He awoke in the morning, relaxed, filled with the knowledge that it was Saturday and that he would not be going to his office. The design he was producing for the new university auditorium was at a fascinating, mind-devouring stage, but he knew from experience that a weekend of complete rest would enable him to return to the project at an even higher pitch of enthusiasm and efficiency. Contentment filled his mind like the chiming of silver bells as he turned in his bed and reached for Julie.
There was a momentary disappointment as he discovered her place was empty, then he became aware of the aroma of brewing coffee drifting upstairs from the kitchen. He got up, stretched, and padded naked into the bathroom and stood for a moment looking at the tub with its taps in the shape of gold dolphins. He decided against having a bath and turned on the shower in the adjoining smoked-glass unit. Cherry blossoms gleamed like sunlit snow beyond the bathroom windows, and in the distance an enthusiastic gardener was busy with a lawn mower, performing the first rites of spring.
“Dave?” Julie’s voice was faint above the sound of the water. “Are you up? Want some coffee?”
“Not yet.” Surgenor smiled to himself as he stepped into the jetting warmth of the shower cubicle. “There aren’t any towels up here,” he called. “Can you bring me one—’
A minute later Julie came into the bathroom with a towel. She was wearing a yellow robe, loosely tied, and her gold hair was drawn back with a gold ribbon. The beauty of her filled Surgenor’s eyes.
“I was sure…’ Julie stopped speaking as she glanced around the bathroom and saw the plenitude of towels on their rails. “Oh, Dave! What’s the idea of bringing me all the way upstairs?”
Surgenor grinned at her. “Can’t you guess?”
She ran her gaze over his taut body. “The coffee’s ready.”
“Not as ready as I am. Come on in—the water’s lovely.”
“Promise not to get my hair wet?” she said, pretending the reluctance which was only a part of their love games.
“I promise.”
Julie untied her robe, let it slide back from her shoulders and on to the floor. She stepped into the shower with him. Surgenor took her in his arms and in the minutes that followed he purged himself of all the desire, all the loneliness that a spaceflier is fated to accumulate during his wanderings.
Later, as they were seated at the breakfast table, he felt a strange thought growing unbidden in his mind: If I’m an architect, if I really am an architect, how can I know so much about the way a spaceman feels?
He stared at Julie in a kind of sad puzzlement, and became aware of a soft pressure at the back of his neck. It felt exactly like a pillow. He raised his head, blinked uncomprehendingly at the sparse furnishings of his room in the Sarafand’s living quarters, then threw the pillow aside. Underneath was the flat silvery disc of a Trance-Port player.
Surgenor picked the disc up and one part of his mind tried to solve the mystery of its presence, while another part which felt hurt and betrayed thought: Julie, Julie, why couldn’t you have been real?
He dressed as quickly as he could, left his room and had almost reached the companionway down to the mess when he felt himself being pushed aside. Turning back indignantly he saw Victor Voysey, whose face was angry and abnormally pale. Surgenor began to protest, then he noticed the other man was also carrying a Trance-Port tape player.
“What’s the matter, Vic?” he said, his mind still blurred with the images of the night.
“Somebody switched tapes on me, that’s what’s the matter. And I’ll kill the bastard when I find out who he is.” Voysey was breathing heavily.
“Switched tapes on you?”
“That’s what I said. Somebody went into my room and took my own tape and put a different one in the player.”
Surgenor felt the coolness of premonition. “What tape did you get? Could you recognize it?”
“I think it was young Hilliard’s. The girl seemed…’ Voysey stopped speaking as he noticed the disc in Surgenor’s hand. “What’s going on here, Dave? I thought you didn’t use them?”
“I don’t—but the joker slipped one under my pillow anyway.”
“Then it must have been mine.”
“No. It was Hilliard’s.”
Voysey looked baffled. “But there should be only one of each.”
“So I’m told.” Surgenor went down the companionway into the mess room, followed by Voysey. Most of the crew were already there, standing in a knot at the “east’ end of the room, but Surgenor’s gaze was drawn to the scattering of silvery discs on the table. His premonition crystallized into angry certainty.
“Hi, Dave, Victor,” Pollen said. “I see you’ve been done as well—welcome to the club.”
“How did you like the gang bang?” Gillespie asked, chuckling.
Lamereux glared at him, his brown eyes rimmed with white. “This isn’t funny, Al. I don’t use tapes, but somebody went into my room, into my head—and I don’t like it.”
“If everybody got the same tape sequence, then somebody must have taken Bernie Hilliard’s tape from his room and made a dozen or so copies.”
“I thought the cassettes were designed to prevent copying.”
“They are, but a man with the right experience could do it.”
“Who?”
Surgenor glanced around the room. One man had stayed apart from the discussion and was seated at the table, studiously unconcerned, taking a platter of ham and eggs from the dispensing turret. Surgenor went over to him, with the others following.
“You went too far, Barrow,” Surgenor said.
Barrow raised his eyebrows in polite surprise. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, old son.”
“You know, all right. Leaving aside the whole invasion of privacy bit, I’m going to report you for maliciously starting a fire on board ship. You’ll do time for that.”
“Me!” Barrow looked indignant. “I never started any fire. Why should I?”
“To get everybody down in the hangar so that you could steal Bernie’s Trance-Port and copy the tape and slip it into all the rooms.”
“You’re crazy,” Barrow sneered. “I’m going to excuse it this time, but next time you make an accusation like that, get yourself some proof.”
“I’ll get proof this time,” Surgenor told him. “Aesop monitors all our movements, continuously, only it’s written into our contracts that the recordings will never be played unless it’s a matter of ship safety or a criminal investigation—and this comes under both those headings. I’ll call Aesop now.”
“Wait a minute!” Barrow stood up, spread his hands and put on one of his slate-grey smiles. “I’m no criminal, for God’s sake. Can’t you guys take a joke?”
“Joke!” Voysey pushed by Surgenor and grabbed two handfuls of Barrow’s shirt. “What did you do with my tape?”
“I put it away safe for you. Take it easy, will you?” Barrow had begun to look nervous.
“Let him go—that doesn’t solve anything,” Surgenor said, noting with a sense of surprise that Voysey’s main concern seemed to be the safety of his own Trance-Port tape.
Barrow smoothed out his shirt when he was released. “Look, fellows, I’m sorry if I upset you. It was only…’
“What the hell was the idea?” Voysey was not satisfied and his sand-coloured brows were pulled low over his eyes. “Why did you do it?”
“I…’ Barrow stopped speaking and a gleam of triumph was kindled in his eyes as Bernie Hilliard came into the room. Hilliard looked pink, relaxed and happy.
“Sorry I’m late, men,” he said. “I was having such a good time I just didn’t want to wake up this morning. What’s going on here, anyway?” He allowed his gaze to travel curiously around the group.