“Hey!” His eyes grew round with wonderment. “We got ourselves some kinda circus strong lady here, Sal. A real athletic type.”
“Nice muscles,” Sal said approvingly. He was moving closer to Gretana, a red-grinning apparition, when a chubby man in guard’s uniform came through the nearest bulkhead door.
“Rockville next stop,” the man droned, then paused. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing—take a walk.” Sal stabbed his thumb in the direction of the far end of the carriage.
“I’m going to Rockville,” Gretana said quickly. “Would you please take my case?”
The guard nodded uncertainly and reached for the case, but Sal stood up and blocked his way. “Forget it!” He tilted his head and mined the case’s dangling name tag. “We’ll look after Greta’s bag.”
“I don’t know these men.” Gretana locked eyes with the guard. “Please help me. I want to get off the train.”
“This is a personal matter, chief,” Sal said, tapping the older man’s chest with a black-nailed finger. “You don’t want to butt into no personal matter, do you?”
The guard’s eyes clouded over as he looked away from Gretana. In that moment the door behind him slid open to reveal two male passengers in the carriage connecting space, looking as though they were preparing to disembark, and the darkness beyond the window was replaced by the slow-gliding lights of a station. Gretana, propelled by anxious strength, lunged upwards, snatched her case from the rack and—with a speed which almost defied natural laws—snaked past the human barriers and reached the carriage’s outer door. Within seconds she was down on the station platform and hurrying towards the exit. To her disappointment, the station was a small and unmanned affair with only a shed to house ticket machines and drinks vendors.
“I told you she didn’t ’ppreciate you, Des.” The voice came from only a few paces behind her. “I mean, that was embarrassing, man.”
“It all adds to the amusement, Sally boy.” Des did not sound amused. “You’ll see.”
Gretana glanced back and saw that, whereas the two leather-clad figures were very close, the few other passengers who had alighted seemed to have dispersed into the night. She broke into a run, but found it difficult to stride out efficiently with the constriction of the Earth-style skirt and shoes. One of her pursuers gave a derisive chuckle. She reached the concrete apron of the canopied building, ran across it towards the sparse lights of the street beyond and almost sobbed with relief when she saw a man in what she recognised as a police uniform. He was standing with his back against a black-and-white car, one thumb hooked into his belt, the other hand holding a white plastic cup to his lips. Gretana went straight to him.
“Please help me,” she gasped. “Those men…”
Des and Sal, feet slapping noisily, halted when they saw the Policeman, but—contrary to what Gretana had hoped and expected—showed no inclination to back away. They exchanged glances, nodded, and moved several paces closer.
“Come on, Greta.” Des spoke in a wheedling voice, as though patching up a quarrel.
“I don’t know these men,” Gretana said urgently to the policeman, who had not moved. “They assaulted me on the train. I had to run to get away from them.”
“Greta, you’re taking the joke too far,” Des warned. “The officer doesn’t have time to play games.”
The policeman lowered his cup, scanned Gretana’s face with thoughtful grey eyes, then turned to her pursuers. “You two Crows aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No, but…”
“In that case, maybe you should get back on the train.”
Des looked affronted. “I thought this was a free country. I thought a citizen still had freedom of choice about…”
“I’m giving you a free choice,” the policeman cut in, carefully setting his cup on the roof of the car. “Do you want to walk on the train, or be poured on?”
“That’s nice, from a public servant.” Des glanced from the policeman to Gretana and back again, and a grin spread on his face like the slow opening of a wound. “I get it—trouble with the old nightstick, huh?”
The policeman unfolded his body away from the car, making himself taller. “You’ve got about thirty seconds to hop on that train.”
“We’re going,” Des said with mock-sweetness. “Have a good night.” The two men turned and, flapping their loose black garments like plumage, loped back into the station and broke into an outright run as a bell rang on the train. Gretana waited until they had boarded one of the moving carriages before she dared relax.
“Thank you,” she said to the big man at her side. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”
“I daresay you’d have come up with something,” he replied with an inflexion which she found puzzling. “Is that your name? Greta?”
“Yes. Greta Rushton.”
“Where do you live, Greta?”
“Silver Spring.” She had to concentrate to recall the assigned address. “Remington Avenue.”
“You got off the train one stop too soon.”
“I’ve already told you why,” Gretana said, aware of the begin-inss of a new uneasiness. The policeman’s youngish face was hard and unreadable.
“So you did.” The policeman looked at his green-glowing watch, then opened the passenger door of his car. “Get in the car, Greta.’ There won’t be another train for near-enough thirty minutes, and you might as well be comfortable.”
“All right.” Leaving her case beside the car, Gretana got into the vehicle. The interior smelled of rubber and smoke, and a radio mounted on the dash was emitting irregular fizzing sounds. The policeman dropped into the seat beside her and without any hesitation pulled Gretana towards him. His lips came down hard on her own, and at the same time she felt his hand slide under her jacket, the fingers encircling one of her breasts. Shocked, stifled and uncertain of how to react, she held herself perfectly still and tried to dredge up specific knowledge concerning sexual behaviour on Earth.
The average Terran female, came the implanted words, is fertile for approximately three decades, but the tempo of ovulation—set by the planet’s huge Moon—is only twenty-eight days, which means that, in contrast to the pattern on Mollan…
“What the hell!” The policeman abruptly pushed Gretana away from him and peered into her face. “Don’t get cute with me, Greta.”
She stared straight ahead, into stellar distances. “Please let me go.”
“Please let you go!” He studied her from beneath tightening brows. “You’re really playing it straight up, yes?”
She understood the question only by context. “Yes.”
“Then why are you wandering around by yourself at night, for Christ’s sake? All by yourself and done up like a…” The policeman paused, sighed heavily, then leaned across Gretana and Pushed open the door. “Take off!”
“Gladly.” She got out of the car, picked up her case and walked back to the station building. The black-and-white departed immediately with a querulous whine from its electric drive, leaving her totally alone in the darkness of the alien planet. She felt physically sick and afraid, wondering how many more encounters with ugliness there would be before she reached the comparative safety of her apartment. The nearer she came to her journey’s end the more hazardous it seemed and, as an ever-present accompaniment to her fears, the Moon was prowling like some obscene animal, far below the eastern horizon.
Incredibly, as far as Gretana was concerned, she was able to adapt to her new life within a matter of weeks.
The apartment had been leased on her behalf by a long-established Bureau worker, based in New Orleans, who had made the arrangements through a local real estate agency. It was part of a small modern block, exclusive enough to allow her to control the frequency of social contacts, but without being in any way ostentatious. For the first few days she spent most of her time in its shaded rooms, adjusting to the basic fact of being on Earth, experimenting with the stored food supply and cooking facilities, and watching a great deal of television.