"You're young. You'll get used to it."
"I'm not going to get used to it!" She brightened. "Of course, I've done better than some." She tossed her flame-red mane of hair and her eyes clouded, green and luxurious and cunning. "I've lived with a lot of men, since I was sixteen. I can't remember how many; I meet them the way I met you, at work or at parties, sometimes tirough friends. We live together awhile, and then we quarrel. Something always goes wrong; it never lasts." Her terror shivered back, violent and overwhelming. "They leave! They stay around awhile and then they take off, they let me down. Or they... throw me out."
"It happens," Benteley said. He hardly heard her; he was thinking his own thoughts.
"I'll find the one, someday," Eleanor said fervently. "Won't I? And I'm only nineteen. Haven't I done all right for nineteen? That's not very long. And Verrick's my protector: I can always depend on him."
Benteley roused himself. "Are you asking me to live with you?"
Eleanor blushed. "Well, would you mind?"
He didn't answer.
"What's the matter?" she asked quickly, hurt-eyed and urgent.
"Nothing to do with you." Benteley turned his back to her and wandered over to the translucent view-wall. He restored it to transparency. "The Hill looks pretty at night," he said, gazing moodily out. "You wouldn't know, to look at it now, what it really is."
"Forget the Hill!" Eleanor snapped the gray mist back. "It isn't me? Then it's Verrick. I know—it's Reese Verrick. Oh, God. You were so eager that day, when you came bursting into the office with your briefcase clutched like a chastity belt." She smiled a little. "You were so excited. Like a Christian finally getting into heaven. You had waited so long... you expected so much. There was something terribly appealing about you. I hoped to see you around."
"I wanted to get out of the Hill system. I wanted to get to something better. To the Directorate."
"The Directorate!" Eleanor laughed. "What's that? An abstraction! What do you think makes up the Directorate?" She breathed rapidly, eyes wide, pulse throbbing. "It's people who are real, not institutions and offices. How can you be loyal to a—thing? New men come in, the old ones die, faces change. Does your loyalty remain? Why? To what? Superstition! You're loyal to a word, a name. Not to a living entity of flesh and blood."
"There's more than that," Benteley said. "It isn't just offices and desks. It represents something."
"What does it represent?"
"It stands above all of us. It's bigger than any man or any group of men. Yet, in a way it's everybody."
"It's nobody. When you have a friend he's a particular person, not a class or a work-group, isn't he? You don't have class 4-7 as your friend, do you? When you go to bed with a woman, it's a particular woman, isn't it? Everything else in the universe has collapsed... shifting, random, purposeless gray smoke you can't put your hands on. The only thing that's left is people; your family, your friends, your mistress, your protector. You can touch them, be close to them... breathing _life_ that's warm and solid. Perspiration, skin and hair, saliva, breath, bodies. Taste, touch, smell, colors. Good God, there has to be something you can grab hold of! What is there, beyond people? What is there you can depend on besides your protector?"
"Depend on yourself."
"Reese takes care of me! He's big and strong."
"He's your father," Benteley said. "And I hate fathers."
"You're—psychotic. There's something wrong with you."
"I know," Benteley agreed. "I'm a sick man. And the more I see, the sicker I get. I'm so sick I think everybody else is sick and I'm the only healthy person. That's pretty bad off, isn't it?"
"Yes," Eleanor said breathlessly.
"I'd like to pull this whole thing down with a big loud crash. But I don't have to; it's collapsing by itself. Everything is thin and empty and metallic. Games, lotteries—a bright kid's toy! All that holds it together is the oath. Positions for sale, cynicism, luxury and poverty, indifference... noisy tv sets shrilling away. A man goes out to murder another man and everybody claps their hands and watches. What do we believe in? What do we have? Brilliant criminals working for powerful criminals. Loyalty we swear away to plastic busts."
"The bust is a symbol. And it's not for sale. That's one thing you can't buy and sell." Her green eyes flashed triumphantly. "You know that, Ted. It's the most precious thing we have. Loyalty between us, between protector and serf, between a man and his mistress."
"Maybe," Benteley said slowly, "a person should be loyal to an ideal."
"An ideal what?"
Benteley's mind refused to turn out an answer. The wheels, the gears and rods, were stuck. Unfamiliar, incomprehensible thoughts were crowding in, unwanted and unasked-for, throwing the mechanism into grinding uncertainty. Where had the torrent come from? He didn't know. "That's all we have left," he said finally. "Our oaths. Our loyalty. That's the cement that keeps this whole thing from collapsing. And what's it worth? How good is it? Not much good. It's crumbling away while we stand here."
Eleanor gasped. "It isn't!"
"Is Moore loyal to Verrick?"
"No! That's why I left him. Him and his theories. That's all he's loyal to, them and Herb Moore." Her good-luck charms danced furiously. "I loathe that!"
"Verrick isn't loyal," Benteley said carefully. He tried to measure the girl's reaction; her face was stunned and colorless. "It isn't Moore; don't blame him. He's out for what he can get. So is everybody else. So is Reese Verrick. Any one of them would throw away his oath to get hold of a little more loot, a little more pull. It's one big scramble for the top. They're all struggling to get up there-and nothing is going to stand in their way. When all the cards are turned up, you'll see how little loyalty counts."
"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."