Arriving at the door to Grace Horton's Unit, Lloyd paused with his
finger not quite pressing the bell. "This won't be pleasant," he
warned. "I've never done anything like this before--getting involved
with you, I mean--and I don't think Grace is going to like it. I can't
much blame her, either."
He stopped as the door opened. Grace Horton stood there, clad only in
a fragile garment of light silk, her up-turned face warm and eager.
Beyond her, Lloyd saw the tray with a bottle, ice, and two glasses.
There was soft music playing from somewhere in the Unit. He felt his
face go red.
"Grace--I want you to meet Andra, Andra Corby."
Grace looked past him for the first time, and saw the other woman.
A tiny spasmodic reaction tightened her face and some of the color
drained away. Then she said, with rigid composure, "Come in. Come in,
won't you?" Unconsciously, she held the folds of her garment tightly at
the throat with one hand, as if to make her covering more substantial,
as she stepped aside to let them pass.
"Excuse me," she blurted suddenly, after shutting the door, and rushed
into her bedroom. The music emanating from there cut off, abruptly, and
then Grace reappeared in the doorway, her lips curled in a smile that
would not quite come off. "I thought--I thought you'd miss the lift,"
she said, in an obvious extemporization that was embarrassing to all
three persons. "That's why I'm--not quite dressed, yet. I thought I'd
be ready after one, when you--" Her eyes fell on the tray, with its
solitary preparation for two, and her voice choked off in the middle
of a syllable.
Then she took a breath, walked into the parlor, and sat down gracefully
on the arm of the sofa. "Well," she said brightly, "_now_ what'll we
lie about?!"
"I'm so very sorry, Grace," Lloyd said contritely. "I ... I would've
_told_ you Andra was coming, if I'd known. We only decided after I'd
hung up--"
Grace's eyebrows rose just a fraction. "Andra was at your home when I
called?" She rose, suddenly. "I think I'd better get another glass from
the kitchen. I have the feeling we're all of us going to need strength."
Lloyd and Andra looked at one another, then sat gloomily down in
armchairs deliberately far apart, and waited for Grace's return. When
she came back with the third glass, she was a bit more composed.
"Now," said Grace, after draining half her glass, "we can talk."
There was a silence, then Lloyd broke it, awkwardly, with, "You
said--You wanted to see me here, right away."
"I called you about the Temple Service last night, Lloyd--I see by your
face that you _do_ know something about it. Good. Maybe you can tell me
what--Don't look so shaken."
"I--Okay. You caught me off-balance, I guess."
"I must have. You look like you were just kicked in the stomach. Well,
then, tell me: What happened last night?"
"How did you know _anything_ happened?" Lloyd asked.
"A call from the top level this morning. I was warned not to attend
on the wrong night in the future, and told I was being let off the
hook--though they phrased it more politely, of course--because I was
engaged to the son of the Secondary Speakster."
"Did you--? What did you say? To their call?" Lloyd asked, knotting up
inside.
Grace folded her arms and leaned back. "I'm no dope, Lloyd. I knew you
had my Voteplate, and were bringing it to me last night. That is--" she
interjected with chagrin "--I _thought_ you'd be over last night with
it. When you didn't come, and I got _this_ call, from top level, I kind
of figured you were in dutch, somehow, and played along. I apologized
for my error, and promised it wouldn't happen again--I see, by the way
you two just let your breaths out, that I did the right thing.... Or
_did_ I? I take it Andra was the one who used my plate?" Lloyd nodded,
miserably.
* * * * *
Grace thought this over, watching the two of them, then leaned forward
and touched Lloyd's fingers where they curled tightly around the end
of the chair arm. "Apparently, I have salvaged everybody's chestnuts.
Would it be asking too much if I wondered what the hell my reasons
were?"
"I'll explain," Lloyd said. "That is, as best I can. My motivations are
still a bit obscure even to myself."
Grace flicked a glance at Andra, sitting small and lovely and feminine
in the chair. "_Are_ they!" she said, a spark of intuition putting
her almost with complete accuracy ahead of Lloyd's still-untold tale.
"Maybe I can figure them out for you after I hear your story, then."
"Okay, Grace," Lloyd said gratefully, missing her inflection. He
proceeded to tell her the story, from the time he'd gone to the Temple
up until the present moment, eliding only the fact that Andra had spent
the night in his room. He used the phrase "up at my Unit" and hoped
it wouldn't be proved any deeper than that. When he'd finished, Grace
looked dazed.
"You mean--You _believe_ all that, Lloyd?" she said. "I used to have
great respect for your sanity, but--This thing about no hospitals,
about bumping off the Kinsmen to keep the population level down--It's
crazy, Lloyd. Look, your father's one jump from the Presidency. Has he
ever, in all the years of your life, even _hinted_ such a thing to
you?"
"No, of course not, but--"
"Yet you take the word of a fugitive, an obvious mental case who
doesn't know what's good for her--!"
"May _I_ say something in my defense?!" Andra protested.
"You may not," said Grace, then turned back to Lloyd as though Andra
had ceased to exist anymore. "How could a man with your intelligence--"
"Hold it!" Lloyd snapped. "Hold it right there. I'm not a complete
fool, Grace. Sure I had doubts. But there are some things Andra said
that bother me. And I thought up a few puzzlers myself. Like war.
Casualties in battle account for a high rate of the deaths reported in
the Hive, right? So it occurred to me--How come we're not using the
_Goons_ to fight in the war? They're indestructible, they're armed with
our most potent weapons--Yet we let men and boys be shipped out of here
to fight. It doesn't make sense."
"Of course it does!" Grace retorted. "You think that question never
occurred to anyone but you, Lloyd Bodger? We don't use Goons in war for
the same reason they didn't use atomic weapons after the Second World
War of last century: The _other_ side has them, and might fight back
with them."
"But--So _what_?!" Lloyd exploded. "What's the difference if our people
are killed by other soldier's bullets or by enemy Goons?"
"There's--There's _less_ slaughter this way," Grace said, with an
intensity that sounded lame even to her.
"All right, we'll let that part go," Lloyd said, in no mental shape for
argument. "There are other things--"
"Forget them," Grace said, vehemently. "Whatever your reasons, or
reasoning, last night, you have another problem to face: What are you
going to do with this girl? The longer you stick with her, the slimmer
your excuses will sound when she's caught. In fact, the only hope you
have is to turn her in, right now, and pray your Readjustment isn't too
painful."
"But don't you see, Grace--!" Lloyd blurted. "What if she's _right_?!
On that chance, no matter how silly you think her theory is--a theory
that has led others to join her movement, remember--do I dare take the
_risk_ of turning her in?"
Grace stared at him and digested this aspect of the situation slowly.
"I--I guess it _would_ be kind of late, when the top level sent me the
report that your Readjustment hadn't taken, or something, to say 'Well,
he told me so!'."
The door chimes pealed, then, startling them all.
"You expecting anyone else?" asked Lloyd.
"No, unless your friend the fugitive was seen coming in here."
As they spoke, Andra had gone to a window and peeked out from behind
the curtain. When she turned to face them again, her face was grey with
strain and apprehension.
"Lloyd--" she said. "It's your father!"