"Fair enough. I never thought you would cause me that sort of unease. I was trying to show that the task may not be too difficult. Damn it, we've wandered off. Here's my real problem. I'm not good for anything. I'm worthless."

"Why, my dearest! You're good for me."

"But not for myself. Star, gigolo or not, I can't be a pet poodle. Not even yours. Look, you've got a job. It keeps you busy and it's important. But me? There is nothing for me to do, nothing at all! -- nothing better than designing bad jewelry. You know what I am? A hero by trade, so you told me; you recruited me. Now I'm retired. Do you know anything in all twenty universes more useless than a retired hero?"

She mentioned a couple. I said, "You're stalling. Anyhow they break up the blankness of the male chest. I'm serious, Star. This is the issue that has made me unfit to live with. Darling, I'm asking you to put your whole mind on it—and all those ghostly helpers. Treat it the way you treat an Imperial problem. Forget I'm your husband. Consider my total situation, all you know about me—and tell me what I can do with hands and head and time that is worth doing. Me, being what I am."

She held still for long minutes, her face in that professional calm she had worn the times I had audited her work. "You are right," she said at last. "There is nothing worth your powers on this planet."

"Then what do I do?"

She said tonelessly, "You must leave."

"Huh?"

"You think I like the answer, my husband? Do you think I like most answers I must give? But you asked me to consider it professionally. I obeyed. That is the answer. You must leave this planet—and me."

"So my shoes get tossed anyhow?"

"Be not bitter, milord. That is the answer. I can evade and be womanish only in my private life; I cannot refuse to think if I agree to do so as ‘Her Wisdom.' You must leave me. But, no, no, no, your shoes are not tossed! You will leave, because you must. Not because I wish it." Her face stayed calm but tears streamed again. "One cannot ride a cat...nor hurry a snail...nor teach a snake to fly. Nor make a poodle of a Hero. I knew it, I refused to look at it. You will do what you must do. But your shoes will remain ever by my bed, I am not sending you away!" She blinked back tears. "I cannot lie to you, even by silence. I will not say that no other shoes will rest here...if you are gone a long time. I have been lonely. There are no words to say how lonely this job is. When you go...I shall be lonelier than ever. But you will find your shoes here when you return."

"When I return? You have a Sight?"

"No, milord Hero. I have only a feeling...that if you live...you will return. Perhaps many times. But Heroes do not die in bed. Not even this one." She blinked and tears stopped and her voice was steady. "Now, milord husband, if it please you, shall we dim the lights and rest?"

We did and she put her head on my shoulder and did not cry. But we did not sleep. After an aching time I said, "Star, do you hear what I hear?"

She raised her head. "I hear nothing."

"The City. Can't you hear it? People. Machines. Even thoughts so thick your bones feel it and your ear almost catches it."

"Yes. I know that sound."

"Star, do you like it here?"

"No. It was never necessary that I like it."

"Look, damn it! You said that I would leave. Come with me!"

"Oh, Oscar!"

"What do you owe them? Isn't recovering the Egg enough? Let them take a new victim. Come walk the Glory Road with me again! There must be work in my line somewhere."

"There is always work for Heroes."

"Okay, we set up in business, you and I. Heroing isn't a bad job. The meals are irregular and the pay uncertain—out it's never dull. We'll run ads: ‘Gordon & Gordon, Heroing Done Reasonable. No job too large, no job too small. Dragons exterminated by contract, satisfaction guaranteed or no pay. Free estimates on other work. Questing, maiden-rescuing, golden fleece located night or day?' "

I was trying to jolly her but Star doesn't jolly. She answered in sober earnest. "Oscar, if I am to retire, I should train my heir first. True, no one can order me to do anything—but I have a duty to train my replacement."

"How long will that take?"

"Not long. Thirty years, about."

"Thirty years!"

"I could force it to twenty-five, I think."

I sighed. "Star, do you know how old I am?"

"Yes. Not yet twenty-five. But you will get no older!"

"But right now I'm still that age. That's all the time there has ever been for me. Twenty-five years as a pet poodle and I won't be a hero, nor anything. I'll be out of my silly mind."

She thought about it. "Yes. That is true."

She turned over, we made a spoon and pretended to sleep.

Later I felt her shoulders shaking and knew that she was sobbing. "Star?"

She didn't turn her head. All I heard was a choking voice, "Oh, my dear, my very dear! If I were even a hundred years younger!"

Chapter 20

I let the precious, useless gems dribble through my fingers, listlessly pushed them aside. If I were only a hundred years older—

But Star was right. She could not leave her post without relief. Her notion of proper relief, not mine nor anyone else's. And I couldn't stay in this upholstered jail much longer without beating my head on the bars.

Yet both of us wanted to stay together.

The real nasty hell of it was that I knew—just as she knew—that each of us would forget. Some, anyhow. Enough so that there would be other shoes, other men, and she would laugh again.

And so would I—She had seen that and had gravely, gently, with subtle consideration for another's feelings, told me indirectly that I need not feel guilty when next I courted some other girl, in some other land, somewhere.

Then why did I feel like a heel?

How did I get trapped with no way to turn without being forced to choose between hurting my beloved and going clean off my rocker?

I read somewhere about a man who lived on a high mountain, because of asthma, the choking, killing land, while his wife lived on the coast below him, because of heart trouble that could not stand altitude. Sometimes they looked at each other through telescopes.

In the morning there had been no talk of Stars retiring. The unstated quid-pro-quo was that, if she planned to retire, I would hang around (thirty years!) until she did. Her Wisdom had concluded that I could not, and did not speak of it. We had a luxurious breakfast and were cheerful, each with his secret thoughts.

Nor were children mentioned. Oh, I would find that clinic, do what was needed. If she wanted to mix her star line with my common blood, she could, tomorrow or a hundred years hence. Or smile tenderly and have it cleaned out with the rest of the trash. None of my people had even been mayor of Podunk and a plow horse isn't groomed for the Irish Sweepstakes. If Star put a child together from our genes, it would be sentiment, a living valentine—a younger poodle she could pet before she let it run free. But sentiment only, as sticky if not as morbid as that of her aunt with the dead husbands, for the Imperium could not use my bend sinister.

I looked up at my sword, hanging opposite me. I hadn't touched it since the party, long past, when Star chose to dress for the Glory Road. I took it down, buckled it on and drew it—felt that surge of liveness and had a sudden vision of a long road and a castle on a hill.

What does a champion owe his lady when the quest is done?

Quit dodging, Gordon! What does a husband owe his wife? This very sword—"Jump Rogue and Princess leap. My wife art thou and mine to keep." "—for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse...to love and to cherish, till death do us part." That was what I meant by that doggerel and Star had known it and I had known it and knew it now.