealth, and though I certainly haven't sought it in my own career, I am aware of it and still retain some desire for a higher living. So my travel is necessarily limited; my choices, in terms of marital happiness, or even..." he waved a hand vaguely, "shorter-term arrangements, must take finances into consideration."

Elizabeth flushed slightly at his words, mentally adjusting her perception of the man slightly, but agreed with the sum of his statement. "I should think finances are an important part of any decision, especially when it comes to a lifetime arrangement."

He shrugged. "But not the only consideration, you mean. Of course. And it's not always the most important. There are family connections, character, political leanings, careers, common values and views; even the strength of feeling should be looked at, I think. And that's true for anyone, from the local butcher to ... well, to Darcy."

"I shouldn't think it would matter to your cousin much," Elizabeth scoffed. "I should think a man as rich as he is could have any woman he wanted."

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. "True, but doesn't that make it all the harder to find one that'll stand the test of time, as it were? You know, Darcy was saying something about that the other day, actually."

Elizabeth looked at him sharply. "About...?"

"About marriage, and compatibility and whatnot. Well, and then he was telling me about Bingley -- I think you said you'd met him -- getting involved with some girl recently." He paused for a moment. "Well, actually, he didn't say specifically that it was Bingley. I just assumed it was, as they had just been on Earth together, and it sounded like it had happened recently, and Bingley tends to get himself caught up in these things fairly easily. But I suppose I shouldn't mention it -- these things tend to get around, and usually by the end not at all how it happened, and things can get a bit awkward unintentionally."

"Oh, I wouldn't say anything," Elizabeth said. "I'm actually quite interested."

The colonel, clearly eager to share the story, brightened. "Oh. Well, from what my cousin said, it seems Bingley fell in love with this girl -- completely ineligible -- and apparently Darcy had to convince his friend not to go running after her to propose."

"Really? Did he ... did he say why?"

"Not specifically, mind, but I understood that there were some fairly strong objections to her."

Objections to Jane! Elizabeth stopped in the middle of the path, her hands clenched at the gall of the man. "And, ah ... how did he go about separating them?"

"He didn't tell me that," the colonel said with a smile. "Really, those were all the details I had." He paused and looked keenly at her. "Is there something wrong?"

She shook her head in a jerky fashion. "Not at all. It's just..." she bit her lip and started again: "I don't understand what right your cousin had to get involved. Who was he to judge?"

"You think he was sticking his nose where he wasn't wanted?" the colonel asked.

"I just don't see why he should be the one to decide how his friend should be happy," she said, struggling to sound detached. "But I suppose, without all the details, we can't really condemn him for it. I mean, there was obviously not much feeling between the couple in the first place, if it were so easy to separate them."

"Perhaps. But it definitely would make Darcy's achievement a little less impressive," the colonel laughed. When she didn't answer, he asked, gesturing to the path before them, "Shall we continue?"

Elizabeth, in less of a pleasant mood than she had begun the walk, shook her head. "I think it's gotten colder out, and it feels a bit like rain. I wouldn't want to be caught out in weather like there was yesterday."

Though his expression revealed his doubt and concern, the colonel accepted her reason without comment. "Then by all means we should turn back," he said, matching action to words. As they walked, he spoke on purely innocuous subjects, such as the storms he had seen in his years visiting Altair, and of the ever-altering weather they had on his home planet. But Elizabeth, distracted by her thoughts, could only occasionally muster up a vague response here or there. Thankfully for her state of mind, his dialogue required little cooperation on her part.

They arrived back at Rosings One in short time, but Elizabeth hesitated to go to her room. She was not in the mood for company; especially the company offered. They were set to have lunch with Ms. DeBourgh, who had so far condescended as to invite the Collinses and Lucases for a meal, and seeing Darcy would be too much. And if she went up to her rooms, she knew she would be sought out by either Charlotte or her sister, and she wasn't quite sure what she would say given the state of her mind and emotions. So as the colonel made for the front doors, Elizabeth asked him if he would pass by the Collins' suite and let Mrs. Collins know she would be in the greenhouses for a while and might miss lunch.

He looked at her doubtfully. "Nothing's wrong, I hope?" he asked again, concerned.

"No," she replied. "Simply a headache, I think."

It wasn't a lie, she reflected as the colonel nodded and left and she made her way around the campus to the Earth botanicals greenhouse on the far side. The rage and impotent frustration she suddenly felt had brought on more than enough pain to be called a headache.

Aside from herself, there was only one other person in the greenhouse when she entered. But the gardener seemed on the point of leaving, and Elizabeth felt secure in the thought that she would not be disturbed here. She found a bench among the greenery, and soon the soft sounds of insects and the peaceful, soothing babble of a small nearby waterfall began to calm her. She pulled Jane's letters from her pocket, crumbling them in her hands as she re-read them, recalling what Colonel Fitzwilliam had told her and of the events of the past few months. She mulled darkly over the could-have-beens and the what-nows, nursing in her heart a burgeoning hatred of Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Elizabeth had before felt nothing for the man save dislike and disdain and the casual hatred a stranger might feel on behalf of someone else for their misfortunes. She could with perfect equanimity interact with him, could mock him without rancor, could smile and be polite when need be, as she had shown in all of her recent opportunities.

But now, with the knowledge that he had crushed her sister's happiness like so much offal, had so casually and selfishly destroyed her hopes for a happy future, Elizabeth found that her feelings for him had suddenly taken a nosedive. She hated him, truly loathed him with every fiber of her being. He had done nothing for her and those she cared about save humiliate, mock, and, finally, betray them. If he had appeared before her just then, she would no doubt have flown at him in a rage, spewed the whole of her abhorrence into his unwilling ears, and flayed him alive so that he might experience even half of the pain she had no doubt her sister felt.

Luckily for Darcy, he did not enter the greenhouse at that moment. Rather, he entered twenty minutes later, when Elizabeth's temper was at last beginning to cool.

She caught sight of him first out of the corner of her eye, there at the end of the row, and looked up in surprise at the intrusion. He was standing there silent and still, and Elizabeth wondered at first if she had conjured him out of her imagination. But a moment later the apparition moved, taking a few steps in her direction. Her ashen cheeks suddenly flushed with hot, angry color, and she stood, letters crushed in her fists, her voice stuck in her throat.

He stopped, not more than eight feet from her, and stared, taking in her appearance. His hand stretched out toward her and then, as if he recalled himself, fell back to his side. When he spoke, it was with cool composure: "Miss Bennet -- you are well?"

The question startled her, and at first she didn't know what to say. None of her imaginings of their conversations, the words she would throw at him, included such a civilized opening. Baffled, she nodded mutely.

He began to speak again, but checked himself. Shifting his gaze in discomposure and uttering an imprecation under his breath, he speared one hand through his hair. He began again, "Miss Bennet, I'm sure you know what I'm about to say."

When she only stared back at him, now utterly confused and filled with a sense of slight unreality, he continued: "My cousin mentioned that you had talked together on your walk through the park about ... about my views on marriage."

She was now completely floored. His views on marriage? Was he talking about Bingley? Why would he bring this up? Was he going to try to explain himself? "Oh," she said at last, when she realized that he was waiting from some sort of response.

The simple syllable seemed to satisfy him, for Darcy nodded once, nervously. He pursed his lips slightly, then made to speak but closed his mouth again and paced to one side of the aisle, setting his hands against the fence. After a moment he turned again, looked at her, then looked away, running a hand again through his disheveled hair.

There was something wrong. Elizabeth could understand his discomfort in apologizing, or explaining how he had been wrong, but could it possibly be this difficult? Why was he so upset? Did he think she was going to attack him? Perhaps half an hour ago she might have, she reflected, but he couldn't possibly know that. Whereas only a few minutes ago she had been ready to murder him, she now felt at a complete loss on how to alleviate his obvious distress. She now felt something akin to a growing sense of pity for him.

That pity evaporated the moment he, clearly having mastered his inner turmoil, opened his mouth and spoke:

"You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Jane's letters fluttered to the ground, released heedlessly from Elizabeth's suddenly nerveless fingers. Her mouth hung open in unabashed shock, her eyes wide as she struggled to understand exactly what she had just heard. He had continued, but her brain did not take in what he was saying. This -- no, this had never been a possibility. Among the thousands of things he could have said, among the millions of permutations of words available, she would never have imagined an expression of love to escape his lips. And what an expression! As she slowly came back to the present, she began to understand the tumble of his words -- the disparagement of her relatives, the distaste he felt for Deimos and her family's situation, the struggles he had endured in overcoming these objections. But he circled back around in the end to his professions of adoration, and his desire to see her at Pemberley -- she would love it there, she would have everything she could ever desire, they would be extremely happy together ... his voice trailed away, his expression expectant, his hand clenching convulsively, nervously.

She had missed something. She had to have missed something in all of that. She put a hand to her brow, trying to sort through the possibilities. The only one that fit, though even then it was a bit of a stretch and only came to mind because his cousin had mentioned it in a roundabout way, couldn't possibly be what he had just offered her. "Did you -- are you asking me to be your mistress?"

He looked shocked, confused. "No!" he choked. "I would never -- no! I'm asking you to be my wife."

His wife! A short, almost hysterical laugh bubbled out of Elizabeth's throat as the ridiculous humor of her mistake and of the situation in general struck her. But his expression -- tense, confused, but ultimately certain -- dried the laughter in an instant. It was the secure expectation, that intangible air of smugness that seemed to permeate the air around him as if she had already given him a positive reply, which drove her response, cool and detached: "I'm not really sure what I am meant to say in such a situation, Mr. Darcy. You've completely put me out of my element. But I suppose I should thank you for the generosity of your proposal. You've done me an honor by your offer. But I'm afraid I couldn't possibly accept it."

The look of pure bafflement on his face, the surprise that greeted her response, would have been comical if she had had the presence of mind to appreciate it. But she was still struggling to come to terms with his proposal -- and he was clearly trying to come to terms with its failure. "And this -- this is all the reply I should expect?" he asked at last, turning his head aside to gaze at the flowers in the planters on one side of the aisle.

Her thin veneer of composure began to crack. "What would you expect, Mr. Darcy? For me to get down on my knees and thank you for the way in which you so graciously overlooked all my faults and failings and those of my family? For condescending to grant such an humble moon dweller the dubious honor of aligning her name with that of the illustrious Darcy empire? Forgive me if I don't break out the sackcloth and ashes to atone for my grievous sin. I have the feeling that all of those reservations and objections and doubts you have will soothe your broken heart much better than any apology I could make."

During this speech he had turned back to her, his eyes piercing and betraying his growing anger. But he waited until she had finished, and even a few moments after, to reply in a relatively composed manner: "Oh, so that's it," he said with an irritating tone of understanding. "I damaged your pride by telling you of my struggles in deciding to offer you marriage. You wanted me to flatter you, assure you that nothing stood in the way of our love, that my heart was yours unconditionally. Well, I'm not ashamed of what I said. My feelings on the matter were completely just, and I would never dare conceal them. Do you think I would rejoice at having relatives such as yours -- whose place in the universe is so decidedly below my own?"

"I couldn't care less what your feelings on the matter were," Elizabeth replied angrily. "I have never desired your love, never wanted your heart -- and whether you bestowed it unwillingly, it's no more unwilling than it's been received. Do you think I ever could have loved the man who, more than anyone else, destroyed -- perhaps forever -- my sister's one true chance at happiness?"

He started at this, and his face paled, but he said nothing. Carried on by her anger, she continued: "Do you dare deny it? Do you dare deny that you've been the primary, if not the only man who separated them, exposing one to universal censure for his fickleness and instability and the other to pity and derision for her disappointed hopes?"

His assumed air of perfect indifference to her rage and the slight smile that played across his lips at the last made her itch to slap him. "I have no wish to deny it," he said. "I did everything in my power to separate Bingley from your sister, and I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself."

His reply incensed her even more, and she fairly spat out her next accusation: "And what of Wickham?"

At the name, his lip curled. "What of him?"

"He told me -- months ago -- of what you'd done to him."

Darcy's face flushed, his hand clenched. "You seem to be intimately acquainted with that man's concerns."

"What, did you think his misfortunes would remain secret?"

"His misfortunes..." Darcy sneered.

"And all of your doing! Can you deny that his present circumstances are your fault? That you reduced him to poverty, to a lower class of work? You withheld advantages from him that you knew were his by right. You deprived him of his independence, of a comfortable situation. And yet you can stand there and sneer and regard him with contempt."

A baffled puff of air escaped his lip as he stared at her. "And this--" he said at last "--this is what you've based your opinion of me on? This is why I have been rejected so brutally, so violently, with so little attempt at civility?"

She flushed. "Brutally? Incivility?" she echoed with a bitter laugh. "My incivility, as you call it, Mr. Darcy, was only just mete for a man whose intent in proposing was to humiliate and abase me, to offer me a sop for my feelings by telling me you loved me against your will, against your reason, even against your character. Your incivility would have been more than enough excuse for mine. But what your proposal did was merely spare me any concern I might have felt had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner. You couldn't have proposed in any possible way that would have ever tempted me to accept you."

He paled, but made no effort to speak, so she continued: "But you're wrong if you think these are my only reasons for refusing you. Since I met you -- nearly from the very moment we were introduced -- you have in your manners, in your words and deeds and behavior, betrayed your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others. From these I laid my impression of you, and these later revelations did no more than build on that foundation. I hadn't known you even a day before I knew that you were the last man in the universe I would ever marry."

There was silence in the greenhouse when she finished speaking. She could hear the sound of her breath, loud and raspy as she struggled to control her emotions. Though she had been looking at him the entire time she spoke, she only now took in his appearance before her, pale and tense, head bowed, the picture of dejection. Even through the haze of her anger, she could not fail to be moved to pity and the tiniest twinge of guilt, that perhaps she had gone too far, and she began again, in a more gentle voice, "Mr. Darcy--"

His head came up immediately, his eyes flashing and his mouth tight. "No. Enough. You've said more than enough, Miss Bennet. I perfectly understand your feelings. Now I only have my own to be ashamed of. Forgive me for taking up your time, and ... and my best wishes for your health and happiness."

And turning on his heel, he strode away from her and out of the greenhouse. She watched the door in a daze long after he was gone, her emotions and her mind in a whirl. A part of her could not believe what had just happened. If it had happened.

But as she stared at Jane's letters, scattered around her on the ground like so many petals from a wilted flower, she realized that, no, it had happened. She had been proposed to by the man whose very existence she despised. By a man who she thought only looked to criticize. By a man who believed that everything in her world could be held up to scorn. That he could have loved her -- no. How could she have missed something so obvious as love? There had to have been some sort of sign. You don't propose marriage to a stranger.

Suddenly, Charlotte's words came back to her, and Elizabeth cursed. She was right. Charlotte had been so right, and Elizabeth had been so blind. Those walks, all of those times -- what, he had been flirting with her? Had he thought she responded? She never intended to encourage him. Could he have been as blind and self-deluding as she was?

"Gads, I'm a fool," she whispered to the empty greenhouse, sitting down heavily on the bench. A chuckle escaped her, turning into a full, rich laugh. "A blind, stupid, idiotic, self-pitying fool."

And then, as quickly as the laughter had begun, it changed into bitter sadness and tears. Great, heaving sobs of regret. She cried for Jane. She cried for Bingley. She cried because she missed Deimos Base. She cried because of the way her life had suddenly spun out of her control. She cried for herself and for the anger that still clenched her insides. She cried because she was crying for no reason. And then she cried because the sensors in the greenhouse hadn't sensed movement for so long that the irrigation systems turned on.

It's true what they say, she reflected as she collected the sodden masses of her sister's letters and left the greenhouse -- when it rains, it pours.

Chapter Eight: The Dark Side of the Moon

Posted on 2010-01-19

Elizabeth made no mention, when she finally joined the company, of her tumultuous morning and the way in which her world had been so suddenly flipped on its axis.

Thankfully for her peace of mind, no one commented on her somewhat diminished spirits, if they even noticed. Only Charlotte's eyes followed her worriedly as they went on their planned late afternoon tour to the Bois Gorge. As they wandered along the observation deck, Charlotte made a feeble attempt to gauge her friend's true mood, but she was rebuffed gently and decided not to press the issue. If Elizabeth wished to share, she would.

But she didn't. Elizabeth wasn't even sure if she could share such a ludicrous story with her sister Jane when they met again on the stopover in London. She still felt a considerable amount of anger at Mr. Darcy, tinged as it was by confusion and a very small sense of pity. Perhaps it was this last emotion that kept her from sharing the tale of his -- if she so flattered herself -- devastating rejection. She would not be the instrument of another's disgrace.

This reflection it was that most likely kept her going through the day and from breaking into frustrated tears at the overwhelming emotions that roiled within her. She was not generally such a watering pot. In fact, the last time she had cried, she was fairly sure, was the time she had gotten stitches after getting her hand caught in one of the gears in the base's engine room. She was seven at the time, and it wasn't the pain that got to her: it was the ban she was given from going into the engine room for several months as they fixed the problems she'd caused.

But here, it was as if her emotions, boiling and swelling, had broken through the dam that had held them back. And now she wasn't sure what to do with them. She lay in her bed later that night, staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering how she could possibly face Mr. Darcy again. It would be a wonderful thing, she thought, if he were to simply disappear, run off to whatever planet rich men of his ilk were wont to run off to when they needed somewhere to lick their wounds. But she was on his aunt's planet now -- and like to be for at least another 50 hours until their flight left. Though it might be the gentlemanly thing to do, it was not his duty to retreat. She -- and he -- would simply have to accept that they might see each other, and she, at least, knew she could manage civility for any brief amount of time that might happen.

But Elizabeth was granted a small reprieve from even that onerous task the following morning when Charlotte declared that she had arranged a small surprise for their final day on Altair. "I got passes for us to all to make a trip up to Altair's moon base," she said, a wide smile on her face as she held up the holographic cards.

Mr. Lucas and Maria applauded this treat, and Elizabeth was no less appreciative. This would certainly be a way to avoid Darcy, she reflected. It was highly unlikely he would be on the moon.

They were not to leave for a few hours, however, so Elizabeth returned to her room after breakfast. There, to her disgust, she discovered a note from Darcy, asking her to talk. Talk? She scoffed. What more had they to say to each other? No, she had no intention of talking to Mr. Darcy any more than she had to. Especially if he were going to repeat any of his insults from the day before.

Only fifteen minutes later, as she was trying to decide between outfits -- her dark blue jumpsuit, or her somewhat nicer red one? -- the intercom buzzed in her room. She froze, somehow knowing who would be on the other side of the door. After that brief pause, however, she unstuck her feet from the floor and flew silently to the door to verify her assumption. Indeed, it was Darcy's form she saw on the monitor, and she swore under her breath. But after a moment of thought she sighed and returned to the jumpsuits on the bed. The man would get tired of waiting, no doubt, and leave in a few minutes.

Three more buzzes later, there was silence again in her room. She finished putting up her hair, humming contentedly to herself as she planned how to make the dash from her room to meet the Collins and Lucases with the minimum probability of her running into Darcy. He was persistent, at least -- she had to give him credit for that. What would be next? A letter?

But there were no missives delivered in the next ten minutes before she made her way down to the main hall, and no sign of Darcy. There was, however, Charlotte, who mentioned that Darcy had stopped by their suite in search of her. "I told him you were in your rooms. Did he find you?"

"Um, no," Elizabeth said, feeling it wasn't entirely a lie. "It's possible I was out for the moment."

Charlotte narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but didn't say anything as Maria and Mr. Lucas arrived just then, and they all departed for the airfield.

The trip to Altair's inner moon was brief, as all interplanetary travel was nowadays. The base was newer, less than fifty years old, and established in the interests of galactic defense. But even with so comparatively few years under its belt, it was also recently renovated, and Elizabeth could not help but gaze around in envy at the technology Deimos Base would give anything to afford. She asked numerous questions of their space marine guide, to the point that he brought in one of their engineers to answer for the more technical aspects. As the others went for a bite to eat in the canteen, she was given a special tour of some of the inner workings of the base, including the engine room and core reactor and the air filtration system.

"I'm surprised," Elizabeth said at one point, peering through the glass at the engineers working on the air filtration system. "That's not a DeBourgh filtrator. I would have thought, what with her business on Altair, it would have been a proprietary thing."

She turned to catch the embarrassed grimace the engineer beside her tried to hide. "You are correct, Miss Bennet," she said. "It's a Fitzwilliam & Fitzwilliam brand filtrator. But it is, as you might say, all in the family. When the base was undergoing renovations, Ms. DeBourgh gave the task over to Mr. Darcy to make all arrangements for our replacement systems. And since it is one of his company's subsidiaries..."

"Oh," Elizabeth said. "I hadn't realized."

The engineer smiled. "As you can see, Miss Bennet, we've gone with all of the best and most advanced technologies here on base. Though we're nothing close to, say, Pemberley out on Procyon, we're certainly among the most modern of the bases in the universe," she said in pride. "Now, is there anything else you'd like to see?"

Elizabeth hesitated. "I wouldn't mind ... that is, I know we'll be getting a great view of Altair from the observation deck later, but I was wondering if I might be able to go out there. On the surface, I mean."

The engineer checked her timepiece, and then shrugged. "I don't see why not. We've enough time, I think, and you're certified, correct?"

Hopeful of the opportunity, Elizabeth had brought along her certs. So the two made their way through the base to the walkout bay, where Elizabeth spent some time sighing jealously over the lighter-weight materials and equipment before suiting up.

When she finally came out of the pressure lock and onto the moon's surface, she moved around a bit to accustom herself to the gravity strength, and then, at the end of her tether, stopped on a small rise and gazed around herself in awe. Though it wasn't at all the same as being out on Deimos -- the stars were all wrong, for one, and the overwhelming presence of Mars was replaced by the stunningly blue, brownish, and white surface of Altair -- she still felt a wave of homesickness rush through her. "It's beautiful," she said over the comm. unit.

"Thank you," was the simple reply from the engineer, her voice clear as a bell in Elizabeth's helmet. One more thing to be jealous of, she thought wryly, thinking of Deimos' crackling communications board.

For the next twenty or thirty minutes, Elizabeth explored the area she could reach on her tether, picking up handfuls of moon soil to see how it scattered, studying the stars from this new position in the universe, and enjoying the exhilarating freedom of moonwalking. At one point she thought the engineer said something to her over the line, but she had turned her comm. unit down and, when it wasn't repeated, she assumed she had misheard. The woman might simply have been talking to someone in the room and forgotten to mute her mic.

But all good things must come to an end, and at last the engineer's voice came over the comm. line, asking Elizabeth to make her way back to the pressure lock. She did so swiftly and was surprised to find, as she entered, another person already there. As the door closed and sealed behind her, she discovered why.

"Miss Bennet." His voice echoed through her helmet, his tone hesitant and a touch bitter.

"Mr. Darcy," she replied, her voice squeaking slightly in surprise.

"You were hard to find. I assume it was intentional." She couldn't deny it, so said nothing. He continued after waiting vainly for a response: "Be assured I didn't seek you out to renew my offer. You made your disgust of it plain enough yesterday. I won't pain you or humble myself by repeating the experience."

Elizabeth relaxed slightly. But only slightly. "Then why all this?" she asked, her hand gesturing to encompass the two of them, the pressure lock, whatever.

"You laid some heavy charges at my door yesterday," he said. "And, after a lot of deliberation, I find I must explain myself for you. Some, I admit, for my own peace of mind, but also, I hope, for yours."

"It's not necessary--"

"It is," he replied doggedly. He glanced up at the clock ticking away as the small room was slowly re-pressurized and filled with air. "I hope I can trade on your sense of justice to hear me out."

Elizabeth contained her sigh. She didn't want to hear his reasons -- she certainly didn't want to hear any of his bogus justifications for his actions. But what choice did she have? She was stuck in here for -- she glanced at the clock -- the next twelve minutes. It was either hear him out or turn off her comm. unit and suffer in silence. Though the latter option was tempting, he was right. Her sense of justice and, to be completely honest, her curiosity won out. She made a motion for him to continue.

"Ms. Leeloo?"

"Yes, Mr. Darcy," came the deferential voice of the engineer. "If you -- either of you -- need me, I'll be on channel seven."

"Thank you." He waited a moment, then when he was certain the engineer had switched channels, turned his gaze to Elizabeth. It was hard to see his eyes through the tint of the visors, but she thought he looked tired. His voice certainly sounded so. "I don't have much time, so I'd ask that you let me say what I need to, and then pose any questions -- or objections -- at the end."

Elizabeth nodded in acceptance, and he continued: "There were two things you accused me of yesterday I wanted to explain -- first, that I willfully and brutally destroyed Wickham's life and prospects, and second, that I broke up the relationship between your sister and Bingley, and did it with little regard to either of their feelings. Wickham ... I'll get to him later, as it'll take more time to explain. The matter with Bingley and your sister is clearly the less serious of the two accusations -- a matter of separating two people who'd barely known each other a month, as opposed to the betrayal of a lifetime's relationship."

Elizabeth pursed her lips at his easy dismissal of the way he'd broken Jane's heart. But, obeying his request for silence, she said nothing, and he continued:

"I'm not going to deny to you that I did separate them. And I know you might not understand this, but I did it for all the right reasons. I've seen Bingley in love many times before. In fact, I noticed his interest in your sister soon after we arrived, as I'm sure everyone else did, but I thought nothing of it. It wasn't until the Deimos Day party that I began to see how serious it had gotten, at least in the eyes of everyone on base -- when Mr. Lucas made mention of it as we were dancing. It was then I began to see this was more than just a fling -- I think he was quite serious in his feelings and intentions. But your sister -- I also watched her, and I could see no sign of the same feelings in her."

Here Elizabeth objected, but he held up a hand. "I'm sorry. I know that some of what I'm going to say may hurt you. It's not my intention. But an argument will only cost me the little time I have to explain it, and will get us nowhere." He glanced at the clock. "I must ask you to allow me to finish without interruption. Then, when the doors open, you can go and dismiss all of what I've said from your mind. It's only ten more minutes."

Feeling the sting of his reproach, Elizabeth turned away and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back against the wall of the pressure lock. She shrugged, as if unconcerned with his explanations.

"I didn't mean to say that I thought your sister wholly uninterested in Bingley, Miss Bennet. She always seemed receptive to his attentions -- but then, most women are. Your sister's expressions, however, were always calm, always placid, always as if, though she might welcome Bingley's interest, her heart remained untouched. I gave this a lot of study. I didn't want to base my impression on only a gut feeling. And I grew certain, after watching them the rest of the evening, that this was the case. Now, if you say otherwise, I'll have to admit I might have been wrong. You clearly know your sister better than I do. And, yes, before you say anything, I know that, for various reasons, I did want her to be indifferent. But I don't believe my observations did anything but confirm my wishes -- they were not influenced by them.

"As to my ... objections to your sister," he sighed. "They were, on the whole, much of what I myself had to overcome before my proposal to you yesterday. But here, I suppose, they were more remote. They were not in front of me, and though I might say they are more damaging to myself than to someone like Bingley, I was able to forget them. Your family -- and, again, I don't mean to pain you, but your family was the greatest objection. Your situation, your family's lack of connections, was nothing compared to their behavior, to the complete lack of propriety shown by your mother, your younger sisters, and even occasionally your father." He paused, taking in her averted face, the tilt of her head, the way her shoulders sagged and she hugged her arms as if to keep out the chill of his words. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "But if it gives you any consolation, know that I never had cause to censure your own behavior, or your sister Jane's."

When she didn't lift her head, he continued, his voice clipped and more clinical: "When Bingley left Deimos Base, we followed, his sisters and Hurst and I. They, like I, had been concerned with the possibility of Bingley entangling himself with your sister, and we quickly worked to see it didn't happen. Bingley wasn't easy to move from his intention of proposing at first. I outlined to him all of the problems with his choice, all of the objections against the match. He brushed them off. Though they might have given him a few nights of close thought, they wouldn't have stopped him returning to Deimos -- but telling him of your sister's indifference did. Bingley is ... malleable, with a humility that allows him to be influenced easily by the opinions of his friends. Convincing him she didn't love him was the work of a moment. And I'm not ashamed of it. I did what I did because I was sure of my convictions -- I did what was best for my friend. The only thing I feel some guilt over is that, when Caroline learned of your sister's presence in London, we did everything in our power to conceal it until they left for Capella. Perhaps this was wrong -- perhaps it was beneath me, but it's done, and I did it for the best."

She didn't move an inch, give him any indication of her thoughts, and he paused for a moment, glancing up at the clock. Six minutes. "As to your other accusation, about Wickham ... I don't know what he's told you, so the only way to refute it is to explain the whole of it. He's told you, I assume, that we grew up together. His father was my father's accountant and a good friend to him for years. When Mr. Wickham died, my father took George in and later supported him on his way to university. We were both there around the same time, though differing interests and the fewer years I spent getting through my studies parted us somewhat. I rarely saw him, though when I did I will admit I felt strongly that my father's money and influence were being wasted. As well, there were rumors ... but nothing concrete. His grades remained above passing, and he eventually graduated and moved into a research position that would put him in line for a potential professorship, which was always my father's hope for him.

"My father, you see, had a great deal of pull at the university and might have been able, if Wickham's research and exams showed promise, to put him on that path. But when my father died, Wickham's interest seemed to wane on the idea. Especially when he asked to be given, instead, an inheritance of one million credits in lieu of the professorship. Quite frankly, I agreed. Wickham wasn't the type to teach. He might have liked the power, being the center of attention, but he and I both knew he hadn't the discipline or the patience. He said that the money would be to get set up in a lab, and I pretended, rather than believed, that was true. He got the money, and I thought that would be the end of it."

Now it was Darcy's turn to avoid Elizabeth's gaze. She had turned, the pain in his voice drawing her in dreaded curiosity. When he didn't say anything, she prompted him: "What happened?"

He turned to her, and through his visor she could see the wry tilt of his lips, which lightened the look of pain in his eyes. He did not comment on her sudden interest in his recitation, but satisfied it: "Last summer, I received a letter from Wickham. He had apparently run through the money, or nearly so, and was looking to get the professorship. You can understand why I refused to help. Within the month I got involved in the renovation project here on Altair's moonbase, as well as the introduction of a new product line for the Fitzwilliam & Fitzwilliam brand. With my attention divided, it was easy for Wickham to return to the fold at Pemberley without my notice. My sister -- she knew nothing of his nature, and when a childhood friend, someone she looked up to, showered her with attentions and offered to co-author a paper with her..."

"Co-author a paper?" Elizabeth echoed. "How old was she?"

"Just turned fifteen. She had finished her primary studies, and was preparing for her secondary exams. Some years before, I had hired a woman to serve as her companion, a Mrs. Young. She had come well recommended, and I had felt secure entrusting Georgiana to her care. Little did I know she would be party to Wickham's plans to elope with my sister."

"Elope! He seduced your sister?"

"No," he replied firmly. "I was alerted to Wickham's scheme by an innocently written note of my sister's -- she wanted, as usual, for me to edit her paper. I returned to Procyon immediately and Georgiana, who naively expected me to be happy for her, shared with me their plans. I put a stop to it at once, naturally. If I had discovered Wickham had seduced her, I would have had him charged, if I didn't kill him with my bare hands first, but he had not. Not wanting to generate scandal, or to harm my sister by making her the center of any attention that would be drawn by pressing charges, I consulted with my cousin, Richard, who was at the time on leave, about what was best to be done. We paid Wickham off -- less than my sister would have brought with her in marriage, certainly, but more than either of us believed he deserved. And though I had seen his name on a few papers published in some of the journals, I didn't see him again until we met briefly on Deimos Base."

"And your sister?" Elizabeth asked.

"Recovering. She had trusted him -- deeply, and had thought she was in love with him. To learn of his betrayal, from his own mouth -- and in such terms that made it clear she had only been a pawn ... I would to God I could have spared her that pain, but it was in an uncontrolled moment, and I did what I could. She's been continuing her classes, but has buried herself in the lab." He shrugged helplessly. "There's only so much you can do, so many people you can visit for help. She simply hasn't been the same since. I'm hoping all she needs is time and patience."

He sighed. "And that's as far as I know, Miss Bennet. I don't know what lies Wickham told you, or what he said to make you think there was some misdeed on my part, and I'm not surprised you believed him. He's always had an easy charm and always knew how to play just the right notes for sympathy and trust. And, given your loyal and trusting nature, there was no reason for you to doubt him, either. I only wish--" he broke off and shook his head. "I'm sorry for tracking you down like this, and essentially forcing you to listen to my story. And I don't know if you believe anything I've just told you just now, but if you need confirmation of any of it relating to Wickham, you can ask my cousin Richard. He was privy to all of it, from my father's will to this latest fiasco with Georgiana. If your hatred of me extends to anything I would say, you can have no such compunction for him."

Elizabeth, still struggling to take in the whole of his story and shamed by this evidence of her misplaced trust and glimpse of her judgmental nature, couldn't say a word. She felt close to tears, and the fear of him seeing such a weakness made her throat tight and her mind panic. She had finally gathered what shreds of her composure were left, and had even opened her mouth to speak, when the bell signifying the re-pressurization sounded.

"I'm sure you've been wishing me gone this whole time, and I'll oblige you now, Miss Bennet," Darcy said, removing his helmet and tucking it under his arm. His expression and the dark circles beneath his eyes gave him a haggard appearance, but his voice was determined as he added, "I will make sure, if you have any questions, Richard is available to answer them. I will stay out of your way until you leave. God bless you, and have a safe journey home."

When she didn't respond, he reached behind him and palmed the control on his side of the pressure lock, and the door to the bay slid open with a soft hiss. He hesitated for a moment, as if to say something else, but then, with a short bow, turned and walked away. She was left alone.

When Elizabeth was twelve, her father had taken her out for her first moonwalking lesson. For years she had been showing an interest in learning to help her father around the base, working on the mechanics and other assorted tasks, and after her twelfth universal time birthday rolled around, he decided to allow her to help him on the base's outer mechanics.

She had been thrilled at the opportunity. On the first day after she passed the initial written exam, he allowed her to suit up on her own and then joined her in the pressurization lock. She had nervously hooked herself up and then stood anxiously awaiting the bell. As the doors opened, giving her that first glimpse of the moon, she had been in awe. The barren beauty of the world she lived on, the openness of the stars, the intimidating mass of Mars, had thrilled her to her soul. She carefully moved out onto the moon's surface, the dust puffing out around her boots as she hopped along carefully, then leaping in great strides. She was happy -- gloriously happy with life, with this experience. Nothing could compare to the freedom and exhilaration of being out on the moon's surface, with nothing but the open space above her.

And then suddenly everything went wrong. She took a leap higher than before, and the momentum kept her moving outwards, away from the moon. At first, she was confused: even with the moon's nearly nonexistent gravity, her grav boots should have kept her on the surface. But then reason returned and she realized that even if somehow she was floating away, her tether would keep her safe -- until she saw her tether, detached from the connection point, trailing behind her.

She began to panic. The freedom and open space suddenly became an enemy, something to fear, and she struggled, her arms waving frantically as she fought to return to the surface. But she continued to float away, towards the inky blackness of space.

And then she stopped. She was suspended out in mid-space, flattened against something she couldn't see.

"And that is why we always double-check all of our connections," came the gently chiding voice of her father over the wireless headset she wore. "There is always a chance -- though, admittedly, a fairly slim one with all our safeguards -- that somehow you'll break away from the moon's gravity. I arranged it today with our training dome, but imagine if it hadn't been there. What would you have done?"

Elizabeth had taken the reproof well, and she never lost the caution she learned that day when she was moonwalking. She always double-checked everything, never made a leap she couldn't be certain of.

But she never forgot that feeling of being out of control, of drifting away, of helplessly watching everything she had ever known slip away from her. The sinking feeling in her stomach, the panic, the adrenaline pumping and the fear rising. She had hoped never to feel it again.

And yet here she was, her feet firmly planted, the door to the moon solidly sealed behind her, feeling that same loss of gravity. The past twelve minutes -- so short a time! -- had cast her world, or what remained of it after the day before, into utter chaos. She was lost.

Her belief in her solid judgment, her understanding of her own character, her certainty of the universe had been shattered. If what Darcy said was true -- and though a small part of her cried desperately that maybe it was wrong, she knew in her heart that it wasn't -- she had erred greatly. Even the matter with Jane; he still wasn't completely in the right to have separated them, but she remembered now Charlotte's advice, which Elizabeth had dismissed so easily, that Jane was hiding her feelings too well. Darcy could not be wholly blamed for not seeing what had been so well concealed. And, painful as it was, she could not even blame him for his opinions on her family. She herself often recognized their poor behavior.

But the matter with Wickham! She should have known better. She should have been more discerning. She should have been less blind to what she could see now was a lack of discretion. She was so easily duped, and this reflection on her gullibility hurt.

There were no tears this time -- just emptiness, the numbing feeling of guilt and shame and regret. When the concerned voice of the engineer came over the headset, Elizabeth responded over the lump in her throat and dully exited the pressure lock to remove her equipment. The engineer tactfully said nothing as Elizabeth returned her suit to storage and they walked together to the canteen to reunite with the group.

Darcy was true to his word -- she didn't see him again for the rest of the day, even after their return to Altair. Colonel Fitzwilliam did pop around the Collinses' to ostensibly say good-bye to the visitors, and stayed for dinner when they asked, but Elizabeth had no questions for him. The very act of sending his cousin was enough to confirm Darcy had nothing to fear from the details of his own part in the tale of Wickham's perfidy. She blushed to think that perhaps the colonel knew about the proposal and of her accusations, but not by word or expression did he betray any hint of awareness. Regardless, she breathed a sigh of relief when he left.

When the time came to leave Altair, Charlotte and Mr. Collins accompanied their guests to the airfield. Elizabeth mustered up enough of her natural enthusiasm to wryly deflect Mr. Collins' snide comment about her missed opportunity to marry him, and to assuage a little of the concern she saw in Charlotte's eyes. She knew she was not wholly successful at the latter, but she swore she would eventually write her friend and let her know how close she came to her hopes for Elizabeth and Darcy. Eventually. When she herself could finally laugh about it.

For now, she settled uncomfortably onto the thin cushions of the economy clusterpod she and the Lucases were taking back to Deimos via a short stopover on Earth. The discomfort would be brief, she reflected. And then the welcoming arms of family, where she could try and pretend that nothing had gone wrong, that everything was just as it was before.

But it was a sadly happy Jane who met her -- happy to see her sister, but unable to hide her continued broken heart. And then, after the cargo was exchanged and their clusterpod flicked across the brief distance to Deimos, Elizabeth couldn't help but look at the base and at the residents armed with welcoming banners and a pie, eagerly awaiting their arrival and their gossip, with new eyes and a new understanding. Nothing was the same. And even as she acknowledged how right Darcy had been in some respects, she didn't know when she had ever hated him more.