Jill opened the bolt. «You wait. I'll come back.»
«I shall waiting.»
When she got back to the watch room she heard the Tock! Tock! Ti-tock, tock! …Tock, tock! signal that Brush had said he would use; she hurried to let him in.
He burst in, saying savagely, «Where were you, Nurse? I knocked three times.» He glanced suspiciously at the inner door.
«I saw your patient turn over,» she lied quickly. «I was arranging her collar pillow.»
«Damn it, I told you simply to sit at my desk!»
Jill knew suddenly that the man was frightened; she coun terattacked. «Doctor,» she said coldly, «your patient is not my responsibility. But since you entrusted her to me, I did what seemed necessary. Since you questioned it, let's get the wing superintendent.»
«Huh? No, no — forget it.»
«No, sir. A patient that old can smother in a water bed. Some nurses will take any blame from a doctor — but not me. Let's call the superintendent.»
«What? Look, Miss Boardman, I popped off without thinking. I apologize.»
«Very well, Doctor,» Jill answered stiffly. «Is there anything more?»
«Uh? No, thank you. Thanks for standing by for me. Just… well, be sure not to mention it, will you?»
«I won't mention it.» You bet your sweet life I won't! But what do I do now? Oh, I wish Ben were in town! She went to her desk and pretended to look over papers. Finally she remembered to phone for the powered bed she had been after. Then she sent her assistant on an errand and tried to think.
Where was Ben? If he were in touch, she would take ten minutes relief, call him, and shift the worry onto his broad shoulders. But Ben, damn him, was off skyoodling and letting her carry the ball.
Or was he? A fret that had been burrowing in her subconscious finally surfaced. Ben would not have left town without letting her know the outcome of his attempt to see the Man from Mars. As a fellow conspirator it was her right — and Ben always played fair.
She could hear in her head something he had said: « — if anything goes wrong, you are my ace in the hole … honey, if you don't hear from me, you are on your own.»
She had not thought about it at the time, as she had not believed that anything could happen to Ben. Now she thought about it. There comes a time in the life of every human when he or she must decide to risk «his life, his fortune, and his sacred honor» on an outcome dubious. Jill Boardman encountered her challenge and accepted it at 3:47 that afternoon.
The Man from Mars sat down when Jill left. He did not pick up the picture book but simply waited in a fashion which may be described as «patient» only because human language does not embrace Martian attitudes. He held still with quiet happiness because his brother had said that he would return. He was prepared to wait, without moving, without doing anything, for several years.
He had no clear idea how long it had been since he had shared water with this brother; not only was this place curiously distorted in time and shape, with sequences of sights and sounds not yet grokked, but also the culture of his nest took a different grasp of time from that which is human. The difference lay not in longer lifetimes as counted in Earth years, but in basic attitude. «It is later than you think» could not be expressed in Martian — nor could «Haste makes waste,» though for a different reason: the first notion was inconceivable while the latter was an unexpressed Martian basic, as unnecessary as telling a fish to bathe. But «As it was in the Beginning, is now and ever shall be» was so Martian in mood that it could be translated more easily than «two plus two makes four» — which was not a truism on Mars.
Smith waited.
Brush came in and looked at him; Smith did not move and Brush went away.
When Smith heard a key in the outer door, he recalled that he had heard this sound somewhat before the last visit of his water brother, so he shifted his metabolism in preparation, in case the sequence occurred again. He was astonished when the outer door opened and Jill slipped in, as he had not been aware that it was a door. But he grokked it at once and gave himself over to the joyful fullness which comes only in the presence of one's nestlings, one's water brothers, and (under certain circumstances) in the presence of the Old Ones.
His joy was muted by awareness that his brother did not share it — he seemed more distressed than was possible save in one about to discorporate because of shameful lack or failure. But Smith had learned that these creatures could endure emotions dreadful to contemplate and not die. His Brother Mahmoud underwent a spiritual agony five times daily and not only did not die but had urged the agony on him as a needful thing. His Brother Captain van Tromp suffered terrifying spasms unpredictably, any one of which should have, by Smith's standards, produced immediate discorporation to end the conflict — yet that brother was still corporate so far as he knew.
So he ignored Jill's agitation.
Jill handed him a bundle. «Here, put these on. Hurry!»
Smith accepted the bundle and waited. Jill looked at him and said, «Oh, dear! All right, get your clothes off. I'll help.»
She was forced both to undress and dress him. He was wearing hospital gown, bathrobe, and slippers, not because he wanted to but because he had been told to. He could handle them by now, but not fast enough to suit Jill; she skinned him quickly. She being a nurse and he never having heard of the modesty taboo — nor would he have grasped it — they were not slowed by irrelevancies. He was delighted by false skins Jill drew over his legs. She gave him no time to cherish them, but taped the stockings to his thighs in lieu of garter belt. The nurse's uniform she dressed him in she had borrowed from a larger woman on the excuse that a cousin needed one for a masquerade. Jill hooked a nurse's cape around his neck and reflected that it covered most sex differences — at least she hoped so. Shoes were difficult; they did not fit well and Smith found walking in this gravity field an effort even barefooted.
But she got him covered and pinned a nurse's cap on his head. «Your hair isn't very long,» she said anxiously, «but it is as long as some girls wear it and will have to do.» Smith did not answer as he had not fully understood the remark. He tried to think his hair longer but realized that it would take time.
«Now,» said Jill. «Listen carefully. No matter what happens, don't say a word. Do you understand?»
«Don't talk. I will not talk.»
«Just come with me — I'll hold your hand. If you know any prayers,pray!»
«Pray?»
«Never mind. Just come along and don't talk.» She opened the outer door, glanced outside, and led him into the corridor.
Smith found the many strange configurations upsetting in the extreme; he was assaulted by images he could not bring into focus. He stumbled blindly along, with eyes and senses almost disconnected to protect himself against chaos.
She led him to the end of the corridor and stepped on a slide-away leading crosswise. He stumbled and would have fallen if Jill had not caught him. A chambermaid looked at them and Jill cursed under her breath — then was very careful in helping him off. They took an elevator to the roof, Jill being sure that she could never pilot him up a bounce tube.
There they encountered a crisis, though Smith was not aware. He was undergoing the keen delight of sky; he had not seen sky since Mars. This sky was bright and colorful and joyful — a typical overcast Washington day. Jill was looking for a taxi. The roof was deserted, as she had hoped since nurses going off duty when she did were already headed home and afternoon visitors were gone. But the taxis were gone too. She did not dare risk an air bus.
She was about to call a taxi when one headed in for a landing. She called to the roof attendant. «Jack! Is that cab taken?»