He wished that his brother Doctor Mahmoud were here. There was so much to grok, so little to grok from.
Jill spent the rest of her watch in a daze. The face of the Man from Mars stayed in her mind and she mulled over the crazy things he had said. No, not «crazy» — she had done her stint in psychiatric wards and felt certain that his remarks had not been psychotic. She decided that «innocent» was the term — then decided that the word was not adequate. His expression was innocent, his eyes were not. What sort of creature had a face like that?
She had once worked in a Catholic hospital; she suddenly saw the face of the Man from Mars surrounded by the headdress of a nursing sister, a nun. The idea disturbed her; there was nothing female about Smith's face.
She was changing into street clothes when another nurse stuck her head into the locker room. «Phone, Jill.» Jill accepted the call, sound without vision, while she dressed.
«Is this Florence Nightingale?» a baritone voice asked.
«Speaking. That you, Ben?»
«The stalwart upholder of the freedom of the press in person. Little one, are you busy?»
«What do you have in mind?»
«I have in mind buying you a steak, plying you with liquor, and asking you a question.»
«The answer is still “No.”»
«Not that question.»
«Oh, you know another one? Tell me.»
«Later. I want you softened up first.»
«Real steak? Not syntho?»
«Guaranteed. Stick a fork in it and it will moo.»
«You must be on an expense account, Ben.»
«That's irrelevant and ignoble. How about it?»
«You've talked me into it.»
«Roof on the medical center. Ten minutes.»
She put the suit she had changed into back into her locker and put on a dress kept there for emergencies. It was demure, barely translucent, with bustle and bust pads so subdued that they merely re-created the effect she would have produced wearing nothing. Jill looked at herself with satisfaction and took the bounce tube up to the roof.
She was looking for Ben Caxton when the roof orderly touched her arm. «There's a car paging you, Miss Boardman — that Talbot saloon.»
«Thanks, Jack.» She saw the taxi spotted for take-off, with its door open. She climbed in, and was about to hand Ben a back-handed compliment when she saw that he was not inside. The taxi was on automatic; its door closed and it took to the air, swung out of the circle and sliced across the Potomac. It stopped on a landing flat over Alexandria and Caxton got in; it took off again. Jill looked him over. «My, aren't we important! Since when do you send a robot to pick up your women?»
He patted her knee and said gently, «Reasons, little one. I can't be seen picking you up — »
«Well!»
« — and you can't afford to be seen with me. So simmer down, it was necessary.»
«Hmm … which one of us has leprosy?»
«Both of us. Jill, I'm a newspaperman.»
«I was beginning to think you were something else.»
«And you are a nurse at the hospital where they are holding the Man from Mars.»
«Does that make me unfit to meet your mother?»
«Do you need a map, Jill? There are more than a thousand reporters in this area, plus press agents, ax grinders, winchells, lippmanns, and the stampede that arrived when the Champion landed. Every one of them has been trying to interview the Man from Mars — and none has succeeded. Do you think it would be smart for us to be seen leaving the hospital together?»
«I don't see that it matters. I'm not the Man from Mars.»
He looked her over. «You certainly aren't. But you are going to help me see him — which is why I didn't pick you up.»
«Huh? Ben, you've been out in the sun without your hat. They've got a marine guard around him.»
«So they have. So we talk it over.»
«I don't see what there is to talk about.»
«Later. Let's eat.»
«Now you sound rational. Would your expense account run to the New Mayflower? You are on an expense account, aren't you?»
Caxton frowned. «Jill, I wouldn't risk a restaurant closer than Louisville. It would take this hack two hours to get that far. How about dinner in my apartment?»
«“ — Said the Spider to the Fly.” Ben, I'm too tired to wrestle.»
«Nobody asked you to. King's X, cross my heart and hope to die.»
«I don't like that much better. If I'm safe with you, I must be slipping. Well, all right, King's X.»
Caxton punched buttons; the taxi, which had been circling under a «hold» instruction, woke up and headed for the apartment hotel where Ben lived. He punched a phone number and said to Jill, «How much time do you want to get liquored up, sugar foot? I'll tell the kitchen to have the steaks ready.»
Jill considered it. «Ben, your mousetrap has a private kitchen.»
«Of sorts. I can grill a steak.»
«I'll grill the steak. Hand me the phone.» She gave orders, stopping to make sure that Ben liked endive.
The taxi dropped them on the roof and they went down to his flat. It was old-fashioned, its one luxury a live grass lawn in the living room. Jill stopped, slipped off her shoes, stepped barefooted into the living room and wiggled her toes among the cool green blades. She sighed. «My, that feels good. My feet have hurt ever since I entered training.»
«Sit down.»
«No, I want my feet to remember this tomorrow.»
«Suit yourself.» He went into his pantry and mixed drinks.
Presently she followed and became domestic. Steak was in the package lift; with it were pre-baked potatoes. She tossed the salad, handed it to the refrigerator, set up a combination to grill the steak and heat the potatoes, but did not start the cycle. «Ben, doesn't this stove have remote control?»
He studied the setup, flipped a switch. «Jill, what would you do if you had to cook over an open fire?»
«I'd do darn well. I was a Girl Scout. How about you, smarty?»
They went to the living room; Jill sat at his feet and they applied themselves to martinis. Opposite his chair was a stereovision tank disguised as an aquarium; he switched it on, guppies and tetras gave way to the face of the well-known winchell Augustus Greaves.
« — it can be stated authoritatively,» the image was saying, «that the Man from Mars is being kept under drugs to keep him from disclosing these facts. The administration would find it extremely — »
Caxton flipped it off. «Gus old boy,» he said pleasantly, «you don't know a durn thing more than I do.» He frowned. «Though you might be right about the government keeping him under drugs.»
«No, they aren't,» Jill said suddenly.
«Eh? How's that, little one?»
«The Man from Mars isn't under hypnotics.» Having blurted more than she had meant to, she added, «He's got a doctor on continuous watch, but there aren't any orders for sedation.»
«Are you sure? You aren't one of his nurses?»
«No. Uh … matter of fact, there's an order to keep women away from him and some tough marines to make sure of it.»
Caxton nodded. «So I heard. Fact is, you don't know whether they are drugging him or not.»
Jill bit her lip. She would have to tell on herself to back up what she had said. «Ben? You wouldn't give me away?»
«How?»
«Any way at all.»
«Hmm … that covers a lot, but I'll go along.»
«All right. Pour me another.» He did so, Jill went on. «I know they don't have the Man from Mars hopped up — because I talked with him.»
Caxton whistled. «I knew it. When I got up this morning I said to myself, “Go see Jill. She's the ace up my sleeve.” Honey lamb, have another drink. Have six. Here, take the pitcher.»
«Not so fast!»
«Whatever you like. May I rub your poor tired feet? Lady, you are about to be interviewed. How — »
«No, Ben! You promised. You quote me and I'll lose my job.»
«Mmm … How about “from a usually reliable source”?»