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Chapter Eighteen

THE door opened again and Jeff shuddered. If Myron was coming back to give him another kick in the ribs, that would be the end.

He heard a gasp, then the rustle of fabric. He looked up. Lilah was bending over him, her eyes wide.

"What happened to your face? And here."

"Don't touch that!"

She had been reaching out toward his injured side. She pulled her hand away.

"What happened to you?"

"It doesn't matter. Brace yourself and hold out your hand." Jeff gritted his teeth. He reached out his right arm, took Lilah's hand in his, and slowly raised himself until he was sitting upright. The effort made his head swim.

"I have to stand up and walk. You stand first and give me something to hold on to. I've got to get to your mother and talk to her. It's really urgent."

Slowly, favoring his left side and putting no weight on his left leg, Jeff pulled himself all the way to his feet. In a stronger field it would have been quite impossible. As it was, when he was erect he stood swaying for a few moments before he dared to think of moving again. With Lilah's help he edged his way to the wall and leaned against it. After a few more moments he waved her away and stood without assistance.

"We have to get you to a medical facility," Lilah said. "Lean on the wall and wait there for a moment." She moved behind Jeff and went into the bathroom. The twenty or thirty seconds that she was gone felt like an hour. When she came out she was holding her white scarf. She showed it to him as she threw it around her shoulders. "I was dreading the idea of coming back for this. Lucky I did, though. Can you walk? I know where the nearest med unit is."

Jeff had taken a small, tentative step forward. It hurt less than he had feared, but more than enough to keep his attention. "I can walk if we go slowly. But not to the med unit. I have to talk to your mother. I have to."

"Treatment first, then you talk to anyone you like."

"No." Jeff halted, resisting her attempt to move him along. "We see your mother before we worry about me. This is really important, Lilah. You don't know Myron the way I do. When he's mad, it's like he's crazy. He doesn't realize what he's saying. He speaks without thinking, and sometimes he says too much."

"What did he say? Surely it wasn't all that important." But Lilah was not really arguing. She had given him her arm to lean on, and he limped along at her side. He hardly knew where he was going because his right eye had swollen until it was closed, but the path they were taking didn't feel right.

"Is this the way to your mother?"

"Sort of. I assume you'd prefer that not too many people see you, the way you are. So we're going to stay in the cylinder end. And in a little while we'll be at a place where we can meet Mother."

"Where is that?" Jeff had his suspicions.

"At the medical center. Don't give me an argument, Jeff. This is the best way to do it. I called Muv when I picked up my scarf and said we'd be going to the med center. She'll meet us there."

Jeff was beyond arguing. The real question was, How much longer could he walk before his insides fell out? Every step made him wince. "Do you know what Simon Macafee said? He said your mother always gets her way. You're just as bad." He stopped his staggering walk. "What's this?"

A machine like the cutout of a giant spider was scuttling toward them. It was flat, six or seven feet long, and no more than six inches high.

"A Logan. Mother's idea, when I told her you were in pain. You can relax. No, don't fight it!"

The machine was closing in on Jeff. He was afraid that it was going to touch his side, and he took a step back. The machine beeped, chirped, and halted. It extended a long, orange tentacle and touched his right wrist. There was a soft hiss. A feeling of coldness ran up his arm and his body went rigid. He knew that he was going to fall.

A dozen thin arms reached out from the Logan, lifted him, and placed him gently on top of the flat plane of its body. He could move his head, but he had neither feeling nor control below the neck.

"Lilah, don't let it put me to sleep!"

"All right. Do you have any problem with that?"

The question made no sense to Jeff, until he heard the Logan reply, in a clear and precise voice, "Not initially. We may want to change our mind about that after full diagnosis. My sensors are performing an evaluation now. So far we have merely used a painkiller and movement inhibitor to prevent farther trauma."

They had moved while the Logan was talking, much faster than Jeff could have walked. He heard a new sound from in front, a high-pitched whirring. Craning his neck up as far as it would go, he saw—blearily, with his left eye only—a door sliding open. In the room beyond, Connie Cheever and Simon Macafee were waiting.

"Lilah," Connie said, "this had better be serious. If you dragged me here for something minor, you're hash." She turned to the Logan. "Preliminary evaluation?"

"Layman terms?"

"Certainly."

"Evaluation is close to complete." The Logan extruded six pencil-thin legs that brought Jeff to the height of a normal bed. "There is significant tissue damage between the eleventh and twelfth ribs on the left side. The eleventh rib has a green-stick fracture. The pleurae are undamaged. In the head there is severe bruising below the right eye, but the cheekbone and orbit are intact."

"Prognosis?"

"Minimal nanny service will produce total functional restoration within forty-eight hours. Suitable nannies have been defined and will be brought here in the next few minutes."

"Hmm." Connie eyed her daughter. "Completely better in a couple of days. Sounds to me as if maybe someone overreacted when they told me I had to get here at once."

"I don't think so. Jeff sounded just like Dad, before the loss of Pezam Station."

It meant nothing to Jeff, but it must have to Connie. "My God," she said, and that was all.

Jeff took his chance. "Lilah wasn't the one who made you come and talk to me. I was. I insisted."

"Why? Did you think you were dying?"

"I felt as though I was, but that's not why. My cousin, Myron. Did you meet him?"

"Briefly."

"He and I had a fight. He did this to me, but that's not the point. When he loses his self-control, he'll blab out all sorts of vicious things. At the end, just before he kicked my ribs in, he said something awful. First the Space Navy and Sol-side will take everything they want from Confluence Center, the Anadem field and anything else. Then they will destroy you. You're going to eat fire, he said. The fleet will reduce Confluence Center to rubble—to slag. You might think he was just talking wild, but I know Myron. When he's really angry he can't think well enough to make up anything. He was telling what he had heard. I think that Confluence Center is in terrible danger."

Connie Cheever took Jeff's words calmly. She glanced across at Simon Macafee, who had been standing silently running his fingers through his long hair.

"So. It looks like we were close to the mark." She turned to Jeff. "What you told us is enormously important, but it's no huge surprise. We were thinking we might need to plan for the worst, now we have no choice. Simon? Can you?"

"How long do I have?"

"Depends how well I can stall the Sol navy people. Maybe a week. Maybe a lot less."

"Touch and go. I'll need help."

"Anything I can spare."

"As many Logans as I need, and twenty of the best jinners."

"That's too many. We'll be stretched over thin. A week like that, we'll start to see systems failure all over the place. Oh, well, in seven days there may be no systems to worry about. I'll get what you need. Don't ask how." Connie turned to Jeff. "Where do you stand on all this? It's survival for us, but you're a Space navy officer, and a Kopal. You could go back home on the Dreadnought, forget the Cloud, and be in the clear."

"I don't think I'd make a good navy officer. Killing people, or letting people be killed because I do nothing, is too hard. That's what Myron seems to think the navy is all about, and he's probably right. If I do get back, I'll resign."

Connie and Lilah remained silent. It was, to Jeff's surprise, Simon Macafee who said, "Ah, but if all the people of conscience leave the navy, what remains? I am sure you can work out the answer to that question."

"I can't stand the navy."

"It takes more courage to stay and endure an awful situation than to run away from it. More courage than I had, I'm afraid."

"All right," Connie said. "The two of you can enjoy the Socratic dialogue some other time. Right now, Simon, we have work to do. Lilah, the nannies will be injected in the next few minutes. Will you stay here and make sure Jeff knows what's happening?"

The hesitation was almost too small to notice, a data burst from mother to daughter and back that Jeff could sense but not read.

"Sure." Lilah pulled a chair over to where Jeff lay. "Will you have food brought in? There's no chef in here."

"What about me?" Jeff added. In spite of his numbed condition, the idea of food was making his mouth water.

"How do you propose to eat it?" Simon asked.

"Lilah will feed him." Another tiny data burst passed between mother and daughter. "Won't you, dear?"

"Sure."

"Can I at least be sitting upright?" Jeff was tired of his worm's-eye view of events.

"Why didn't you ask?" the Logan said from beneath him.

The flat surface levered up at one end, until Jeff was in a sitting position. Amazingly, his damaged ribs did not produce even a twinge. How useful the nannies would be on Earth—if only they could be imported. But before that could happen, the technology would have to be bought—or stolen?—from the Cloud. Whose side was he really on?

Connie and Simon Macafee were leaving. A smaller Logan came buzzing in with a thin bottle the size of Jeff's forefinger. "Excuse me," it said, and inserted the nozzle into his mouth. He heard a fizzing sound, but felt and tasted nothing.

"Some feeling of internal warmth may now be experienced," said the little Logan. "Pay no attention to it." Before Jeff could reply, the machine had buzzed away.

"You've explained what your cousin told you," Lilah said. She moved the position of her chair close to the left side of the bed, so that the two of them were face-to-face. "And you've explained that when he's angry enough, he doesn't think about what he's saying. But you haven't explained one thing. Why were you fighting?"

"What's it mean, 'some feeling of internal warmth'?"

"When the nannies are working, your body temperature goes up. You didn't notice it the last time, because you were unconscious. Apparently they don't propose to knock you out this time. Why were you and Myron fighting?"

"We had an argument." Jeff thought back to the fight, and the feeling that he had more than enough time to block all Myron's punches. "It was very odd. We used to fight back on Earth, and he could hit me anytime he liked. Tonight he couldn't touch me."

"No? Seems to me he could—unless you gave yourself a black eye and a broken rib."

"That happened after I thought the fight was over. Myron didn't agree. He hit me when I wasn't expecting it. But before that, I seemed to have all the time in the world to avoid being hurt."

"Have you noticed any other differences recently? I mean, differences in yourself."

"No." Jeff paused. "Except that tonight, when I was getting ready to throw rings in a game Simon Macafee showed me, my hands didn't get all shaky. They usually do when I'm in a contest and I particularly don't want them to. Would that count?"

"Of course it would. Don't you see, Jeff? It's the nannies. When they worked on you last time, they made improvements. Nothing major—that would be outside their programming. But they tinkered a little with your nervous system, for better reaction time and damping the jitters."

"I felt I could hit Myron anytime I liked. He seemed wide open." Jeff thought back, to his cousin's murderous blood red face after he delivered that kick to the ribs. "I wish I had. Then I wouldn't be lying here dead from the neck down."

"Better than dead from the neck up. What were the two of you fighting about?"

She wasn't going to give up. Lilah was as persistent as her mother.

"He said something I didn't like. I went for him. I was the one who started it, not Myron."

"I'm sure I've said lots of things about you that you didn't like. But you didn't attack me."

"He wasn't talking about me." Jeff wished he could get up and run away. He was being forced along a path that he had no desire to take. "He said things about you."

"Oh." Lilah was quiet for a while, then she said, "What sort of things?"

"You don't want to know."

"Don't be ridiculous. I certainly do. What did he say?"

"Oh, I don't know." She stared at him grimly until he went on, "He said he got you excited, so you rubbed up against him when the two of you were dancing to try to excite him." Jeff paused. Lilah had flushed red, as red as Myron had been. "I wouldn't have hit him for that—you didn't have to dance with him if you didn't want to. But he said other things. He called you a little tart, and my fancy bitch. And he said you weren't any good at—stuff."

"And you believed what he said? I bet you did, every word of it. You may be one of the famous Kopals, but sometimes you make me wonder. Do you think I wanted to hang around with Myron? That your cousin is my type?" She leaned close to Jeff.

He couldn't even cringe. Myron was not there to receive her anger, but he was.

"Do you know why I was with Myron?" she went on. "I'll tell you, Jeff Kopal. Because a certain other person refused to show him around Confluence Center, and wouldn't go to Confluence with him. Mother said she asked you to do it, and you wouldn't. And you certainly hadn't shown any interest in taking me to Confluence. So guess who got stuck with the job, and was asked to be nice to Myron and show him around, and maybe see what she could learn about the fleet plans?"

"I didn't know that."

"There's plenty you don't know. But there's limits to being nice. Did you really think I rubbed up against Myron when we were dancing?"

"He said you did."

"Right. So of course you believed him. Do you believe everything your cousin tells you? Or just the things he says about me?"

"I didn't really believe what he said about you. At least, I didn't want to."

"So you started a fight with him?"

"I guess so. You see, I thought that if I—"

"Leave it, Jeff. You don't need to explain. Can't you see I'm glad you thought my reputation was worth fighting for? And if you want to know how much of what Myron said about me is true, I'll tell you: not a word of it. Let me tell you something about your cousin. I noticed in the first ten minutes that he never passes a mirror without pausing to admire himself. He talks and acts like he's God's gift to women. He constantly referred to you, comparing himself and pointing out how he is superior to you in every possible way. He told me about all the other girls and women he has been with—as if that is supposed to please me."

"He has been with others. I've seen him, at dances and parties."

"Do you think that makes a girl feel special, to be told that she's the hundredth in line? If I had done what he wanted—and he did want, and I wouldn't, I wanted nothing to do with him—then I'd just be another of his conquests. I'll tell you something else about Myron that you probably don't know. He's big, and he's handsome, and he looks great in a uniform. He's very self-confident, and he talks a smooth line. Not like you."

"Thanks."

"Don't get huffy. I'm not being horrible. I'd rather be with you any day." A Logan was arriving with a tray of food and drinks, but Lilah ignored it and went on, "I'm sure Myron has no trouble at all getting dates, or persuading girls to go off with him soon after he meets them. He wasn't lying about that. And I'm sure he has been with many girls—once, and only once. Anyone who doesn't see through Myron in the first couple of hours deserves what she gets. I bet you never saw him twice with the same girl."

"That's true. I never did."

"So why were you ready to believe I would go off with him?"

Jeff was tempted to say, "Well, it was your first date, and it had been only a couple of hours." Something warned him that would do more harm than good. "I didn't want to believe him. I didn't want him to say things about you, either. That's why I went for him."

"That's sweet of you. But you lost. And yet you say you could have hit him anytime. Why didn't you?"

"I nearly did. I had a clear target, but I pulled back at the last minute. I guess Myron is right. When it comes to fighting I'm a wimp."

"Depends on your wimp definition. People who hit someone just because they can aren't my idea of heroes. Don't move." Lilah leaned forward and touched Jeff's forehead. "How do you feel? You're very flushed."

"Like I'm on fire. It's just my head, though."

She took his left hand in hers, then reached out and placed her fingers on his leg just above the knee. "Don't get ideas. I'm checking temperatures. You can't feel it anywhere else, but you are warm all over. The nannies are starting to do their job. They use up a lot of raw materials and burn up plenty of energy. We'd better get some food into you, or they'll just take what they need and you'll crash when they are done. You'll crash anyway, once they really get going. Humans are easier to deal with when they can't decide to move around on their own."

She took the tray from the waiting Logan. "What do you want to eat?"

"Anything. Just shovel it in. You're right, I'm very tired and I don't know how much longer I'll be awake. Why did you go with Myron to a private room?"

"Oh, Jeff, let it go. Isn't it obvious that I don't find Myron the least bit attractive? I was supposed to coax him into telling me about the fleet's plans. Do you think he'd chatter on about that in public? Yes, I took him there. Yes, it was a dumb move on my part. But I do dumb things. Do you think you're the only one allowed to?"

She was forcing stew into Jeff's mouth, punctuating her remarks with spoonful after spoonful and forcing him to chew and swallow so fast that he had no chance to speak. Finally he closed his lips firmly and sat scowling until she got the message and pulled the spoon away. When he had chewed and swallowed, he said, "No more! Not until I say ready. One more question. The other day you told me that you knew what people from Earth are like. All sex-mad, you said. So why didn't you expect Myron to do exactly what he did?"

"You can blame Muv for that. The morning after you and I were in my rooms, I was really upset and Mother knew it. She asked me what was wrong. I told her what you said to me, and what I said back to you."

"I don't think I really said anything."

"That was Mother's reaction. She made me tell her everything as near as I could, word for word. She said I was emotional, and overreacting just because I like you. Then she said something I'd expect more of Simon Macafee than my mother. She accused me of' the logical fallacy of arguing from the general to the specific.' Do you understand that?"

"It means that just because a property applies on average to a whole group, you can't assume it will apply to a particular member of that group."

"Now you sound like Simon Macafee. Logical to the last breath. Did you know that you imitate him all the time? I think he's your hero." She held out the spoon, and Jeff shook his head. Her outline was beginning to blur, and when she spoke again it came from a long distance. "Anyway, Muv put it this way: Suppose you say, 'Jinners don't write poetry.' On average you will be right, because most jinners certainly don't. But if you apply it to a particular jinner you could be wrong, because there are some jinners who do write poetry. Or, just because there are lots and lots of people on Earth, it doesn't mean that everyone on Earth is only interested in sex and breeding. Mother told me I was being unfair to you."

"I think you were." Jeff's head was swimming and he felt ready to pass out, but passion for accuracy made him struggle to go on when he knew that he ought to shut up. "But you realize that although what your mother said is true in theory, and you can't argue from the general to the specific, it's not practically true. I mean, arguing your way, you'll be right more often than not."

"So I ought to have assumed that Myron couldn't be trusted, because most Earth people can't? Well, I know that now." She was at the side of the bed, returning Jeff to a supine position. "But I hope you're not telling me it applies to you, too. I wouldn't be a fool to trust you, would I? Because I do. Especially since you got hurt fighting for me. I never had a champion before. Can you hear me? I hope not."

Jeff had been trying to shake his head, assuring her that he could be trusted. At her last question he tried to move it up and down, with no better success. His eyes were closing, no matter how he tried to keep them open.

Lilah peered down at him. "Hello? Anybody home? Can you hear me? I don't think so. Just as well. I think I'll just sit here and hold your hand. Then I can tell my friends that we spent the night together."

Jeff struggled to answer. He wanted to say that Lilah had the right idea, she could trust him with anything in the universe and he would spend a night with her anytime he had the chance.

Not a word came out. His last thought was one of irritation. Being unable to move a finger, and then passing out, was one hell of a way to spend his first night with Lilah.

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