"Verrick would never break his oath! He wouldn't let down the people depending on him!"
"He already has. He broke a moral code when he let me swear on. You were mixed up with it; you knew. I took my Oath in good faith."
"Oh, God," Eleanor said wearily. "You'll never forget that, will you? You're angry because you think you were made a fool of."
"It's more than that; don't kid yourself. It's the whole weak miserable structure showing through. You'll find out, someday. I know now; I'm all prepared; What else can you expect in a society of games and quizzes and assassination?"
"Don't blame Verrick. The Challenge was set up years ago when the whole bottle system, the whole M-game, was worked out and set into motion."
"Verrick's not even playing the M-game square. He's trying to beat it with this Pellig strategy."
"It'll work, won't it?"
"Probably."
"Well, then what are you complaining about? Isn't that what's important?" Eleanor grabbed his arm fiercely. "Come on, forget it. You worry too damn much. Moore talks too much and you worry too much. Enjoy yourself—tomorrow's the big day."
She poured drinks and brought Benteley his. He sat sipping moodily, Eleanor beside him on the couch. In the half-light of the apartment the girl's crimson hair glowed and sparkled. She had drawn her legs up under her, Above each ear the lead-gray spot had faded slightly; but they were still there. Leaning against Benteley, her eyes closed, glass cupped in her red-tipped fingers, she said softly," I want you to tell me. Are you going along with us?"
Benteley was silent a moment. "Yes," he said finally.
Eleanor sighed. "Thank God. I'm so glad."
Benteley leaned over and set down his glass on the low table. "I swore on; I took an oath to Verrick. I don't have any choice, unless I want to break my oath and run out on him."
"It's been done."
"I've never broken my oath. I got fed up with Oiseau-Lyre years ago but I never tried to get away. I could have; I'd take the risk of being caught and killed. I accept the law that gives a protector the power of life and death over escaped serfs. But I don't think an oath should be broken, by either the serf or the protector."
"I thought you said it was crumbling."
"It is. But I don't want to help it along."
Eleanor set her glass down and reached up to put her smooth bare arms around his neck. "What kind of a life have you had? What have you done? Have you lived with very many women?"
"A few."
"What were they like?"
Benteley shrugged. "Various kinds."
"Were they nice?"
"I guess so."
"Who was the last?"
Benteley thought back. "A few months ago. A class 7-9 girl named Julie."
Eleanor's green eyes were fixed on him intently. "Tell me what she was like."
"Small. Pretty."
"Very much like me?"
"Your hair is nicer." He touched the girl's soft, flame-red hair. "You have very nice hair. And eyes." He took her tight against him and held her for a long time. "You're very nice."
The girl's small fist was clutched around the charms that rested between her breasts. "It's all coming out right. Luck, very good luck." She stretched up to kiss him on the mouth; her warm, intense face vibrated against his for a moment and then she sank back down with a sigh. "It's going to be good, all of us working here together, being together."
Benteley said nothing.
After a time Eleanor detached herself from him and lit a cigarette. She sat gazing seriously at him, arms folded, chin up, eyes large and solemn. "You're going a long way, Ted. Verrick thinks a lot of you. I was so afraid when you did that, last night. When you said those things. But he liked it. He respects you; he thinks you have something on the ball. And he's right! There's something unique and strong inside you." She added pathetically, "Golly, I wish I could teep you. But it's gone, it's really gone."
"I wonder if Verrick knows how much you gave up."
"Verrick has more important things to think about." Her voice caught with sudden excitement.
"Tomorrow maybe well be back in! Things will be the way they were before, the way you wanted them to be. Won't that be wonderful?"
"I guess so."
Eleanor put down her cigarette and leaned over quickly to kiss him. "And you really will be along with us? You'll really help operate Pellig?"
Benteley nodded faintly. "Yes."
"Then everything's perfect." She gazed up hungrily into his face, green eyes hot and excited in the semi-gloom. Her breath came quick and harsh, sweet-scented in his face. "Are these rooms all right? Are they large enough? Do you have many things to bring?"
"Not many," Benteley said. A dull, heavy weight seemed to hang over him, a listless torpor. "This is fine."
With a contented sigh, Eleanor slid away from him and with a single lithe motion swept up her glass. She snapped off the lamp and lay back happily against him. The only light was the glow of her cigarette resting in the little copper ashtray. The deep low color of burning .flame radiated from the girl's hair and lips. The nipples of her breasts seemed darkly luminous in the twilight. After a time Benteley turned to her, stirred by the steady lights of her body.
They lay satiated and languid, among their crumpled clothes, bodies steaming moistly with fulfilled love. Eleanor stretched her bare arm to collect what remained of her cigarette. She brought it to her lips, close to Benteley's face, and breathed the oddly sweet scent of sexual satisfaction into his eyes, and nose, and mouth.
"Ted," she whispered presently, "I'm enough for you, aren't I?" She pulled herself up a trifle, a flow of muscles and flesh. "I know I'm sort of... small."
"You're fine," he said vaguely.
"There isn't anybody you remember you'd rather be with?" When there was no answer, she went on, "I mean, perhaps I'm not really much good at it, am I?"
"Sure. You're swell." His voice was empty, toneless. He lay against her inert and lifeless. "Just right."
_"Then what's wrong?"_
"Nothing," Benteley said. He struggled to his feet and moved dully away from her. "I'm just tired. I think I'll turn in." His voice gained sudden harshness. "As you. said, tomorrow should be a big day."
NINE
LEON CARTWRIGHT was eating breakfast with Rita O'Neill and Peter Wakeman when the ipvic relay operator notified him that a closed-circuit transmission from the ship had been picked up.
"Sorry," Captain Groves said, as each faced the other across billions of miles of space. "I see it's morning there. You're still wearing your old blue dressing gown."
Cartwright's face was pale and haggard. And the image was bad; extreme distance made it waver and fade. "Where exactly are you?" he asked, in a slow, hesitant voice.
"Forty astronomical units out," Groves answered. Cartwright's appearance was a shock to him, but he was not certain how much was due to the distortions of long-distance relay transmission. "Well start moving out into uncharted space, soon. I've already switched over from the official navigation charts to Preston's material."
The ship had gone perhaps halfway. Flame Disc held an orbit of twice the radius vector of Pluto—assuming that it existed. The orbit of the ninth planet marked the limit of charted exploration; beyond it lay an infinite waste about which little was known and much had been conjectured. In a short while the ship would pass the final signal buoys and leave the finite, familiar universe behind.