"Nine days."
"You took care of me?" He noted the deep, dark circles beneath her
sleep-robbed eyes.
She nodded.
"You're the one who carried me when I was shot?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Suddenly he began to cough. Breath came hard. She held the oxygen mask
in readiness. He shook his head, not wanting it.
"Why?" he asked again.
"It would be a long story. Perhaps I'll tell you tomorrow."
A new thought, cloaked in sudden fear, entered his murky consciousness.
"Tell me, will--will I be well again? Will I be able to walk?"
He lay back then, panting, exhausted.
"You have nothing to worry about," the girl said softly. Her cool hand
touched his hot forehead. "Rest. We'll talk later."
His eyes closed and breath came easier. He slept.
When he next awoke, his gaze turned first to the window. There was
light outside, but he had no way of knowing if this was morning, noon
or afternoon--or on what planet.
He saw no white-domed buildings of Hoover City, no formal lines of
green-treed parks, no streams of buzzing gyro-cars. There was only a
translucent and infinite whiteness. It was as if the window were set on
the edge of the Universe overlooking a solemn, silent and matterless
void.
The girl entered the room.
"Hi," she said, smiling. The dark half-moons under her eyes were less
prominent. Her face was relaxed.
She increased the pressure in his rubberex pillows and helped him rise
to a sitting position.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"Venus."
"We're not in Hoover City?"
"No."