The voyage settled into routine—steady identical hours broken by meals and sleep-periods at whatever rhythm the passenger chose. To while away the tedium, or perhaps because the tedium provided nothing else to think of, Farr began an innocent flirtation with Mrs. Anderview. Her husband was engrossed in writing a voluminous report regarding the achievements of his mission at Dapa Coory, on the planet Mazen, and was seen only at meal-times, leaving Mrs. Anderview much to herself—and to Farr. She was a graceful woman, with a rich mouth and a provocative half-smile. Farr’s part in the affair extended no further than a frame of mind, a warmth of tone, a significant glance or two—a lukewarm matter at best. He was correspondingly surprised when Mrs. Anderview, whose first name he did not know, came quietly into his cabin one evening, smiling with a kind of shy recklessness.
Farr sat up blinking.
“May I come in?”
“You’re already in.”
Mrs. Anderview nodded slowly and slid the panel shut behind her. Farr noticed suddenly that she was far prettier than he had let himself observe, that she wore a perfume of indefinable sweetness: aloes, cardamon, limone.
She sat beside him. “I grow so bored,” she complained. “Night after night Merritt writes, it’s always the same. He thinks of nothing but his budget. And I—I like fun.”
The invitation could hardly have been more explicit. Farr examined first one side of the situation then the other. He cleared his throat, while Mrs. Anderview, blushing a little, watched him.
There was a rap at the door. Farr jumped to his feet, as if he were already guilty. He eased the panel open. Waiting outside was Omon Bozhd.
“Farr Sainh, may I consult you for a moment? I would consider it a great favor.”
“Well,” said Farr, “I’m busy right now.”
“The matter transcends business.”
Farr turned to the woman. “Just a minute, I’ll be right back.”
“Hurry!” She seemed very impatient. Farr looked at her in surprise and started to speak.
“Sh,” she warned him. Farr shrugged and stepped out into the corridor.
“What’s the trouble?” he asked Omon Bozhd.
“Farr Sainh—would you like to save your life?”
“Very much indeed,” said Farr, “but—”
“Invite me into your cabin.” Omon Bozhd took a step forward.
“There’s hardly room,” said Farr. “And anyway—”
The Iszic said earnestly, “You understand the pattern, do you not?”
“No,” said Farr. “I’d like to—but I’m afraid I don’t.”
Omon Bozhd nodded. “Your gallantry must be forgotten. Let us enter your cabin. There is not much time.” Sliding back the panel, he stepped through. Farr followed, sure he was a fool, but not sure exactly what kind of fool.
Mrs. Merritt Anderview jumped to her feet. “Oh,” she gasped, flushing. “Mr. Farr!”
Farr held out his hands helplessly. Mrs. Anderview started to march from the cabin, but Omon Bozhd stood in her way. He grinned, his pale mouth split, showing his gray palate and his arch of pointed teeth.
“Please, Mrs. Anderview, do not leave, your reputation is safe.”
“I have no time to waste,” she said sharply. Farr saw suddenly that she was not pretty, that her face was pinched, her eyes angry and selfish.
“Please,” said Omon Bozhd, “not just yet. Sit down, if you will.”
A rap-rap on the door. A voice hoarse with fury. “Open up, open up in there!”
“Certainly,” said Omon Bozhd. He flung the panel wide. Anderview stood framed in the opening, the whites of his eyes showing. He held a shatter-gun, his hand was trembling. He saw Omon Bozhd, his shoulders sagged, his jaw slackened.
“Excuse me for not asking you in,” said Farr. “We’re a little crowded.”
Anderview reorganized his passion. “What’s going on in here?”
Mrs. Anderview pushed out upon the catwalk. “Nothing,” she said in a throaty voice. “Nothing at all.” She swept down the corridor.
In a negligent voice Omon Bozhd spoke to Anderview. “There is nothing for you here. Perhaps you had better join your lady.”
Anderview slowly turned on his heel and departed.
Farr felt weak in the knees. Here were depths he could not fathom, whorls of motive and purpose… He sank down on the bunk, burning at the thought of how he had been played for a sucker.
“An excellent pretext for expunging a man,” remarked the Iszic. “At least in the framework of Earth institutions.”
Farr glanced up sharply, detecting a sardonic flavor to the remark. He said grudgingly, “I guess you saved my hide—two or three square feet of it, anyway.”
Omon Bozhd moved his hand, gesturing with a nonexistent viewer. “A trifle.”
“Not to me,” Farr growled. “I like my hide.”
The Iszic turned to go.
“Just a minute,” said Farr. He rose to his feet. “I want to know what’s going on.”
“The matter is surely self-explanatory?”
“Maybe I’m stupid.”
The Iszic examined him thoughtfully. “Perhaps you’re too close to the situation to see it in its whole.”
“You’re of the Szecr?” asked Farr.
“Every foreign agent is of the Szecr.”
“Well, what’s going on? Why are the Anderviews after me?”
“They’ve weighed you, balanced your usefulness against the danger you represent.”
“This is absolutely fantastic!”
Omon Bozhd focused both fractions of his eyes on Farr. He spoke in a reflective key. “Every second of existence is a new miracle. Consider the countless variations and possibilities that await us every second—avenues into the future. We take only one of these; the others—who knows where they go? This is the eternal marvel, the magnificent uncertainty of the second next to come, with the past a steady unfolding carpet of denouement.”
“Yes, yes,” said Farr.
“Our minds become numbed to the wonder of life, because of its very pressure and magnitude.” Omon Bozhd at last took his eyes off Farr. “In such a perspective this affair has intrinsic interest no more or less than taking a single breath.”
Farr said in a stiff voice, “I can breathe as many times as I care to. I can die only once, so there does seem a certain practical difference. Apparently you think so too—and I admit to being in your debt. But— why?”
Omon Bozhd swung his absent viewer. “Iszic rationale is of course different to that of the Earther. We, nevertheless, share certain instincts, such as reverence for vitality and the impulse to aid our acquaintances.”
“I see,” said Farr. “Your action then was merely a friendly good turn?”
Omon Bozhd bowed. “You may regard it as such. And now I will bid you good night.” He left the cabin.
Farr sat numbly upon his bed. In the last few minutes the Anderviews had metamorphosed from a kindly, rather remote, missionary and his attractive wife to a pair of ruthless murderers. But why? Why?
Farr shook his head in abject puzzlement. The Szecr sub-commandant had mentioned a poisoned thorn and a poisoned drink: evidently their responsibility as well. Angrily he jumped to his feet, strode to the door, which he slid back and looked along the catwalk. To right and left glimmered the gray glass ribbon. Overhead a similar ribbon gave access to the cabins next above. Farr quietly left the cabin, walked to the end of the catwalk, and looked through the arch into the lounge. The two young tourists, the sanitary engineer, and a pair of Iszic were playing poker. The Iszic were ahead of the game, with one fraction of their eyes focused on the cards, the other on the faces of their opponents.