"I'm sorry I taught you to enjoy tobacco," said Ogtate as he tossed a package.
The Martian caught it in his trunk and walked to the corner. There he lifted the rug, opened a trap-door, and climbed through it. Ogtate replaced the rug and walked to the front of the house.
When he saw the woman, he clung to the sides of the door. "Lord," he said, "I thought at first you were Barbara."
"I am Barbara," she answered. She had a beautiful smile. "I'm Major Barbara Killison. I'm a doctor. I understand you're sick."
"So that's the way the wind blows, is it?" he snarled. "How dumb do they think I am? Sure, I was sick and will be again. But I'm not so far out of my head that I don't know when I'm being played for a fall guy."
"May I come in?" she asked coolly. She marched straight at him. He had to let her in or else block her body. At the last moment, he stepped aside and watched her put her bag on a table, open it and take out a stethoscope. "Would you mind unbuttoning sour shirt?"
"That, too? Sure, I'll take off everything. That's what they put you up to, isn't it?"
"I may have to give you a complete examination." He laughed loudly. "Come on, Killison. Let's not be coy. I know that Old Fox Yewliss is bent on forcing the Belos from me. I know how his mind works. He submits a list of facts, or supposed facts, about my life to the Comprob. `What says the Coruprob?' he asks. And it answers that if he wants the secret, send some one who can seduce it front me. A Delilah to clip the long-haired Samson. Get a girl who looks like his wife. He'll like that; he's very much in love with her. Have her be a doctor. If all else fails, she can bat her lashes over her big blue eyes and say shell make the sacrifice. She'll allow herself to be aspated and share his lonely life. Together, two against the world, they'll walk hand in hand into the setting sun and make beautiful music together. There's only one catch in the whole plan. I won't follow it."
"I wish I knew everything, too," she replied calmly.
He held out his arm, fist clenched, blue vein ready for the needle. "Go ahead, I have been sick. You just now caught me in one of my healthier moods."
"There's hope for you. You're certainly not apathetic. Angry people are on the road to recovery."
"Time is the only thing that will cure my anger. I have eight years to live in this mobile prison. If I decide to stick it out, that is ..."
She shot a look from under lowered lids to see if he were bidding for sympathy. Catching it, he sneered. She wondered if he thought the glance was one of coquetry. Flushing despite herself, she took the blood sample and then walked to the table where she set up her rack of tubes and several tiny machines.
"If you want to, you may use my lab," he said. "It's very large, set up at Government expense." "May I?" she asked.
"Go ahead. It's the last door to the left at the end of the hall."
Glad that he wasn't going with her, she said, "Thank you," and walked down the long, deserted corridor. A feeling came to her that he was watching. She sensed his eyes roving her hips. She tried to modify their sway, for she knew very well that her walk aroused men. She couldn't help it; she was born with the talent. Nevertheless, for some reason, she now felt self-conscious. His eyes were feverish, skimming the goose-pimples on her skin.
When she entered the lab, she stopped short and gasped. It was a mess: broken glass and torn books and stinking liquids littered the floor. Even a shatterproof window bore spiderweb streaks where he'd struck it. Dried blood stained one corner of it.
The damage didn't matter. She went to the lab for privacy. A flick of the toggle on the wristbox and a syllable reached Yewliss at once.
"Yew, what have you been feeding this man?"
"What?"
"Somebody's tampered with his food. It's no wonder he suffers recurrent fevers. I found enough pyretigen in his blood to send an elephant to bed."
"All right," came his deep voice, somewhat tinny through the receiver. "I could pretend innocence. I won't. The Comprob estimated that a fever would bring him even closer to the breaking point. His mother nursed him through three attacks of a fever while he was vacationing as a child in India. So I gave him an artificial temperature. It won't hurt him."
"Yew, if this gets out, you'll be disgraced!"
"I know it. Babs, don't be mad. I don't like to be dramatic-" he paused when she laughed-"but the fate of humanity depends on Ogtate. I'd do anything -even give up you, much as I love you-to get the Belos. Time is short; our scientists are working furiously to duplicate the Belos principle, but without success so far. No, Babs. What I'm doing-how many men you know would dare it? Remember, this is for you, too."
She shook. "That may be true, but I don't want anyone to violate another's free will like that. Not even for the world. Or for me."
His voice was anger-stippled. "Sure, I know it violates everything you were taught. But I'm a congenital sceptic. The stuff they injected me with never `took'.
If I have a goal, I reach it. That's the motto of my world, Callisto. A damn good thing for Earth, too. Do you realize that a large percentage of top officers of the military come from outlying satellites? They're the only ones who aren't afraid to command others ... Never mind. No time for that. Has anything interesting happened? Do you like Ogtate?"
She cried, "I don't think I like either of you!" and she flicked off the toggle.
8
Bill Ogtate watched Barbara walking down the hall. A new, different fever ran through him. When he thought of her, the pit of his belly flamed. Breathing hard, he walked into the library, locked the door, and flicked on the wall-viso. The screen showed the pilot-room of a spaceship buried in mud beneath the floating-dock on the west side of Lemon's Island. Smith had reached it through an underground, underwater passage constructed for the use of the eccentric who had ordered the island built.
Smith, or, if you preferred, Ixtrungszb, stared at him with solid green-blue eyes. His trunk lifted, and the sidewise-grinding rows of teeth showed through his mustache. He stuck a cigar in his mouth and blew smoke-rings through the trunk, a feat the human much admired. "Bill, what's the matter?"
The man's voice trembled. "I think you're going to get your answer within the next few hours," he said.
The Priami removed his cigar. "Ah, the female is the catalyst."
"Yes. I'm going to decide, one way or the other. She'll have to leave by this morning or else stay for eight years."
Smith blew surprise through his trunk. "I, of course, am unable to judge her beauty, since I have quite different standards. I see she's affected you very much."
"It's far from being that simple. I'm weary of life. She has appeared at the psychological moment."
Smith expelled more smoke through his waving proboscis and said. "Well, Bill, I'll stick to my promise. If you decide to give the Belos to Earth and not to us, I’ll not kill you or kidnap you. I'll just take back the message. But I hope for the sake of universal peace that your answer is favorable."