“If I could make it to be some other way, I would,” he said. He reached up to the switch on the wall over his head, preparing to turn off the light. A glance at Grace showed the tears running down her cheeks. He clicked the switch, lay back in the darkness.
“You know, don’t you?” she asked, her voice remote.
Had she realized her position is no longer secret? he wondered. “Know what?” he asked.
“That I love you.” The voice so small, so faint.
His feeling was consternation. He didn’t know what to say, waited, feeling like a coward and a fool.
“I understand how it is,” she said. “I’ll hold to our bargain. You can have me any way you want, Dan.”
“Thanks,” he said and could have bitten off his tongue the instant he’d spoken. Sure, thanks for giving me your life, everything you have. Thanks for being so brave in the giving. Sorry it leaves you so poor, old thing. Can’t be helped, I guess.
A dry sob came from Grace’s direction.
This could be even more complex, he thought. She loves me, yet she has to report to her father, who reports to O’Brien. So she offers herself to me to make it up, to ease her conscious. But that was too complicated; that was O’Brien’s type of thinking.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said.
“I understand. I know you don’t love me.”
“I don’t know how I feel. I thought all I had room for was hate. I guess I’m still numb inside.”
He was surprised to find this was true.
Through the silence he could hear her uneven breathing. Suddenly, he realized how it must be for a woman like her—something tossed about by the cold logic of men. He remembered that Quilliam London knew she was supposed to be pregnant. And the old man’s first thought had not been of his daughter’s welfare. No. It had been about his precious plans. What made men like Quilliam London? Maybe it was fighting a system they hated and always losing. Or, never quite winning.
“Dan.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry I’ve complicated your life like this.” Her voice had a little catch in it.
Damn it! She was so absolutely defenseless. He slipped out of bed, was half way across to her before he realized he was nude. In the darkness, what’s the difference? he thought. He knelt beside her bed, reached out, stroked her forehead. “Don’t be sorry, Grace.”
No, don’t be sorry, Grace. Just listen to this one befuddled male trying to make it up to you for the cruelty of other men.
She caught his hand, pressed it against her cheek.
“No man is ever sorry when a woman loves him,” he said. “Especially…” he paused. The lie came quite easily, easier than he had expected. “…when he’s in love with that woman.”
Her arms were about his neck, pulling him to her. He found her lips, tasted the salt tears and the gladness. She disengaged one hand, pulled back the blankets, urged him in beside her.
It was like nothing he had ever before experienced. Such a free giving, a happiness. No demanding or taking. Afterward, he went to sleep with his head on her arm, her hand stroking his hair, her voice whispering, “My darling… my darling… my darling…”
Just before he fell asleep the thought came creeping up out of his unconscious. “You knew love would be like this.” He pushed the thought away.
Chapter 17
O’Brien paced his office, pausing occasionally to glare fiercely at Quilliam London, who sat in his accustomed chair at the end of the table, leaning forward to rest his arms upon the wood surface. On a chair beside London were an LP infirmary bag, a dark wig, rubber cheek distenders—his disguise.
The Bu-Psych chief had a feline look as he paced. “And she still refuses to come to you?”
“That’s right. Three days now.” London’s voice sounded tired.
“Doesn’t she realize nothing is more important than getting safely past this crisis?” O’Brien paused in his restless pacing, turned toward London. “What about the Sep organization?”
“I still get some reports,” said London. “The man is a whirlwind. He has a second sight for picking lieutenants who will know exactly what to do.” He drew in a deep breath, exhaled in a sigh. “Grace is the big flaw.”
“We didn’t plan on this.” O’Brien resumed his pacing. “Better alert Navvy to do the job if necessary.”
“I’ve already told him.”
“What’s his reaction?”
“He wants to know if we’re certain Grace loves Movius. And he’s tired of this hiding and slinking about. He’s as tired of it as I am.”
“You’ve done it before,” said O’Brien. Back and forth, pacing.
“But I was younger. Walking like a young man comes hard for me.” He tipped his craggy brows down. “Well, is he in love with her?”
O’Brien stopped. “Of course he is. The hypno-examination only confirmed what I already knew. He’s in love with her, but he can’t admit it to himself because he’s consumed by his drive for revenge. There’s a mother image underneath which fits Grace too closely. We should have thought of that.”
“He’s still useful to us,” said London. “The organization he has accomplished is phenomenal.”
“He’s useful as long as he’s dominated by hate,” said O’Brien. “This is no time for love. If we recognized how he feels about Grace we’d have to get rid of him. He’d turn soft, cautious.” O’Brien turned his back on London. “Do you think she’s really pregnant?”
He could not see London shrug, but he sensed it.
“If she’s not, why would Movius say such a thing?” asked O’Brien.
London stared at O’Brien’s back. “To see your reaction.”
O’Brien whirled. “That man is dangerous!”
“I see he got a reaction,” said London.
“Of course he got a reaction!”
“I’m more certain than ever that it’s not true.”
“Why?”
“We’ve made a dangerous error. We’ve underestimated our man. He was feeling for a reaction, hoping to panic us into an ill-considered move.”
“Such as?”
“My call to Grace immediately after you called me.”
O’Brien sank into his chair. “If Grace told me what you wanted, he has put two and two together.”
“One and one together,” said London. “Us.”
“Tell Navvy to get rid of him.”
London shook his head. “No! He’s still useful. If we can coalesce the uprising behind Movius we can still control it until we’re ready to dispose of him.”
“And what about Grace?”
London’s shoulders sagged. “That’s the chance we took.” His voice sank almost to a whisper. “Anyone is expendable.” The hunter’s eyes looked up at the chart of civilizations. “That’s what counts, preserving the knowledge of that for the next civilization, showing the new ones how to ride over a crisis.”
“We may have to lure Grace away from him when the time comes,” said O’Brien.
London unbent, rising out of his chair like some tall insect. “I will take care of that. I still know how to handle Grace.”
CR-14 was on the fifty-ninth floor of the Bu-Trans Building. The office looked out over the high-walled rear parking are where the big vans were kept, row on row of them far down below, angled precisely between white lines. By eleven o’clock most of the vans would be out working. It was early yet, though, and few had been dispatched. Movius stood at the window, looking down, waiting for Rafe Newton to appear. The cold-eyed receptionist had said Newton would be in shortly. It was a good thing. Another day of this waiting and he’d have discarded caution, started some action. But that was what they wanted him to do, obviously.
Three days they’d kept him waiting.