He looked around the field. "Well, I'll wave in my story on the takeoff
stuff. There's nothing else for the noon leads."
* * * * *
I watched him leave. And then I looked for Debby--and watched her. From
a distance she looked mighty nice, it was true. She had a funny way of
moving, a little awkwardly like a young animal, but it had its appeal.
And so did her red hair, which was short and curly and never in place.
She was young all over except for her figure which was as grown up as
it had to be. What no one could understand, though, was why the best
looking gal in Marsport hadn't been trapped by any one guy as yet. And
how anyone that good looking could also be good. So far from home it
didn't usually work out that way. The girls did as they pleased and no
one blamed them. It was one of the rewards for being a sucker and doing
a stint on Mars.
It gradually dawned on me, as I watched her, that she wasn't doing much
active picture-taking. Her usual intensity was curiously missing. She
seemed to be thinking about something else as she aimed her camera,
up there on top of the _Starfish_. I made a mental note of this. I
had learned that when Deborah appeared abstracted there was usually a
damned interesting reason for it.
I fished out my communication gimmick and flicked a button. I got the
control tower, or, more accurately, underground shelter, and the latest
poop. Then I signalled Kibby and dictated a story to him. While I was
talking privately into the 'com. Vechi watched me in a disinterested
way. Raeburn, his assistant, arrived and they wandered off among the
fibreboard crates for a private conversation.
"Paragraph, Kibby," I said into the mouthpiece. "'The vast rocket
terminal at Marsport is soberly alive this morning with preparations
for the giant rescue job awaiting the joint forces of the U.F.S. Rocket
Auxiliary, and the Martian disaster crew....'"
Pundra Doh, the Martian premier, was in the lead ship, _Electra_.
But there wasn't time for an interview. Thin, electric-blue spits of
exhaust flickered all over the spaceport by the time I had finished
dictating. The high, keening sound of the rockets revving up tore
through my helmet and I shouted at Deborah who was still up there, on
top of the _Starfish_. My voice in her helmet must have blasted her
eardrums.
"Damn you, Steve," she screamed back at me. Then she clicked another
wide-angle shot of the field, sat down suddenly and slid down the
polished tail of the _Starfish_ on her fanny.
It's a wonder her camera survived the descent.
* * * * *
The _Starfish_ shuddered as she lurched along, keeping up with the rest
of the fleet. Her vibration was too heavy to be soporific but Deborah
slept like a baby on a pile of things she had scratched together. Or at
least she seemed to be asleep. Maybe because I was looking at her she
figured it was a good idea to pretend. There was something wrong with
her, something I couldn't put my finger on.
Charley took out a cigarette. He looked at me looking at her. "Why
resist?" he grinned.
"You've got a one-track mind," I said. "What I'm wondering is what
that little witch has up her sleeve. She's behaving like she's done
something--it makes me uneasy."
Charley looked real angry. He flicked an ash meticulously. "You
haven't got a damned thing to gripe about, have you? So, instead of
relaxing, you're _imagining_ enormities she could have committed! What
a jerk. Why don't you admit it to yourself; she attracts you. Like she
does everyone else. Say something nice about her for a change--you
don't impress me."
"She takes good pictures."
Charley laughed, derisively. "I guess you'd like it better if she went
space-crazy, like every other dame does here. She ought to drink more,
beef more, hell around. Maybe you could stand having her around if you
knew she took the guys home with her who would run at the chance.
"You're just waiting for her to make a slip. So, you can write her off.
But she won't. You might as well save time and admit what everybody
figured a long time ago."
"You through?" I asked.
"Sure."
"I'd still like to know what she's been up to."
I bent forward and started checking my gear. I was so mad my hands
shook. I took out a bottle of hooch and examined it while I calmed
down; it was vintage stuff, not home brew. I put it away again. I
didn't need a drink, really. Deborah! If it wasn't love it was
something just as insidious. I could get real boiled up because of her.
_Love_, now there was a fancy word! I toyed with it for a minute and
considered it in relation to Deborah. And all I came up with was a
mental picture of her mouth--very soft, with the ingenuous, upward
curve of an eager kid. It didn't solve a damned thing. I closed my gear
pack and looked at the other passengers.
Vechi and his boy, Raeburn, were checking gear, too. They spent a
little time admiring some scientific gadget Raeburn had fished out for
Vechi's approval. Vechi pushed a pointer on a small black dial and
sighted us through it; very cool. When they got through playing, they
leaned back comfortable-like and looked at us.
Since we were newsmen the conversation was bound to be a little formal.
Vechi must have known he had a doubtful reputation. I guess he figured
we were curious about his berth on the _Starfish_; how come he was
riding with the press?
Raeburn was a pudgy, balding civil service sycophant. He had little
quick brown eyes, a loose wide mouth filled with an unpleasantly
self-conscious smile--and practically no chin to balance the naked
shine of his brow. He made bad jokes and thought he was quite the boy.
Since I was never at the head of the class for tact I started the ball
rolling down the center alley. "What's your interest in this trip,
Vechi?" I said.