huddling."
"It's too much to ask," she said.
"You don't realize what's at stake. It's not your body they
want. They want to kill you. They hate your sterile guts. You
don't know how I talked, persuaded, coaxed them. . . . Listen,
they use hallucinogens. Your brain turns to pudding in
Carnaval. You don't know what your own hands are, much less
someone else's genitals. . . . You're helpless. Everyone is help-
less, that's the point. No more games, no politics, no ranks and
grudges. No self. When you come out of Carnaval it's like the
first day of Creation. Everyone smiles." Lindsay looked aside,
blinking. "It's real, Nora. It's not their government that sustains
them, that's just the brain. Carnaval is the blood, the spine, the
groin."
"It's not our way, Abelard."
"But if you could join us, even once, for a few hours! We'd
dissolve these tensions, truly trust each other. Listen, Nora, sex
is not some handicraft. It's real, it's human, it's one of the last
things we have left. Burn it! What do you have to lose?"
"It could be an ambush," she said. "You could bend our minds
with drugs and kill us. It's a risk."
"Of course it is, but there are ways around that." Me locked
eyes with her. "I'm telling you this on the basis of all the trust
we have between us. At least we can give it a trial."
"I don't like this," Nora said. "I don't like sex. Especially with
the unplanned."
"It's that or juice your own gene-line," Lindsay said. He pulled
a loaded hypodermic from inside his lapel and attached its
needle. "I have mine ready."
She looked at it sidelong, then produced her own. "You may
not take well to this, Abelard."
"What is it?"
"Suppressant. With phenylxanthine to kick your IQ up. So
you'll see how we feel."
"This isn't the full Carnaval mixture," Lindsay said. "Just the
aphrodisiacs, half strength, and muscle relaxant. I think you
need it since I smashed the spinal crab. You seem jumpy."
"You seem to know all too well what I need."
"That makes two of us." Lindsay pulled aside the loose sleeve
of his wraparound blouse. "This is it, Nora. You could kill me
now and call it allergic reaction, stress, anything." He looked at
the gaudy tattoos on the skin of his arm. "Don't do it."
She shared his suspicion. "Are you taping this?"
"I don't allow tapes in my room." Me pulled a pair of elastic
cords from a styrene cabinet and passed her one.
He tied off his bicep. She did the same. With their sleeves
rolled up, they waited quietly for the veins to swell. It was the
most intimate moment they had ever had together. The thought
aroused him.
She slipped her hypodermic into the crook of his elbow, and
found the vein by the sudden rosette of blood at the needle's
root. Me did the same. They stared into each other's eyes and
pressed the plungers home.
The moment passed. Lindsay withdrew the needle and pressed
a sterile plastic dot against her puncture. Then he did his own.
They loosened the cords.
"Neither of us seems to be dying," she said.
"It's a good sign," Lindsay said. Me tossed the cords aside. "So
far so good."
"Oh." She half closed her eyes. "It's hitting me. Oh, Abelard."
"Mow do you feel?" Me took her shoulder. The nexus of bone
and muscle seemed to soften under his hand. She was breathing
shallowly, lips parted, her eyes dark.
"Like I'm melting," she said.
The phenylxanthine hit him first. Me felt like a king. "You
wouldn't hurt me," he said. "We're two of a kind, you and I."
Me undid the ties and pulled her blouse off, then peeled the
trousers inside out over her feet. Me left the sandals on. Mis
clothes flapped as he threw them off. They spun slowly in
midair.
Me pulled her close, his eyes blazing.
"Help me breathe," she whispered. The relaxant had hit her
lungs. Lindsay took her chin in his hands, opened her mouth,
and sealed his lips around it. Me puffed gently and felt her ribs
expand against his chest. Her head lolled back; the muscles of
her neck were like wax. He hooked his legs around hers, from
the inside, and breathed for her.
She let her arms drift, sluggishly, around his neck. She pulled
her mouth back a fraction of an inch. "Try now."
He tried to enter her. Despite his own excitement, it was
useless; the aphrodisiacs hadn't hit her yet, and she was dry.
"Don't hurt me," she said.
"I want you," Lindsay said. "You belong to me. Not to those
others."
"Don't say that," she said, her voice slurring. "This is an
experiment."
"For them, maybe. Not for us." The phenylxanthine had made
him certain, and reckless in his certainty. "The rest don't matter. I'd kill any one of them at a word from you. I love you,
Nora. Tell me you love me."
"I can't say that." She winced. "You're hurting me."
"Say you trust me, then."
"I trust you. There, it's done. Hold still a moment." She
wrapped her legs around him, then rocked her hips from side to
side, settling around him. "This is it, then. Sex."
"Haven't you had it before?"
"In the Academy once, on a bet. It wasn't like this."
"You feel all right?"
"I'm comfortable. Go ahead, Abelard."
But now his curiosity was aroused. "Did they give you the
pleasure tap too? I had it once. An interrogation drill."
"Of course they did. But that was nothing human, just white
ecstasy." She was sweating. "Come on, darling."
"No, wait a minute." He blinked as she clutched his waist. "I
see what you mean. This is stupid, isn't it? We're friends al-
ready."
"I want you, Abelard! Come on, finish me!"
"We've proved our point. Besides, I'm filthy!"
"I don't care how fucking filthy you are! For God's sake,
hurry!"
He tried to oblige her, then, and worked away mechanically for
almost a minute. She bit her lip and groaned in anticipation,
rolling her head back. But all the meaning had leached out of it
for him. "I can't go on," he said. "I just don't see why we
should bother."
"Just let me use you. Come on!"
He tried to think of something arousing. The usual damp whirl
of his mind's erotic imagery seemed abstract and distant to him,
like something done by another species. He thought of his
ex-wife. Sex with Alexandrina had been something like this, an
act of politeness, an obligation.
Me held still, letting her slam herself against him. At last a cry
of desperate pleasure escaped her.
She pulled away, patting sweat from her face and neck with the sleeve of her blouse. She smiled shyly.
Lindsay shrugged. "I see your point. It's a waste of time. I may have some trouble talking the others into it, but if I can reason
with them. . . ."
She looked at him hungrily. "I made a mistake. It shouldn't
have been this awful for us. I feel selfish now, since you had
nothing."
"I feel fine," Lindsay insisted.
"You said you loved me."
"That was just hormones talking. Of course I have deep respect for you, a sense of comradeship. . . . I'm sorry I told you that. Forgive me. I didn't mean it, of course."
"Of course," she said, putting on her blouse.
"Don't be bitter," Lindsay said. "You should take some of this.
I'm grateful for it. I see it now in a way I never did before.
Love ... it has no substance. It might be right for other people,
other places, another time."
"Not us."
"No. I feel bad about it, now. Reducing our negotiations to a
sexual stereotype. You must have found it insulting. And