"You all right?"
"A bit dizzy." She managed to focus more steadily on the three figures on the floor. "What did you do?"
'Three pots from a riot dart gun, that's all. I've called the local patrol."
"You called them?"
"I'm a Senior Lieutenant of the JAG's department That also makes me a policeman, remember?"
She nodded at him shakily. "Whatever you are, thank God you turned up when you did."
A voice was saying: "Come on, people, let’s ignore it. The police have it in hand. Pepe, Raoul, how about some more music?"
Sharva said: "You seemed to be doing pretty well, but I figured you wouldn't want to go on handling three of them on your own. The woman had a knife, by the way."
She shivered slightly.
"You called me, sir?" The little patrolman appeared, slightly breathless. He saw Helen. "Huh. Remember what I said, ma'am?"
Helen raised one hand and essayed a shaky smile. "And you were so right, patrolman."
"I'd rather have been wrong. You've spoilt a quiet night," the patrolman said, as he took Sharva's card. He inspected it and returned it with deference. "Yes, sir. If you'll call in and record a statement before ten hours tomorrow morning, that should cover it." He nodded toward the drugged figures on the floor. "I'll call the wagon for these three. I'm booking them on a charge of unprovoked assault; well, that's what we shall call it." His keen face looked disapprovingly at Helen. "Commander Lindstrom, why don't you let the Lieutenant take you home?"
"Yes, I think that's a good idea," Sharva said. Slipping his strong arm under her elbow, he helped Helen to her feet.
"I'm all right," she said, embarrassed in the unaccustomed role, but aware in the face; of his controlled strength that she really was the weaker.
They both said good night to the patrolman, and walked out of the bar.
"There's an elevator just around the corner," Sharva said. "Once we're up on the seventh we can take a cab."
His strong hand on her arm was a comfort as they walked along the street. The coloured lights, the crowds, seemed to have lost their carnival gaiety now. She shivered, moving close to his big body.
"Those three ... they would have gladly torn me to pieces," she said. "The inquiry—all that talk and argument means nothing beside that kind of feeling, does it?"
"It will, once the truth is established," Sharva said. "Then they will have to accept, and forget their grief." He looked down at her as they waited for the elevator. "Why didn't you stay at the hotel? If you wanted to get plastered, you could have done it there in safety."
"I... wanted to go out. To be free of uniform and what uniform means."
He nodded his large head slowly. The red trousers and black shirt seemed exactly the right colours for him. She could smell that he liked a mixture of pine plus something slightly more acrid in his bath. Tom Bruce was a big man, but Sharva was not far short of enormous. Yet there wasn't an ounce of surplus flesh on him, and his movements had the suppleness of some dark jungle cat.
"You came out," she said.
"I'm on a jag, too."
"Drinking?"
He suddenly looked boyish and shamefaced. "No. I'm a glutton for the old re-created arts exhibitions and concerts. I've been getting high on a concert of twentieth-century Negro music."
"Your secret passion," she said, smiling up at him. She suspected that here was the first truly integrated, civilized human being she had met in years. Perhaps it was the fact that Sharva,. despite his commission in the Corps, was still basically a lawyer rather than an operational officer, but she had the feeling that there would always be room in his world for unashamed individuality and human feeling.
"I don't want to go back to the hotel," she said.
He surveyed her with concern. "You mustn't stay around here, Lieutenant Commander; it would be too dangerous."
She frowned and pleaded gently. "No ranks. Call me Helen. What's your name?"
"Paul." He smiled slowly.
"You have anything special arranged for tonight, Paul?" she said, as the elevator arrived and shed its load of passengers.
He took her arm with gentle firmness. "I do now," he said.
They got off the elevator at the fourth level. Here the prices were higher, and the types of entertainment offered were more discreet. He was a considerate, knowledgeable escort who sensed that, for tonight at least, she preferred to be relieved of all burden of choice, content to be simply a woman, and eager to forget that she was anything else.
Eventually, in a restaurant that was an indoor garden with whispering fountains and soft lighting, they sat and ate Japanese food. She drank sake, but he would have only water.
"Feel better?"
"Fine, thank you." Her face clouded. "But I’m not looking forward to tomorrow. That inquiry ... I hate it, hate even thinking about it."
He put his big hand over hers. "You're not to worry. If you worry, you make my job harder."
"It is going to go right, isn't it, Paul?" She was begging for reassurance.
"I think so," he said soberly. "Morton makes a lot of noise, but the truth must be established in the long run."
"The truth," she echoed bleakly. "What is the truth?"
"That you and Bruce did what had to be done."
"But did we?" The conflicting, kaleidoscopic pattern rushed back into her mind, breaking down the temporary calmness. "What if my calculations were wrong?
It all happened so quickly, I could have made a mistake »»
"No!" he said firmly. "You're not even to think that to yourself, because, if you think it, when Morton gets you on the witness stand he'll have you saying it. You must stick completely, without wavering, to the letter of Commander Bruce's report."
"My Commander, right or wrong?"
"Your Commander right," he said. "And now, we shall stop this and talk about something else. Where do you come from?"
Oh, it felt good to be told so firmly what to do; to know that this man understood and to accept what he said with a childlike faith. "Stockholm," she said. "And you?"
"Teheran." He began to talk, telling her of his early life, sharing memories of small, everyday things in such a way that they became precious for her also. He was a good, almost hypnotic storyteller, with all the feeling for narrative of his ancient people, and she allowed herself to be soothed by his voice and by the sake.
She was looking at Paul Sharva and thinking of Tom Bruce, at first. But not much later she was thinking of Paul Sharva alone and thinking how a man like this could fill and enrich her life, how with him she could be a real woman. The practical side of her nature warned her that such a relationship was not for her, but even so, there could be no harm in ...
"Would you care for a temporary attachment?" she said, coming to a sudden decision.
He smiled with genuine pleasure. "I'm honoured to be asked. Naturally, I've been admiring you."
"Why naturally? I may not be the type that arouses anything in you. Then it would be a poor performance. For all I know, you may like small, plump dark women—Persian types."
"Oh, no, it doesn't follow at all."
"No affection, Paul. Just satisfaction. Tell me how you want it, and I'll tell you my needs. Agreed?"
"Of course." His smile was gentle. "I understand. Shall we go?"
When they got back to the Oppenheimer Hotel, she said in the elevator. "My room or yours?"
"I have a double bed in mine."
"You prepared for visitors?"
"No. I sprawl somewhat."
"Yours, then."
The door closed behind them and they were in another world—his world. The colours of the room were gold and black, the furnishings almost without ornament.
He came and stood behind her, putting his arms round her, strong yet gentle. She closed her eyes as the male perfume of his body enveloped her, and relaxed.
"Did you change your mind about me?" he asked softly.
"From when to when?" she
asked, not understanding.
"You were pretty stand-offish the first time we met."
"I was ... worried."
"Oh. About the—" He stopped short. "Tonight we're not talking about that, or worrying." He turned her round to face him and showed big, even white teeth in a smile. "You care for a drink? I don't, as you know, but..."
She drew him to her. "I didn't come for a drink, Paul."
He kissed her, and drew a hand along her thigh. The touch was charged by the growing desire of both their bodies. He released her and said: "I'll make it a shower. Not long." He went into the bathroom and a few moments later the hiss of water was audible.
She was already naked save for the band round her hair, when he called from the shower: "Are you coming in?"
She walked in. *Tm here."
He stuck his head out of the jets, staring in admiration as the water made seaweed tracks in the hair of his hard brown body. "Allah's eyes! You're so big, and so beautiful. All cream and gold."
She stood smiling at him. "I think you're kind of beautiful, too."
"A hairy ape man, you mean." He laughed. "How can such an object be beautiful?"
"That depends on who's looking, doesn't it?" she said.
Everything about him was over-scale; but could he, would he be right for her? She had become so used to Tom Bruce. Everything had to be rediscovered, readjusted, with someone new. If Paul Sharva was too quick, or too selfish, it would be worse than deprivation. She thrust aside her doubts and stepped into the shower with him.
His hands trembled as he took hold of her. They kissed, gently at first, then fiercely, as the water caressed their bodies. She pressed hard to him, took a handful of his thick hair, grasping it tightly.
"You're on fire," he said, and his voice was not steady.
"What did you expect?" She stepped out of the shower and stood in front of the drying jets of warm air. "Keep your hands on me, Paul. I want your hands on me, on me."
She turned toward him, the warm air making a halo of her golden hair. Placing her hands on his dark chest, she ran them down slowly, caressing, down past his ribs, his hard, flat belly until the fingers met, intertwining, and she felt the throbbing strength of him.
"Come into me now—now!" she whispered, releasing him and moving from the bathroom.
"No play ... ?"
She turned and held out her arms.
"Not this time," she panted, lips drawn back from her teeth. "Later, later. I want you now"
"You are afraid I shall be too quick," he said.
"Don't talk!" She pulled back the covers of the bed.
Her hard nipples burrowed into the thick, black hair of his chest. He smelled good and fresh; he controlled a rhythm that was growing steadily faster. Soon his expertise took control of her, and she began to clutch at his back, as she strove to devour more and more of him. She felt his teeth in the flesh of her shoulder, and the pain gave her the final thrust she needed. She held on with all her strength, and then they reached the climax together.
The warmth that flooded through her was marred only by a passing thought: "a few more times, and it would be as good as with Tom ..."
"No, no," she said. "Don't leave me, yet. Stay where you are, just for a few minutes."
He nodded, panting, and smiled. "Did I hurt you?"
"Where?"
"Your shoulder."
"Oh. No, not really. Any blood?"
"Bruise. Sorry."
"Don't be. I think it helped." She looked up at him, drawing a hand down his dark jowl. "That was good, very good."
"I'm glad. I was a bit nervous ... so much I didn't know about you."
"You knew enough." Gratitude for the relief of their first encounter flooded through her, making her forget future troubles.
There, in the softly lit, black-and-gold warmth, they lay side by side.
He said: "Couldn't this go on longer?"
“As tonight?"
"Why not?" He raised on one elbow. "No strings—I understand that. But ... well, if I’m good for you, you'd be good for me. I'm an obsessionist. I work hard, and my hobby's mostly my work. I could ... well, be around whenever you wanted me?"
She felt a slight pang. He was being humble. A man such as he shouldn't be humble, unless it was because, in taking the job he had, he was inspired by an ideal of service to his fellows. But humble here, with her ... She stopped her thoughts. She wanted a man for now, for a few nights, not for the future. There was no forever in this, no future, just a night-to-night present. And he was the man she wanted.
"That's a bargain," she said.
He was running his hands over her body. Though he had satisfied her well, she knew that she would want him again, very soon.
"Is that a bruise?" He had his hand on her stomach.
She had forgotten, for a moment. Then she remembered. "Yes."
"How did you do it?"
"I had a quarrel with an anti-grav lift."
"Hm? Oh, that lift. Yes, I saw it on the news."
"I didn't. It must have looked comic."
'Taken with a hand recorder. It looked very brave."
It was a death wish, she thought. But only Sarah Baker was killed. Poor Sarah Baker.
She said: "I didn't think what I was doing. Otherwise I might have walked away." She stretched and turned toward him. "Paul, do you snore as well as sprawl?"
"You'd better stay and find out."
"This court is prepared to accept your conclusions, Professor," Alote Jones said. "On the understanding that you are prepared to supply copies of your calculations for expert examination later/'
"Naturally, Your Honour," Bergman said.
"Then please continue."
"Briefly, the situation was this. The Space Corps experts have already explained that since the Athena's engines had been destroyed, the ship was capable of neither acceleration nor deceleration. This much must be obvious, even to a layman. However, the Corps appear to have made a further assumption which is not strictly true, namely, that the ship would have continued to follow precisely the same course vector. I have examined the positions of the various planetary bodies of the solar system at the time of the incident in relationship to this predicted course, and it is my belief that the Space Corps calculations do not give sufficient consideration to the fact that Athena's course vector would have passed through the orbit of Mars, and the gravitic attraction of Mars would undoubtedly have been sufficient at that distance to pull Athena off course. The figure of two thousand miles is, of course, an approximate one, but the ship would certainly not have been on collision course with Earth."
Lieutenant Sharva rose to his feet. "Your Honour, in a theoretical argument of this nature it is very possible for experts to hold, quite sincerely, differing opinions. The information available at the time pointed quite clearly, in the opinion of Corps tracking stations, to the conclusion that Athena would crash into Earth, with disastrous results. I would beg you to appreciate the pressure of time involved."
Morton countered sharply. "Your Honour, it would seem the Lieutenant is trying to tell us that, although the Space Corps was in possession of insufficient data to be certain that Athena was on collision orbit with Earth, Commander Bruce nevertheless made his decision to destroy the ship and five hundred people."
"The judiciary is quite capable of making its own interpretations," Alote Jones said severely. "We thank you for your assistance in this matter, Professor Bergman, and would be obliged if you would hold yourself available for consultation at a later stage."
Bergman stepped down from the witness stand, bowed to the judiciary and made his exit.
"Your Honour, might I make a request?" Morton was on his feet again, sharp, like a hound smelling blood. "We have heard a great deal of technical evidence in this matter, but Commander Bruce is, so far, only known to us as a face on a teletape screen. Surely the time is now ripe when we should have the opportunity to meet him in person and make some assessment of his character and re
cord?"
Sharva rose. "Your Honour, I cannot see that any practical purpose would be served by placing Commander Bruce on the stand at this stage."
"Please be seated, Lieutenant Sharva," Alote Jones said severely. "Commander Bruce has been subjected to a great deal of adverse publicity already, wild accusations have been thrown at him and allegations of incompetence have been made. Under the circumstances, I feel sure that he would welcome the opportunity of putting his point of view. There will now be a recess of one and a half hours, after which we shall call Commander Bruce to the witness stand for questioning."
*17*
I said a prayer with the president on moonbase. It was not just for him—it was for everybody, everywhere. I thought about those words and I know that they could even include people—creatures, perhaps—we haven't yet met. Homo sapiens can't be the only species with the keys of the Kingdom.
(Lt. William Kibbee, Space Corps Chaplain, in a TV interview.)
When the court reassembled after the break, its atmosphere was one of brooding, unnatural quiet. Bruce took his place on the witness stand. His face was an uncompromising, stern mask, he stood rigidly to attention as the judiciary filed in and took their places.
Judge Alote Jones surveyed the court with quiet severity for a whole minute, then he addressed the witness.
"Lieutenant Commander Bruce, the court would be obliged if you could now give us a more personal account of the events which led up to the ... er ... encounter with the Athena."
"Encounter" might have been a word chosen to sting one man in the public gallery to the roots of his being. His shout travelled perfectly in the fine acoustics of the hall.
"Encounter? Encounter? Say what you mean! He 154 killed them, every last one of them, the bloody, stiff- necked murderer!"
The shout was a sudden shower of sparks, dropped into the powder keg of brooding quiet. Sound erupted like an explosion, a wave of explosions, like a hurricane sea thundering against the breakwaters of sanity. The pandemonium roared from a thousand throats; the raging public gallery was its centre. Men and women stood and screamed, stamped and wept. They called the names of their lost ones, hurled imprecations at the judge and judiciary, at the name of the Space Corps, at God, Buddha and Mohammed, but most of all they concentrated their ferocity on one, hated, single syllable— Bruce—and the man who bore that name.
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