“Coquina!” he called, and she came, clad in nightgown, demure. “I cannot sleep tonight. Will you talk to me?”
“I understand,” she said.
“I wonder…” He studied her innocence. But the awful vision was fading as he talked. “Have you ever been in love, Coquina?”
“No.”
“People think of love as something romantic as delight, wonder. It is supposed to uplift a man, make him strong, make him good. Have you seen this LOE text?” She nodded slightly. “But, oh, they’re wrong. Love is the most awful weapon known to the human race. It can twist a man, wring him up into a tight wad until his blood spills out upon the stone reality, until he shrivels, and is a dry husk. If you ever search for evil, begin with love… I shouldn’t talk this way to a woman.”
“I am a slave,” she said.
He studied her once more, speculatively. “You say you are a slave. But how much of a slave? Is there not a little bit of woman in you, too? When you move in the dance, pretty shell… If I were to tell you to strip naked before me here…”
“Idyllia must protect its property,” she said. “I will not strip.”
Aton smiled. “It was only an example, a case in point. You are not so much a slave. But tell me, Coquina, are you for sale? Could I purchase you and carry you away with me wherever I wished to roam?”
“The slaves are not for sale. They are loaned to the patrons, to serve within certain limits.”
“Certain limits. I see the shell is closed,” said Aton. “Too bad—but only fair. I wish more women were slaves, more slaves were women…”
Eight
Aton went to parties, danced, saw wholesome theatrical productions, and flirted with meaningless women. By day he swam, participated in antique group sports, took picnics in the sunshine; at night Coquina took care of him and rubbed his back with oil. He talked to her at such times, easing his mind and finding, to his surprise, surcease from the memory of Malice by talking about—Malice. He told Coquina as much as he could remember, more than he had told any human being before, because he had come to regard her not as human but as slave.
It was not enough. Malice came back to his mind at every unguarded moment, arousing unquenchable desire, measureless pain. He could hide from her for an hour, but he could not escape.
“This is getting me frankly nowhere,” he said at last. “I’ve got to find something that will take up my whole attention for more than a tiny span.”
And Coquina, as always, had a suggestion. “Have you tried mountain climbing?” she asked. “It is a vigorous sport that takes many days and uses a great deal of energy. It is not dangerous, here, and it has special merits.”
“You are telling me, gentle shell, that the answer to doubt is work,” Aton said. “This is the very finest Victorian sentiment from LOE. But if you recommend it, I’ll try it. You’ve been taking good care of me so far.”
“I will arrange for a guide,” she said.
“You will arrange to be the guide,” he replied. “Do you think I mean to have you corrupted by some other patron in my absence?”
She smiled, and the following afternoon saw the two of them tramping along the intermittently wooded base of a local mountain. Curling bracken rose on either side, tall as a man already; scented pink lady’s-slipper flowers could have been worn by a lady with an evanescent tread. Volcano-like, the giant puffballs spouted smoky haze at the slightest touch. Farther along, milkweed mixed with dwarf sequoia. Great and small, blooming and fruiting, natural and modified, the plants of Idyllia presented themselves for approval.
Aton stopped to look at a lizard, slim and red, perched on a boulder. It eyed him with seeming intelligence. “We will meet again, your kind and mine,” it seemed to say, and Aton laughed and slapped at it, making it scramble for safety.
Coquina, delicate though she might appear, carried a full pack and sleeping bag and kept a man’s pace. Aton was amazed at her stamina.
They camped early, before the mountainside obscured itself in shadow, and she fixed a meal. Aton stared into the somber water of the stream they washed in, and saw huge red salmon.
He moved to flick a twig off his arm, stopped just in time: it was an insect, a three inch walking stick, so still it might be dead. He was tempted to drop it in the water to see if the fish would take it; but he saw Coquina glance at him, and felt ashamed. Why did he have this urge to hurt, to torture, an innocent insect? He transferred it to a leaf and watched it tread carefully away.
No biting creatures infested the night air. They slept side by side in twin bags on an aromatic bed of fern. Aton half-awoke, briefly, to the call of an owl, and saw his slave in slumber, a light strand of hair over her face. The beauty of her features was classic, even so. It struck him that he could appreciate it without untoward thought, and this was new, for him.
Daylight, sunny and bright in sections as they tramped among mixed fir and palm and hardwood. This was a forest to enjoy at leisure; but Aton drove himself hard, trying to banish his problems by sheer physical effort. Coquina kept pace without complaint as the way grew steeper.
Great mossy roots tied down the twisting trail. He doubled his effort, pushing up the mountain, an energumen, until the muscles of his legs were weary and his head grew faint. The slave followed, saying nothing but never falling back.
Aton became genuinely curious. His youth on Hvee, in gravity possibly fifteen per cent greater than Earth-normal, had guaranteed his strength. Genetics in the laboratory had strengthened his body generations before he was born. In ordinary gravity he could perform feats that would astound the uninitiate, and the years in space had only slightly impaired his stamina. For this was where it showed: no normal man could match the endurance of the modified, and among the women only the strange minionette had shown comparable power. Certainly a soft pleasure-world such as this was not the place to find a really durable woman.
That second evening, far up the slope where the gusting wind was cold, he feigned a greater weariness than he felt. He threw himself down and pretended to sleep. He watched Coquina.
She went about the preparation of the meal without sign of undue fatigue, though the bounce was gone. A glance in his direction apparently convinced her that he was sleeping soundly; she came and rolled him into a more comfortable position and placed a pad of moss under his head. She did not try to wake him.
What made the girl so strong? She should have dropped from exhaustion long ago. But not only did she stay with him, she handled the routine chores as well. Did she also stem from modified stock? Did a slave on Idyllia really conform to the ancient virtue of the species: having the advantages of wife and work-horse combined, without the liabilities?
No, she could not completely be equated to a wife, though she would make a good one. Aton gave up the game, sat up, stretched, rubbed away imaginary fog. There was no point in missing supper. Tomorrow he would discover just how tough she was.
The path became steep and quite irregular. Aton paid no attention to the expanding view below the mountain or to the fleeting wildlife—a beaver, mountain goats, tortoise—that surveyed his passing. He chose the most difficult ascent and climbed with utmost speed. Coquina had become a challenge; he was determined to discover her breaking point. He did not stop to wonder just what it was he was competing with, or to marvel at his rivalry with a woman who was bound only to do his will.