Thin lips parted slyly in a cold grin. “Not at all, Commander Warshow. I simply thought I’d be civil and walk with you a way, just to swap the news. After all, if you’re leaving in four days we’re not really rivals any more, and—”
“Exactly,” Warshow said.
“What’s this about one of your crewmen living with a native?” Kross asked suddenly.
Warshow spun on his heel and glared up tensely. “Nothing,” he grated. “You hear that? There’s nothing to it!”
Kross chuckled, and Warshow saw that he had decidedly lost a point in the deadly cold rivalry between Terran and Rigelian, between man and son of man. Genetic drift accounted for the Domnik Krosses—a little bit of chromosome looping on a colonized planet, a faint tincture of inbreeding over ten generations, and a new subspecies had appeared: an alien subspecies that bore little love for its progenitors.
They reached a complex fork in the street, and the commander impulsively turned to the left. Gratifyingly, he noticed that Kross was not following him.
“See you next year!” the Rigelian said.
Warshow responded with a noncommittal grunt and kept moving down the dirty street, happy to be rid of Kross so soon. The Rigelians, he thought, were nasty customers. They were forever jealous of the mother world and its people, forever anxious to outrace an Earthman to a profitable deal on a world such as Kollidor.
Because of Kross, Warshow reflected, I’m going where I’m going now. Pressure from the Rigelians forced Earthmen to keep up appearances throughout the galaxy. The Earthman’s Burden, Terrans termed it unofficially. To leave a deserter behind on Kollidor would endanger Earth’s prestige in the eyes of the entire universe—and the shrewd Rigelians would make sure the entire universe knew.
Warshow felt hemmed in. As he approached the flat where Falk said he was living, he felt cascades of perspiration tumbling stickily down his back.
“Yes, please?”
Warshow now stood at the door, a little appalled by the sight and the smell. A Kollidorian female faced him squarely.
Good God, he thought. She’s sure no beauty.
“I’m…Commander Warshow,” he said. “Of the Magyar. Matt’s ship. May I come in?”
The sphincterlike mouth rippled into what Warshow supposed was a gracious smile. “Of course. I have hoped you would come. Matt has spoken so much of you.”
She backed away from the door, and Warshow stepped inside. The pungent rankness of concentrated Kollidorian odor assaulted his nostrils. It was an unpainted two-room flat; beyond the room they were in, Warshow saw another, slightly larger and sloppier, with kitchen facilities. Unwashed dishes lay heaped in the sink. To his surprise, he noticed an unmade bed in the far room…and another in the front one. Single beds. He frowned and turned to the girl.
She was nearly as tall as he was, and much broader. Her brown skin was drab and thick, looking more like hide than skin; her face was wide and plain, with two flat, unsparkling eyes, a grotesque bubble of a nose, and a many-lipped compound mouth. The girl wore a shapeless black frock that hung to her thick ankles. For all Warshow knew, she might be the pinnacle of Kollidorian beauty—but her charms scarcely seemed likely to arouse much desire in a normal Earthman.
“You’re Thetona, is that right?”
“Yes, Commander Warshow.” Voice dull and toneless, he noted.
“May I sit down?” he asked.
He was fencing tentatively, hemming around the situation without cutting towards it. He made a great business of taking a seat and crossing his legs fastidiously; the girl stared, cowlike, but remained standing.
An awkward silence followed; then the girl said, “You want Matt to go home with you, don’t you?”
Warshow reddened and tightened his jaws angrily. “Yes. Our ship’s leaving in four days. I came to get him.”
“He isn’t here,” she said.
“I know. He’s back at the base. He’ll be home soon.”
“You haven’t done anything to him?” she asked, suddenly apprehensive.
He shook his head. “He’s all right.” After a moment Warshow glanced sharply at her and said, “He loves you, doesn’t he?”
“Yes.” But the answer seemed hesitant.
“And you love him?”
“Oh, yes,” Thetona said warmly. “Certainly.”
“I see.” Warshow wet his lips. This was going to be difficult. “Suppose you tell me how you came to fall in love? I’m curious.”
She smiled—at least, he assumed it was a smile. “I met him about two days after you Earthmen came for your visit. I was walking in the streets, and I saw him. He was sitting on the edge of the street, crying.”
“What?”
Her flat eyes seemed to go misty. “Sitting there sobbing to himself. It was the first time I ever saw an Earthman like that—crying, I mean. I felt terribly sorry for him. I went over to talk to him. He was like a little lost boy.”
Warshow looked up, astonished, and stared at the alien girl’s placid face with total disbelief. In ten years of dealing with the Kollidorians, he had never gone too close to them; he had left personal contact mainly to others. But—
Dammit, the girl’s almost human! Almost—
“Was he sick?” Warshow asked, his voice hoarse. “Why was he crying?”
“He was lonely,” Thetona said serenely. “He was afraid. He was afraid of me, of you, of everyone. So I talked to him, there by the edge of the street, for many minutes. And then he asked to come home with me. I lived by myself, here. He came with me. And—he has been here since three days after that.”
“And he plans to stay here permanently?” Warshow asked.
The wide head waggled affirmatively. “We are very fond of each other. He is lonely; he needs someone to—”
“That’ll be enough,” Falk’s voice said suddenly.
Warshow whirled. Falk was standing in the doorway, his face bleak and grim. The scar on his face seemed to be inflamed, though Warshow was sure that was impossible.
“What are you doing here?” Falk asked.
“I came to visit Thetona,” Warshow said mildly. “I didn’t expect to have you return so soon.”
“I know you didn’t. I walked out when Cullinan started poking around me. Suppose you get out.”
“You’re talking to a superior officer,” Warshow reminded him. “If I—”
“I resigned ten minutes ago,” Falk snapped. “You’re no superior of mine! Get out!”
Warshow stiffened. He looked appealingly at the alien girl, who put her thick six-fingered hand on Falk’s shoulder and stroked his arm. Falk wriggled away.
“Don’t,” he said. “Well—are you leaving? Thetona and I want to be alone.”
“Please go, Commander Warshow,” the girl said softly. “Don’t get him excited.”
“Excited? Who’s excited?” Falk roared. “I—”
Warshow sat impassively, evaluating and analyzing, ignoring for the moment what was happening.
Falk would have to be brought back to the ship for treatment. There was no alternative, Warshow saw. This strange relationship with the Kollidorian would have to be broken.
He stood up and raised one hand for silence. “Mr. Falk, let me speak.”
“Go ahead. Speak quick, because I’m going to pitch you out of here in two minutes.”
“I won’t need two minutes,” Warshow said. “I simply want to inform you that you’re under arrest and that you’re hereby directed to report back to the base at once, in my custody. If you refuse to come it will be necessary—”