Mexcity, Oct. 2: Scientific research is losing out to research in
the art of love among the elite inhabitants of the U.S. Moon Dome,
according to Rep. Ramon E. McLafferty, Chairman of the SAC Security
Subcommittee.
The Subcommittee, which has been conducting Special Hearings probing
Security leaks in the Space program, will turn its attention next
week to a “serious impairment of efficiency and morale prevalent
in the Research Center” at the U.S.A.A. Moon Dome, according to a
statement issued after Chairman McLafferty conferred with members of an
investigating team which returned from Moon Dome on today’s shuttles.
The Representative went to Baja California Spaceport earlier this
afternoon to meet with the investigators immediately on their arrival.
In a press release issued after the conference, the nature of the
alleged “impairment of efficiency and morale” was not specified, but
another paragraph stated that “the findings of the investigators
are such as to suggest a thoroughgoing congressional probe into the
personnel of the Moon Dome and the moral attitudes and practices
prevailing there.”
Questioned by reporters, Mr. McLafferty added that the testimony he
hoped to produce at the new hearings would be of such an “intimate
and personal” nature in “many cases” that not only will the hearings
not be live-televised (as was true for the Security hearings a few
weeks back), but may be closed to the press as well. If this should be
true, the Representative assured reporters that the entire proceedings
would be filmed, for subsequent release to the public, after editing
to “protect any innocent persons whose names may be brought in either
unintentionally or with malicious intent.”
Usually authoritative sources close to the congressman said, off
the record, that there was definite evidence in McLafferty’s hands
of “certain instances of loose living and certain unconventional
sexual arrangements” at the Moon Dome. Rep. McLafferty’s comment on
this was: “We certainly do not plan to level any specific charges at
this time.” He referred to “unbelievable” conditions reported by
his investigators, and added: “We certainly will probe the matter
thoroughly, and put an end to this sort of corruption, if it does
exist, before it can become a national disgrace.”
Queried as to whether hearings on the alleged immorality would be
conducted by his Security Subcommittee, or by the SAC itself, Rep.
McLafferty indicated that he felt the security leaks originally under
investigation by his team, and the new findings, were definitely
related to each other, and that the hearings would continue under the
aegis of the Subcommittee.
One witness scheduled to testify during the coming week should be
able to shed considerable light on “immoral practices” such as those
alleged. That is Dr. Philip Kutler, Staff Psychiatrist for the Moon
Dome, who was subpoenaed by the Subcommittee last week, and arrived
today on the same shuttle with the investigating team.
Reporters present at the shuttle landing at Baja California Spaceport
saw no signs of unfriendliness between Subcommittee investigators and
Dr. Kutler, but were unable to obtain any statement from the doctor.
Subpoenas for a number of other members of the Dome staff were issued
today, and shipped via Moon shuttle in the hands of a Dome staffer
returning from Earth leave who was sworn in as process server just
before takeoff time. An official list of those named in the subpoenas
will not be issued until after service on Wednesday evening (when the
shuttle arrives at Moon Dome), but among those named in authoritative
circles as probable witnesses were Research Director P. A. Christensen,
who testified two weeks ago on Security control; Dr. T. L. Bourgnese,
Biochem Chief at the Dome; Leonard Lakeland, Hydroponics Technician;
Dr. David Chernik, Medical Staff; a number of female staffers, whose
names were withheld, and quite possibly the newest female staff member,
tri-di dancer Lisa Trovi, whose appointment as Psychiatric Assistant
made headlines a short time ago. It was not known whether Miss Trovi
would be questioned about her own experiences at the Moon Dome or in
connection with Col. John Wendt, whom she accompanied to the Dome on
the mysterious visit six weeks ago about which the Subcommittee has
been eager to question him.
A new subpoena for Col. Wendt has also been issued, but since his
release last Saturday from Rio Detention House, where he served two
days of a twenty-day drunk-and-disorderly charge, Col. Wendt has
disappeared.
_Acapulco--Sunday, October 2, 11:30_ P.M. (_C.S.T._)
Under grizzled hair, the General’s face was still strikingly young:
the tight-skinned smooth-jawed face of a man whose energies are never
at the ebb. A man capable of restraint and of control, conscious of
power, continually on the advance. A dangerous man, thought Kutler--a
man almost without weaknesses himself, and entirely without empathy for
weakness in others.
“Frankly, I think it’s damned important,” Phil said crisply. “You
know better than I do what shape he’s in right now. But I wouldn’t
want to be responsible for what he’ll do when he sees _this_ bloody
foolishness.” He rattled the folded newspaper in his hand.
“I’ll be just as frank,” Harbridge answered after a moment’s thoughtful
silence. “Of course Chris was right. I know where Wendt is, and I could
reach him for you. But it’s a risk I don’t think is warranted. We’re
in a position to--let me say, _prevent_ any wild behavior on his part.
Meantime, I’d as lief not--draw enemy fire?--by contacting him.”
That would be final. Phil had hoped for the admission of knowledge,
worked for it. Now he had it, and realized he had gained nothing.
“All right,” he said tiredly. “You’re the tactician.” He was suddenly
not so much angry as disgusted.
“Jed,” he said, and didn’t even realize till he was halfway through his
speech that the General’s first name had come naturally. “I understand
your hesitation about contacting Johnny.” _You don’t dare talk to him.
It would mess up all your thinking, wouldn’t it?_ “But in the event
that you should be in touch with him in the next few days--or have some
means of sending him a message--I think you might do him a favor to let
him know Lisa is pregnant.”
Harbridge had to repress a faint grin. So he had known all along. Phil
had counted on shock value in that one.
“I had the impression the lady did not want him to know?”
“The lady is of several minds in the matter. But I think it would be
easier if Johnny felt that she sent him the message before he reads or
hears it from some public source.”
The General thought that one over. He shook his head. “I can’t see it,
Phil. It don’t fit. What you said about Ray McLafferty and this whole
new pitch fits fine. But not throwing the girl to the wolves. What
would he get out of it?”
“Revenge?” Phil said, testing.
“Revenge?” Harbridge smiled indulgently. “This is politics, Kutler,
not couch games.” He thought a moment more. “And let’s say Ray isn’t
the man I think he is--Why take it out on _her_? You or Chris, I could
_maybe_ see. Why _her_?”
The man was good. Damn good. But from the outside only. Damn fine
analysis; no understanding ... no, that was wrong too ... no
compassion? ... no _insight_, no intuition.
_We’d make a great team--if we could stand each other._
Phil shrugged. “He’s not the only one to think about.”
“He’s the important one. He puts out the releases.” Harbridge looked
up sharply. “One thing maybe you left out? Ray’s not the guy to take
no for an answer. Not very easily. He’ll damn well see to it Trovi’s
protected. For now.”
“It may not be up to him.”
“What the hell are you driving at, Kutler?”
“He’s got a mess of subpoenas out. Including for her. People talk.
_She’s_ not much of a liar either. Or take me.” _And take special
note of the fine set of rattles while you’re at it._ “It may
sound quaint, but I have an aversion to perjury. So do some other
people--non-political types. Scientists. Like that.”
“You don’t think _he’s_ overlooked that? Why in hell do you suppose he
sacrificed coverage? He gives the press conferences.”
_I’m damned if I’ll spell it out for you. I warned you. That’s enough._
Phil shrugged again and let it drop.
_Acapulco--Monday, October 3, 7:30_ A.M. (_C.S.T._)
The General had been awake for fifteen minutes when the call came.
He was still in his pyjamas, sipping his second coffee and reading
through Chris’ message again, reviewing the talk with Dr. Kutler in his
mind; he had just realized that he had never gotten around to hearing
Kutler’s pet theories, when the call came. He took it where he was, in
the bedroom.
Wendt’s face was taut as his voice, but he was in control. He looked
surprisingly young, tanned, and healthy. Could be quite a guy, Jed
decided, if he stayed sober long enough.
“Saw this thing in the paper,” Wendt said, without preliminaries.
“What’s the scoop?”
“I can’t say for sure,” Jed told him. “And if I could, I wouldn’t on
the phone.”
“Anything to it?”
Harbridge shrugged. “You know more than I do. Last time I was up was to
pin eagles on you.”
“That’s right--_sir_. I damn near forgot, didn’t I--_sir_?”
“Come off it, Wendt. It was stupid enough, calling me. Don’t let’s play
games now.”
“No, _sir_. Sorry to have bothered you.”
Jed saw his arm tense; he’d be reaching for the switch. “Hold on,
John,” he said sharply. The damn fool call was made. Might as well get
some use out of it.
“Yes, sir?”
Harbridge sighed. All right, two could play that, if necessary. “I take
it you have decided to accept the subpoena?” he asked acidly.
“I have my heli right here--sir--to go get it with.”
Jed grinned. “At ease, will you, Wendt?” He saw the other man relax
imperceptibly, unwillingly. “Okay, as long as I know you’re a
law-abiding citizen, and not calling to ask for assistance in this
absurd evasive maneuver--” He allowed just the comers of his mouth to
twitch slightly. “--I can tell you this much. My own opinion is it’s a
personal spite feud. I think he’s got it in for Chris or Kutler or both
of them. I had a talk with Kutler last night and--”
“Excuse me, sir. Are these Dr. Kutler’s opinions you’re giving me, or
your own?”
“Both. Why?”
“I’m not sure I’d put my faith in his explanations.”
“They’re the only explanations I’ve had so far,” Jed said crisply.
“Maybe next week I’ll know more.”
“That’s what I actually called about,” Wendt said, dropping the
mocking-game altogether. “Do you, or will you, know which witnesses
will be subpoenaed for next week?”
“I don’t know now. You’ll probably see it in the papers same time I do.”
“I see.” His eyes made sure he didn’t believe a word of it. “I was
hoping there might be some way to have a word with--one of the people
whose names I saw mentioned.”
“Sure. Any time you get tired of hiding out, just drop by and I’ll
arrange a call for you. Glad to do anything I can. Stop by this
evening.” He glanced at the wall clock, visible in Wendt’s screen,
trying to remind him that by now they _knew_ where he was. He thought
he got an answering flicker.
“Well, I’m taking up too much of your time, General. Suppose I give you
a buzz tonight, anyhow?”
“If there’s anything _important_ on your mind, sure. But, John--”
“Yes?”
“I--wouldn’t pay too much attention to the news stories. You
understand?”
“I think so. I’ll buzz you. So long.”
_Balsas, Mexico--7:45_ A.M. (_C.S.T._)
He left the phone booth, stepped into the hovering ground car, and took
off on a cushion of air, silently. Inside fifteen minutes, he entered
the outskirts of Teloloapan, without incident. He parked the rented car
neatly on a residential sidestreet, and grabbed an airbus downtown. His
clothing would be least conspicuous in a working-class place. He found
a ginmill open for the go-to-work quickie trade, and settled down.
After a week of water and coke, the Mexican beer was biting and strong.
He drank slowly; he had a lot of thinking to do first, and over that
bridge there had to be room for some action still.
Meanwhile, there was plenty of time to think; and to drink--slowly. It
was too early to do anything else.
At nine o’clock, he began on the phone, trying to locate Phil Kutler.
Anyone else would have been better. But like the man said, his was the
only game in town.
By eleven, the operator had him convinced that the doctor was not
registered at any hotel in Mexcity; the only forwarding address at his
New York apartment was Moon Dome.
“Have you tried Decagon Information?” And why in Hell hadn’t he thought
of that _first_?
“Just one _mommmmment_....” And she was back--with Jed Harbridge’s
Acapulco phone. _Great!_
He went back to his booth, drank one more bottle of beer, and decided
to be logical this time. He walked down the length of the bar, toward
the sleepy-looking middle-aged Mexican who had perched on the bar stool
all morning.
“Listen, chum,” he said, without preamble, “I have to talk to the boss,
and it irritates him when I make public calls.”
The sleepy man looked at him sleepily. “Senor?”
“Oh come off it. Look, how about we take a walk? Get acquainted a
little?”
The sleepy man thought it over. A faint glint showed in his eyes. He
shrugged fatalistically, climbed down off the stool, threw a coin on
the bar, and followed Johnny into the street.
“I owe you congratulations anyhow,” Johnny said. “I sure as hell
thought I’d throw you this morning.”
The man, no longer sleepy, smiled. “It was nothing,” he said proudly.
“I have long experience.”
“Damn glad you do,” Johnny said, and meant it. “Look, I wasn’t kiddin’.
I want to call your boss. I tried this morning, and he didn’t like me
using a public phone, so we couldn’t say much. If you’ll just--”
“But _Senor_--” The man was clearly pained. “If I _could_, I would help
you gladly, but I have no means....”
“I’m not asking you to give me your junior G-man kit or wrist
radiophone or anything,” Johnny said patiently, “Hell, I don’t _want_
to know what kind of setup you’ve got. Put it this way. I’ll go back in
the bar. You get in touch. See what the man says. Tell him I want some
private talk, that’s all. Okay?”
The man opened his mouth. “But _Senor_--”
Johnny said, “Fine!” and slapped him briskly on the back. Walked back
into the bar, sat down, got one more bottle, and nursed it, like the
first three. He would make it last as long as he could. It was the last
one, either way. There was too much to do.
Just _what_ was to do, he wasn’t sure yet. The first step was Kutler.
After that he’d know. But for Kutler, he needed his wits.
If the sleepy man didn’t show by the time the bottle was gone, he’d
have to find some other way to get hold of Phil. Or make up his own
mind, without Phil.
But he was goddam tired of sitting around waiting--for nothing. It was
just about time to go get--
_What? What you goin’ to get, boy? What’s_ to _get?_
Good question. But it didn’t matter much. Just so long you could sit on
your ass, that’s all.
_Rather get knocked onto it, hey, boy?_
Not very damn likely!
_Tough guy! ????_
Maybe.
_Yeh. I remember. Did some fancy gettin’ and goin’ before, hey man?_
He stood up. Carried his bottle to the bar. Stood a moment indecisive.
Put the bottle down, waved to the barman and walked out. Find the
sleepy man ... find Harbridge ... find Kutler ... find Lee.
And there you were. Simple, when you came right down to it.
Let ’em have their spaceships and cootie-bugs and truth drugs and
politics and screw ’em all. Including the pall-bearers. Let ’em play
their games. Johnny Wendt didn’t care. Let ’em have anything they
wanted, except _one_ thing....
_The one thing is you, Lee. Lisa, Love, Lee, I want you._...
He strode out of the dim bar into the sunlight, arms swinging, teeth
white in laughter against the tan of his face. A sad-faced woman
in black gown and mantle scurried out of his way, crossing herself
fervently.
_Drunk or devil or what?_ he wondered. _What does she think I’ll do?
Damn fool dames don’t even know a crazy man from_--
_From what?_--
His laughter shouted in the street.
--_from a crazy-in-love man. That’s what!_
The woman peeked back around the edge of her veil, and her face looked
a little less sad.
_If I had a damn rose I’d throw it at her!_
He felt clean all over. Only _where_ in Hell was Sleepy keeping himself?
_Mexcity--Monday, October 3, 1:45_ P.M. (_C.S.T._)
“For you--”
The congressman handed the desk phone to the doctor with as much
flourish as if it were a saber or pistol. Phil took it as cautiously.
“Yes?”
“Kutler? This is Jed Harbridge.”
“Oh?”
Then he realized there was no point in playing mum; McLafferty would be
recording it all, anyhow.
“Just wanted to let you know: I’ve got an urgent call for you here.”
There was still nothing to say but “Oh?” The more so, knowing Mac
_must_ be recording. Let Harbridge decide how much to say; he _knew_
his way around this rat race.
“If you’re not tied up for lunch, maybe you could get over now?”
Phil wished he knew his own way around better; which of these two had
sharper teeth? And which was more likely to stick in a fight? And how
do you decipher what a man tells you in the presence of the enemy?
And was it the enemy, anyhow? It was hard to see any real difference
of attitude between the general and the congressman, when you sat in
between them, as he literally was doing now.
“You say ‘urgent,’” he formulated carefully. “Does that mean immediate?
Or very important?”
“Some of both. It _can_ wait a little. Frankly, I think the immediacy
is more on _your_ end. Oh, look, I hate to sound cloak-and-dagger; it’s
nothing like that. A personal matter--what you were asking me last
night. I’ll be more specific if you like, but I assumed--”
“That’s all right, Jed,” he broke in. At this point, there was just one
thing he had to know. And he saw no reason not to ask. “I take it it’s
not from the Dome? You said ‘personal’.”
“That’s right.” Jed sounded relieved: presumably he, Phil, now knew
what it was all about. He saw no good reason to let Harbridge know that
he knew less than ever now. All the personal matters he could think of,
right now, were 250,000 miles away....
Except one. But he _knew_ Harbridge wasn’t about to let him talk to
John. And if he _was_, why call him _here_ to let him know? That wasn’t
it; and it wasn’t from Lisa. So it could wait.
“What time do you go out?” he asked.
“Twelve, twelve-thirty....”
“I’ll try to make it,” Phil said. “I think I can wind things up here
pretty soon?” He looked across the desk at McLafferty, who nodded,
shrugged, mouthed, _Any time_....
“Right. As soon as you can?”
“Right.”
He handed the phone back. “Seems something’s come up,” he said briskly.
“I want to catch Harbridge if I can before he goes out for lunch. So
let me jump in with both feet.” He smiled. “I’m not much good at the
ringaroundrosy you boys play, anyhow.”
“You do all right,” the congressman said ruefully.
“Thanks. I think. Look, is there still anything you want to ask me?
Before we do it in public, I mean?”
“Nothing awfully important. We’ve about covered the ground.”
“Okay. Then there’s something _I_ want to _tell_ you.” He saw the other
man brace himself almost imperceptibly, and smiled again. “Relax, man.
I didn’t say _tell you off_. I said _tell_. Like, information. What
you’re after. Pay dirt, man.”
McLafferty was mentally balancing on the balls of his feet, with both
arms up, guarding. _Change of pace_, Phil thought approvingly. _Always
works._ Reluctantly, he admitted he could probably get pretty good at
this kind of bull if he had to.
“Okay,” Mac said, on balance again. “This is the sure-enough assay
office. Let’s see what color your dirt is.”
“I assume anything I tell you here is confidential--I mean as far as
the press is concerned?”
“Well, I can’t give you a blanket _yes_ on that. Anything you tell me
that bears on the investigation, I can’t keep concealed....”
“I’m not asking that. Put it this way: I have a piece of information
I think will be of use to you, and certainly of interest at least. It
has nothing to do with anything that’s happened at the Dome--or in
connection with the Dome--except that the person it concerns happens to
be there.” He stood up, walked to the window. He wasn’t sure enough of
his ability to use his face. His voice he could play with skill; but
usually people weren’t watching him when he talked. “Frankly,” he said
to the window, “I’m telling you this because I believe you’ll feel, as
I do, that making it public would do no particular good to anyone, and
might do great damage to the person involved. It’s something that could
come out easily in the official inquiry, but--”
He had to turn back because this way _he_ couldn’t see the other man.
“--Look, I assume you record conversations here?”
Mac looked pleasantly neutral; made no reply.
“So I know I’m putting myself on a limb when I say this. But I’m hoping
that what I tell you will help you decide what questions to ask me
tomorrow--or which ones _not_ to ask.” He laughed, a bit nervously and
it took no effort to sound that way either. “I guess I better put it
on record, after that, that I’m not asking for preferential treatment
for myself or anyone else, but merely attempting to provide you with
certain background extraneous information which I believe will help you
to frame your questions in such a way as to protect innocent persons
from unnecessary publicity. Does that cover me?” He tried the laugh
again.
“Beautifully. Ever think of going into the law?” McLafferty’s manner
was warm, inviting.
“Often. I’ll return the compliment. _You_ ever think about
headshrinking?”
There was no perceptible difference in the warmth or sincerity of the
laugh. “As a matter of fact--often. From the other end of the couch.”
This man was much more his own type, as a matter of fact, than Jed
Harbridge was. But Jed’s type, too--Phil became aware of an unfamiliar
sensation of grave respect. The bland-looking man across the desk had
_both_ kinds of awareness. _Talk about dangerous men_....
“All right,” Phil said. “I’ve wasted enough time.”
“Just one thing,” Mac broke in.
“Yes?”
“You understand I have made no pledges of silence or secrecy?”
“I do.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
“What I wanted to tell you is simply that Lisa Trovi is pregnant.”
It was heart warming to see it register. _Bland_, hey? About as bland,
behind the meringue face, as baked hot peppers....
“Man, you don’t think I can--?”
“About _six months_ pregnant,” Phil said. He waited for the meaning to
sink in, and added, “Well, five and a half.”
McLafferty smiled, but it was weak. “Wendt, I suppose?”
Phil shrugged. “The lady won’t say.” He managed to make it quite lewd.
Mac’s eyebrows shot up briefly.
“Well,” said the congressman, “I see what you mean. I’m not sure--”
_Busy brain whirring away_, thought Phil admiringly.
“--You understand, I’ll have to give this some careful thought.
Offhand, I don’t see how it really concerns this investigation, but--”
_But you see all that lovely black ink, don’t you, man?_
“--I’ll tell you one thing. I wish to Christ I could talk to Wendt.
This damfool hiding-out doesn’t accomplish anything.”
_Oh, no, Mac! Really! How much do you think you can do me for?_
And then, startled, he thought: _Well, whaddya know? Ole doc’s ego
acting up! At this stage yet_.... And finally, amused: _Got to see my
psychiatrist about_ that!
“Wish I could help you,” he said smoothly. “Frankly, I’d like to get
my hands on that boy myself.” He reached out his hand. “Well, I hope
you’ll see this thing the way I do, when you’ve thought it out. I
better haul out of here now. Can’t hold up the whole Decagon.”
The only thing that bothered him when he left was that he might
have underestimated Lisa’s effect--again. McLafferty ought to be
arrow-proof; but so should a lot of others. Who weren’t.
_Mexcity--Monday, October 3, 1:45_ P.M. (_C.S.T._)
He parked right inside the Decagon lot, and to hell with them all. If
they tapped him now, they would, and that was that.
But he knew it was damned unlikely they’d have a paper waiting for him
here.
He had no trouble getting to Harbridge either. He showed the guards and
the secretaries the same thing: his face and a five-dollar bill. He was
upstairs in ten minutes flat, with the private secretary.
She was new. He said patiently, “Please just buzz and say, ‘Johnny’s
here.’ That’s all.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll have to have your full name.”
“Let’s say I’m his long-lost son. Johnny Harbridge, okay?” Why not just
_tell_ her? He didn’t know.
“Oh, Mr. Prentiss--I wonder if you could--”
Johnny looked at the smooth-young-man who had just entered. The
smooth-young-man looked at him, got noticeably ruffled around the
edges, and said, “Just a minute, Glory. You--er--What can I do for you,
Colonel? I’m Al Prentiss, the General’s Press Secretary.”
“Pleased to meet you, Al. I was trying to persuade the young lady that
the General would want to see me--since I’m here, I mean.”
“I imagine he would,” Prentiss said, deadpan. “If you’ll wait just a
_moment_, I’ll let him know....”
He went through a door across the room.
Johnny waited.
He got tired of waiting, and followed through the door.
Prentiss. Harbridge. Kutler.
“Well,” he said. “Old Home Day. All we need now is Chris.”
“All right, John,” Harbridge said wearily. “What are you trying to do?”
“Brace yourself,” Johnny said. “Especially you, Doc. Sit down. It’ll be
a shock.” He strode to the desk and looked straight at Harbridge. “I’m
trying to find out how I can get to the Moon.”
The General shook his head. “You do need Chris then. I can’t authorize
it.”
_You’re full of bull._ “Oh?” He turned to Phil. “All right. Who
authorizes trips down? You or Chris? I--don’t think the environment up
there is quite right for Lee.”
Phil shrugged. He was good at it. “Tell _her_,” he said.
Johnny looked from the doctor to the general and back again. No point
in crawling. Both men were set. He felt the inviting ache in his
shoulder, and set it aside. If he was sure Prentiss would stay out of
it.... He could clean up the other two without getting winded....
Good thing Prentiss was there. Just as well.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll _do_ that.”
He started out.
“Colonel Wendt?”
He turned, half-way. Bully-boy Prentiss. “Yeah?”
“I just thought I’d mention--the backroom boys think it’s pretty sure
she’s subpoenaed. That would mean she’d be down next trip anyhow.”
_Pacifier?_ He didn’t think so, somehow. The guy almost seemed human.
“Thanks,” he said. “I didn’t think of that.”
_New York--Monday, October 3, 7_ P.M. (_E.D.S.T._)
The city hadn’t changed; it was he who had.
Such a short time--and actually, very little had happened. _Very
little. Sure. You just went right out of this world._
So: two years later--damn near--the doctor gets around to knowing what
the man meant. Phil marveled, not for the first time, at the ease with
which we assume communication; fool ourselves into the oddly arrogant
delusion that we have heard, that we know, understand, even share, the
consciousness of our fellowman.
Phil Kutler walked the streets of the city he loved, and felt
_bruised_. Everywhere were barriers. Walls: not only of brick and stone
and wood, but walls of tougher, harder, more hurtful, flesh and blood
and emotion.
He wished, wished with all his heart, fervently, that someone in all
the millions of his city, could _hear him_ now--as he, finally, _heard_
Johnny Wendt....
“_Mars is heaven, that’s what_....”
As he had _heard_ Lisa--what was it? Four weeks--One month ago? It
seemed hardly possible--and _understood_ that her need was not his own
desire. Understood it, and still desired--hell, still _loved_!
It was, looking back on it, highly improbable. _I am not that big a
man_, he told himself soberly. And it was true. But he _had_ been.
Then. _There._
Maybe Johnny was right. Maybe men ought to stay where they acted like
men....
_No!_
_No, damn it, Johnny was wrong! As wrong as a man_ CAN _be_.
“_Something up there makes us love_,” he paraphrased nervously, and
admitted it frightened him, and stopped fearing it.
_If anyone was right, Doug was!_
He laughed. It was that simple. _Just that simple._ No one would ever
believe it, but he was deeply sure. He knew, because he was certain it
was exactly what _he_ would have done.
A stiff-backed, powder-caked claw-fingered female, rushing on
tight-toed stilt heels, miscalculated; a bony shoulder knifed his
bicep; a sharp elbow rose reflexively, caught him in the chest.
“Whyncha look wareyagone?” she shrieked.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. And wondered what Moon-change would
happen to _her_, if she could go too?
Wondered, more practically, if that odd feeling of kinship with
McLafferty meant the other man had felt it too? Smiled, thinking:
_All that work and sweat. And suppose the big oaf has turned into a
gentleman?_
It wouldn’t matter much. Actually, all the sweat had not been needed.
Johnny was already on his way.
_Damned rude of him not to wait for me to push_, Phil thought,
delighted.