Patricia Kennebec peered out of the window at the screech of brakes on
the pavement. Then, to avert open hostility, she ran to the door and
out upon the sidewalk.
She faced them, and was slightly baffled to hear them speak:
"Well?" asked Lane.
"You didn't beat me."
"It was a dead heat," smiled Lane.
"We're two minds with but a single thought, these days," Stellor told
Patricia. "Every time I find myself thinking of something, I discover
that he has been considering the same thing, too."
"You'd better split your personality--and/or your body," suggested
Lane. "Or become twins. I can foresee difficulties with the theological
and civil authorities if this goes on."
Patricia smiled. "I can't possibly marry you both. Not at the same
time, anyway."
"Toss coin?" offered Lane. "We'll take turns--"
"You will not!" stated Patricia. "I'm old-fashioned enough to go into
it wanting permanency. I don't really expect it, but I can and will
hope. I will not enter marriage with any split in mind. That's ...
that's--"
"Sorry," said Cliff. "I was joking."
"Love may be somewhat amusing," she said seriously. "But marriage is no
joke. So let's forget it. Oh--look! Here comes Billy!"
Lane and Downing looked, and then whistled.
Patricia squinted at the pair of them, and then took another look at
Thompson. "Did you two swap minds--or was he in on it?" she asked with
a laugh.
"He wasn't--but why?" asked Lane.
"Billy is pulling your favorite trick," she told Lane. "He's got a
glamor-puss on each elbow."
"And he can pick 'em, too!" said Downing approvingly.
Patricia looked at him in puzzlement.
Lane caught the look. "That's my line," he told Stellor.
"So it is. 'And your line shall be my line, and your ideas shall be
mine. For whitherso thou goest, there--' and so on, Cliff."
"This is getting bad," smiled Patricia to Billy. "I've often thought
that it would be perfect if I could take these two and boil 'em
down into one man. Instead, I've got the boiling process done but
the outcome is two men both with all of the things I've liked about
each--or am I getting involved in my own words?"
"I knew they'd not think of furnishing enough femininity to make a full
party," he laughed. "Patricia, smile and be nice to all of us. Kids,
Patricia Kennebec. Virginia Thompson, my sister, and Tania Lake, her
erstwhile college chum. Gals, the redheaded wildman is Stellor Downing
and the dark, sunkissed Adonis is Clifford Lane. Take it from there."
Lane blinked at Virginia. "You're _his_ sister? By adoption, no doubt.
No blood relation of Billy could be--" Lane stopped at precisely the
right point, and looked just the right amount of confusion. His act
went over, and Virginia smiled back. "He talks, too," he said seriously.
Patricia Kennebec looked at Billy. "This has the earmarks of
conspiracy," she told him. "What gives?"
"Nothing in particular," he said with a slight smile. "Ginger and Tanny
were sitting around the house as usual when I got home this evening,
and both of them looked hungry. Seems to me they're always that way--at
least as far back as I can remember."
"You mean you've been concealing assets like these?" demanded Downing.
"I'll inspect this conspiracy a little better after I find out how
it's working," Patricia whispered to Billy. "You treat them both like
sisters."
"Tania has lived next door to us for most of her life," said Billy
honestly.
"Hm-m-m--girlhood sweet-heart?"
"Nope. We didn't even scrap over the back fence."
"There's one thing about Billy," said Downing, diverting his attention
briefly. "He doesn't ever scrap for anything."
"He never seems to lose anything he wants," offered Tania.
"He doesn't," affirmed Lane. "Trouble is with that kind of guy, he'll
never win the Solar Citation. Billy, why in the name of sin don't you
make something look hard, just for once."
"I claimed that any man who could spend a couple of months as referee
between you two would have a job big enough to win the Solar Citation,"
said Patricia.
"He made a breeze of it," said Lane, and Downing nodded and added:
"Every time we got to the shooting-point, Billy was there with a crisis
to solve, a mission to perform, or a detail to handle. And when the
rivet-cutting really got going, he thought of the one short statement
that stopped us both--cold."
"I still say getting in between you two is bravery above the
consideration of personal safety, or even the safety of any individual,
for the benefit of mankind. If that doesn't rate a Solar Cit, I don't
know what does."
Billy grinned brazenly. "It all comes of one idea," he told them. "And
that's the little proposition of making the best of what you know.
I--know people. So I can make 'em tick. I'll admit it, I'm brilliant.
Now let's forget my obvious touch of genius and go somewhere and try
out our own individual superiority against a steak. We'll weigh the
remains and the largest leavings is a loser."
From the front steps, Co-ordinator Kennebec called: "A good idea,
fellows. I was about to call out the Guard. I was beginning to think
that a mass meeting was going on right on the Presidential Grounds."
They waved good-by, and drove off in Billy Thompson's car.
And it was about four o'clock in the morning that Hotang Lu retired
after hours of discussion with Kennebec. The co-ordinator of the Solar
Combine nodded the Little One to his door, and then decided to raid the
presidential icebox. He stopped at the door.
* * * * *
Co-ordinator Kennebec had a large and healthy respect for Patricia's
judgment, though she was but a youngster according to his standards
and those of his contemporaries. Perhaps the combination of Irish
impulsiveness with the Canadian-Scotch horse sense had resulted in
something with a better grasp on human nature--or perhaps it was that
still-unknown intuition that women all claimed. Anyway, Kennebec had
been talking to Hotang Lu with four tenths of an ear cocked to the
doorway. He'd wanted to get Pat's side of the details.
He'd missed her, apparently.
For if any icebox were raided, especially the austere icebox of the
co-ordinator's presidential home, it would be done _en trio_.
Kennebec grinned. He hoped they'd leave some for the nominal ruler of
the Solar Combine.
The idea of ordering out an aide didn't occur to him; an aide could
produce anything at any time, but Kennebec wasn't the type to impose.
He'd do his own icebox raiding!
But he was not beyond a bit of diplomatic eavesdropping. He'd thought
of Pat's problem, too. Twin minds between the men she preferred
impartially. That--and he didn't like to consider it--reduced her
selection to the sheer animal. He was not euphemistic, nor blind,
and he recognized that men and women will be men and women and that
physical attraction was a major factor. But he was of an intelligent
race, and he knew also that sheer physical attraction without a
simultaneous mating of mind usually resulted in trouble.
He wondered--which of the pair of worthies had the greater physical
attraction for his daughter.
So, with no feeling of shame about it, Co-ordinator Kennebec, nominal
ruling head of three planets; elected by popular vote; empowered to act
by the Solar Combine Congress; commander in chief of all armed forces
of three worlds--eavesdropped on his daughter.
"Just a keyhole listener," he thought. "I wonder which--"
"That was a neat piece of business," Pat laughed.
"Was it?" answered her companion.
"It was. And you know it. A neat bit of skullduggery."
The laugh that followed was very masculine--and there was no mistaking
the originator.
"May I ask what the idea was?" asked Pat.
Billy Thompson's well-modulated voice answered: "Sure, I'll tell you.
Do you want it right off the shoulder or will you take it by degrees?"
"I can take it," said Patricia. Her tone was light, but under-tones of
softness were there. "Can you dish it out?"
Kennebec swallowed. Billy Thompson! Whatever he had done, he'd done it
well. Kennebec smiled wistfully. Any man who could cut Patricia out of
the tight-pack between Lane and Downing was either overly wise or--
"I'm dishing," said Billy. "I've been wondering how it would be to have
you all to myself."
"Have you found out yet?" asked Patricia lightly.
"Not yet--it might take a long time."
"It's four o'clock," she told him.
"So what?" he said hotly. "If I get a card to this game, it's going to
be a hard-held one."
"You mean that now I'm confronted with the idea of deciding between
three of you?"
"Patricia, this is big-league stuff. Sit around and get as egotistical
as you want. I don't think you are. I think a lot of your confounded
superciliousness is just an act--and I intend to find out!"
"An act, Billy?"
"Pat, I hope it is. How long has your dad been co-ordinator?"
"About seven years."
"And you're twenty-four."
"Been reading my mail?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I can--and often do--read newsprint."
"Oh, you read, too?"
"Shut up," he snapped, "and stop sounding like a character out of a
bum play. You know what I'm trying to tell you. You've been the high
priestess of this chateau ever since you were seventeen. D'ye know any
seventeen-year-old that has any sense?"
"Ah--"
"I know," he grinned cheerfully. "Patricia Kennebec at seventeen."
"I've not been here--"
"No, you've been to college, and stuff like that where people have been
kowtowing to you. Well, either you have that glazed-personality for
self-protection _or I wouldn't have you on a bet_!"
"Huh?" asked the girl. And her father swallowed, took a deep but silent
breath and wondered what next?
"Wonderful woman," he laughed. "Three of the top men in the Solar Guard
chasing after you. Gives you quite a feeling of superiority, doesn't
it?"
"I--"
"Don't answer, Pat, you're about as responsible for the antics of that
pair of concentric idiots as anything else."
"Look, Billy, Cliff and Stellor at least were honest with me. I knew
them before I ever met you. Years and years ago. They fought over me
for the junior prom in high school. They ganged up and took me, _en
trio_, to the graduation party from grammar school. And both of those
were before dad was mentioned as co-ordinator-possible. That, Billy,
was before I became a possible key to the co-ordinator's office. All
right. I sound jaded. I'm a stinking little headstrong, egocentric brat
that sits around dangling men from a nylon ribbon, playing hearts.
Billy--_how can YOU prove that YOU don't want
something?_"
"Huh?"
"How is a nonomniscent human being in my position to know a
protestation of affection from a pure and perfect act--the purpose of
which to gain something?"
* * * * *
Kennebec, standing in the silver closet, bit his lip. He'd see this
thing out, for he wanted to ask Patricia a question. For once in his
life, he was not certain of the _rightness_ of his ambition. Patricia
would know. Was all ambition foolish? Is this what they meant when they
said: Of what use to gain the world if only to lose a soul? Had he in
his ambition to give his motherless daughter the best of everything,
deprived her of that one thing that no one could do without? To have
friends, even lovers, whose protestations of affection were honest;
whose need of her was as personal as her need of them? How had she
learned, at a tender twenty-four, that there were those who would
present false face for position--and take, perhaps, that which--?
Kennebec smiled shyly, in the darkness. She had learned. Apparently it
had been hard, but not too hard, that learning.
"Patricia," said Billy. "Patricia, listen to me. I've not known you
long, compared to the--wildmen." He laughed shortly, but it was forced
and she knew it. So did the man behind the door.
"I've not known you long, Patricia. I did a bit of trickery tonight. I
dropped two red herrings across the trail--"
"Make it good," whispered Patricia, "or I'll tell the girls what you
called them."
"Basically, I'm honest," said Thompson in a cheerful voice. "I bribed
them well. Their known and accepted jobs were to sidetrack the
un-heavenly twins. Both Ginger and Tanny swore that nothing short of
open seduction would prevent them from leaving the aisle clear for my
frontal attack."
"Hm-m-m--so Pat Kennebec was Target for Tonight?"
"Do you dislike me for being honest?"
"Is that honesty a cover for deeper dis--"
"Pat, please. Don't say it."
"Then what shall I say?"
"Tell me--did you like it?"
Patricia looked up at Billy Thompson. "Now _I'm_ asking. Can you take
it?"
"I can take it," said Billy. "Tell me to go and jump in the lake, if
you want. I did what I did because--"
"Billy, it was rather nice."
"It--?"
"I liked it."
"Ah ... er--"
"Billy?"
"Yes?"
"Best you can do?"
The silence was significant. Kennebec, eavesdropping, swallowed deeply,
and left quietly.
* * * * *
"Billy?"
"Patricia?"
"You always call me by my full name?"
"I like to hear it."
"Billy, what do we do now?"
"We do nothing. As far as I'm concerned, Patricia, we've just met. From
here on, we do all we can to know one another better."
"I--"
The beer and sandwiches were growing warm.
"--won't be able to know--"
And it was getting later.
"--if you keep my eyes closed all the time."
Billy took a deep breath. "The better to keep you from finding out all
about me, my dear."
She held his face back between her hands. "Do you realize?" she asked.
The head between her hands shook. "You have really known me for less
than ... than six hours. And you're making protestations--"
"You forget," he reminded her carefully, "that I'd been contemplating
Patricia Kennebec for a long time. There are some things that are
worth waiting for; things that require planning. I didn't know what
the score would be at the end of this evening, Patricia, but I wanted
so to find out. I've known you for a long time, Patricia. And,
remember, little lady, that one need not fight bitterly for what he
wants--sometimes it comes better if one bides his time and lets the
fighters run themselves out of wind. From here, Patricia, let no man
get in my way, lest he get his legs clipped out from under him."
"Supposing that I like him?" said Patricia.
"I'll only be fluffed off once," warned Billy. "There's one thing that
I have that few other people have, Patricia. I can't really read minds,
but I've discovered, ever since that little battle out there near
Sscantoo, that I _feel_, and deeply, the truth of any man's feelings.
But enough of that. We'll have time to quarrel later. Right now,
Patricia--"
That night, the old adage died. The head that wore the crown of the
Solar Combine slept like a kitten. And the only thing that bothered
Co-ordinator Kennebec was that usual irrelevant wonder that crops
up in the most trying of circumstances, though this was not trying,
as circumstances go. Yet, Kennebec thought, it was like an hysteria
almost; the unfunny joke that sends chief mourners off into gales of
laughter. Incongruous and irrelevant, immaterial and inconsequential.
But why in the name of Sol didn't they go into the living room, and do
their necking on the love seat where it belonged instead of sitting on
the cook's tall stool in the kitchen?