"Kid-boy, talk to me."
"Alegra." He let go. "And the golden. Hate golden, Vyme. Always hate them. Because if you start to like one, and then start hating again, it's worse."
"What's going on? What are they doing?"
"He's talking. She's hallucinating. And neither one pays any attention to me."
"I see."
"You don't see. You don't understand about Alegra and me."
Then I was the only one who'd met the both of them who didn't.
"I know you're very fond of each other." More could be said.
Ratlit said more. "We don't even like each other that much, Vyme. But we need each other. Since she's been here, I get her medicine for her. She's too sick to go out much now. And when I have bad changes, or sometimes bright recognitions, it doesn't matter. I bring them to her, and she builds pictures of them for me, and we explore them together and ... learn about things. When she was a psychiatrist for the government, she learned an awful lot about how people tick. And she's got an awful lot to teach me, things I've got to know." Fifteen-year-old ex-psychiatrist drug addict? Same sort of precocity that produces thirteen-year-old novelists. Get used to it. "I need her now almost as much as she needs her ... medicine."
"Have you told the golden you've got him a ship?"
"You didn't say I could have it yet."
"Well, I say so right now. Why don't we go back there and tell him he can be on his way? If we put it a little more politely, don't you think that'll do the trick?"
He didn't say anything. His face just got back a lot of its life.
"We'll go right after we eat. What the hell, I'll buy you a drink. I may even have one with you."
Alegra's was blinding when we arrived. "Ratlit, oh, you're back! Hello, Vyme! I'm so glad you're both here! Everything is beautiful tonight!"
"The golden," Ratlit said. "Where's the golden?"
"He's not here." A momentary throb of sadness dispelled with torturous joy. "But he's coming back!"
"Oh," Ratlit said. His voice echoed through the long corridors of golden absence winding the room. "Cause I got a ship for him. All his. Just had a tuneup. He can leave any time he wants to."
"Here're the keys," I said, taking them from my pouch for dramatic effect. "Happen to have them right here."
As I handed them to Ratlit there were fireworks, applause, a fanfare of brasses. "Oh, that's wonderful. Wonderful! Because guess what, Ratlit? Guess what, Vyme?"
"I don't know," Ratlit said. "What?"
"I'm a golden too!" Alegra cried from the shoulders of the cheering crowd that pushed its way through more admiring thousands.
"Huh?"
"I, me, myself am actually an honest to goodness golden. I just found out today."
"You can't be," Ratlit said.
"You're too old for it just to show up now."
"Something about my medicine," Alegra explained. "It's dreadfully complicated." The walls were papered with anatomical charts, music by Stockhausen. "Something in my medicine kept it from coming out until now, until a golden could come to me, drawing it up and out of the depths of me, till it burst out, beautiful and wonderful and ... golden! Right now he's gone off to Carlson Labs with a urine sample for a final hormone check. They'll tell him in an hour, and he'll bring back my golden belt. But he's sure already. And when he comes back with it, I'm going to go with him to the galaxies, as his apprentice. We're going to find a cure for his sickness and something that will make it so I won't need my medicine any more. He says if you have all the universe to roam around in, you can find anything you look for. But you need it all — not just a cramped little cluster of a few billion stars off in a corner by itself. Oh, I'm free, Ratlit, like you always wanted to be! While you were gone, he ... well, did something to me that was golden, and it triggered my hormonal imbalance!" The image came in through all five senses. Breaking the melodious ecstasy came the clatter of keys as Ratlit hurled them at the wall.
I left feeling pretty odd. Ratlit had started to go too, but Alegra called him back. "Oh, now don't go on like that, Ratty! Act your age. Won't you stay and do me one little last favour?"
So he stayed. When I untangled myself from the place and was walking home, I kept on remembering what Alegra had said about love.
Work next day went surprisingly smoothly. Poloscki called me up about ten and asked if I knew where Ratlit was because he hadn't been at work that day. "You're sure the kid isn't sick?"
I said I'd seen him last night and that he was probably all right. Poloscki made a sort of disgusted sound and hung up.
Sandy left a few minutes early, as he'd been doing all week, to run over to the post office before it closed. He was expecting a letter from his group, he said. I felt strange about having given the ship away out from under him. It was sort of an immature thing to do. But he hadn't said anything about wanting it, and Ratlit was still doing Alegra favours, so maybe it would all work out for the best.
I thought about visiting Alegra that evening. But there was the last six-months' paper work, still not finished. I went into the office, plugged in the computer and got ready to work late.
I was still at it sometime after eleven when the entrance light blinked, which meant somebody had opened the hangar door. I'd locked it. Sandy had the keys so he could come in early. So it was Sandy. I was ready for a break and all set to jaw with him a while. He was always coming back to do a little work at odd hours. I waited for him to come into the office. But he didn't.
Then the needle on the power gauge, which had been hovering near zero with only the drain of the little office computer, swung up to seven. One of the big pieces of equipment had been cut in.
There was some cleanup work to do, but nothing for a piece that size. Frowning, I switched off the computer and stepped out of the office. The first great opening in the hangar roof was mostly blocked with the bulk of Ratlit's/Sandy's/my ship. Stellarplex light curved smoothly over one side, then snarled in the fine webbing of lifts, catwalks, haul-lines and grappler rigging. The other two were empty, and hundred-meter circles of silver dropped through assembly riggings to the concrete floor. Then I saw Sandy.
He stood just inside the light from the last opening, staring up at the Stellarplex, its glare lost in his ruined face. As he raised his left hand — when it started to move I thought it looked too big — light caught on the silver joints of the master-gauntlet he was wearing. I knew where the power was going.
As his hand went above his head, a shadow fell over him as a fifteen-foot slave talon swung from the darkness, its movement aping the master-glove. He dropped his hand in front of his face, fingers curved. Metal claws lowered about him, beginning to quiver. Something about the way ... he was trying to kill himself!
I started running toward those hesitant, gaping claws, leaped into the grip, and reached over his shoulder to slap my forearm into the control glove, just as he squeezed. Like I said, my forearm is big, but when those claws came together, it was a tight fit. Sandy was crying.
"You stupid," I shouted, "inconsiderate, bird-brained, infantile — " as I pried his fingers loose from my arm, the talons jerked open one at a time from around us — "asinine, idiotic — " at last I got the glove off — "puerile ... " Then I said, "What the hell is the matter with you?"
Sandy was sitting on the floor now, his head hung between his shoulders. He stank.
"Look," I said, manoeuvring the slave talon back into place with the gross-motion controls on the gauntlet's wrist, "if you want to go jump off the Edge, that's fine with me. Half the gate's down anyway. But don't come here and mess up my tools. You can squeeze your own head up a little, but you're not going to bust up my glove here. You're fired. Now tell me what's wrong."