Only slightly less hostile, she said, "It's late, Mr. Malone. I'm not very hungry, but I am tired."

Her coldness was helping me forget the thirst. "All right," I said. "I'll see you in the morning."

"I'll have some food sent to you."

"Thank you. My luggage is still outside, in the auto."

"I'll have it brought in." She hesitated, then said, somewhat contritely, "I'll try to be pleasanter in the morning."

"We all will be," I said; "after we've slept." It was meaningless politeness, and I was relieved when,she accepted it as a goodbye and walked out, closing the door silently behind her. I sat down in a blue armchair, removed my shoes, and rubbed the bare soles of my feet back and forth across the carpet, giving myself over to the cat-pleasure of it while waiting for the food to be brought.

It came ten minutes later, and I wasn't entirely surprised when it was brought by Jenna herself, who smiled apologetically at me and said, "Is it too late to accept your invitation?"

"You're just in time." I glanced at the two servings on the tray she carried, and said, "I couldn't have eaten all that anyway."

She laughed, perhaps more than the joke warranted, and I helped her set the table for two. She kicked off her own shoes when she saw I was barefoot, spoke brightly and humorously about her troubles in getting this snack from the kitchen help, and all in all made every attempt to make up for her past behavior. I responded more than I wanted to, my thirst returning stronger than ever, and it being now in part a literal thirst, my mouth and throat as dry as the desert around the city. I drank down the glass of milk she'd brought me, plus

34

several glasses of water, but my mouth remained dry, my skin somewhat feverish, my thoughts random and confused and explosive.

During the meal she led the conversation, talking to me as her employer had done of Earth, except that Jenna seemed more interested in Earth as I knew it than as she remembered it. She asked me questions, and I gave her the most harmless parts of my biography. She mentioned Gar once or twice, each time with sympathy and what seemed very like regret, but asked me nothing about him and volunteered nothing that she knew of his last months on Anarchaos.

A knock at the door interrupted us at one point. I went to it, and found a guard from downstairs, who had brought my knapsack. When I shut the door and turned back to the table, I saw that Jenna had left it and had moved to a part of the room which could not be seen by anyone standing in the doorway. She seemed to be quite interested in a small wooden chair there, and commented on how seldom one saw that style of furniture these days. I agreed, we both returned to the table, and we went on with our meal and our conversation.

. She seemed interested in the auto, which she called in the local fashion—as I had done—a car. "You took a chance," she said, "driving alone all the way from Ni."

"I was armed," I said.

"But what if the car had broken down?"

"I would have been in trouble."

"Yes, indeed. Most people don't own cars here at all, and that's why. It's much safer to fly."

"I'm sure it is.'*

"I wouldn't even know how to go about buying a car," she said.

I shrugged. "Buying and selling are about the same anywhere."

"Did it cost much?"

"Not much. Excuse me, I need another glass of water."

She made a joking comment on the amount of water I was consuming, and I replied in kind. When I came back with the fresh glass we talked about other things, and neither of us mentioned the auto again.

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Finishing the meal, she pushed her chair back and said, "It's getting late. We both need our sleep."

I said, "Will you stay here?"

She pretended to misunderstand me. "I'd love to talk some more, Rolf, but it's after two now."

I said, "I meant, stay here."

She studied me in silence for nearly a minute, and I read her every thought on her face. I knew when her curiosity about me was uppermost in her mind, and I knew when her dislike of being taken so bluntly for granted was strongest, and I knew when she was considering the possibility of using me to avenge her pique against the Colonel, and I knew when she decided that if she had the name she might as well have the game. I also knew when she was deciding not to answer me too quickly, in order not to appear eager or easy, and in my mind I counted to ten with her, missing by one beat, so that I had just finished thinking nine when she smiled with sex in it and said, "You're not very subtle, are you, Rolf?"

"I hoped you would think the invitation a compliment," I said, but didn't add that I was incapable at the moment of any greater subtlety. My mouth was dry again, but the glass was empty.

"I do think it a compliment," she said, her voice husky, "but I'm afraid I'm an incurable romantic. I like my compliments . . . sweeter."

I got to my feet, and went to her, and took her in my hands.

She spoke only twice more, the first time to whisper, "Turn out the light," which I did, though I would have preferred it on. The second time, just before I fell asleep, she ran her nails lightly over my chest, and laughed against my throat, and murmured pleasurably, "You act like a man just out of prison." I laughed too, and folded my arms around her, and fell asleep.

X

she was gone in the morning, when I was awakened by a knocking at the door. I was fully conscious at once, though baffled by where I was and by a sense that someone should

36

be with me, though for a second I couldn't think who or why. But then the knock was repeated. I got out of bed, put on my trousers, and found at the door a short and sullen girl with greasy long hair, who wore a guard uniform exactly like those worn by the men outside the main door. She handed me a small package and said, "I'm supposed to show you to the diner. After you eat, I'm supposed to take you to see Miss Guild."

"Good," I said. "Wait there." I shut the door, leaving her outside.

The package contained a watch, which read eight-thirty. I washed and dressed, took the elevator with my sullen guide, and entered the diner at ten minutes to nine. The normal day had begun much earlier here, I saw, since all the tables in the diner—a room very similar to what we called the mess in prison—were empty. A sullen employee paced me along the serving line, filling my tray with a stock breakfast, and as I ate at a table near the door I reflected on the reason for Jenna Guild's consideration in letting me sleep late, and I found a smile coming unbidden to my lips. How odd it felt. But then my memory stretched to include my reason for being here in the first place, and the smile dissolved, and I hurried through the rest of the meal.

At nine twenty-five my guide left me at the entrance to Jenna's office. I stepped in, wondering how I was going to behave on first seeing her, and she decided it for me, greeting me briskly with, "There you are. Had a good sleep? Does the watch fitF' She remained seated behind her desk.

Business hours, in other words, were exclusively for business. I said, "Yes to both questions. Now I get started."

"Certainly." Brisk, impersonal, friendly in the machined way she'd been when I'd first seen her by the elevator. "To begin with," she said, "I thought you might be interested in seeing your brother's file." She extended a folder across her desk toward me. "You could sit at that table over there while you look at it, if you like."