He lay back again, ignoring the dull pain of the reawakened pulse in his hand, watching as her eyes slowly opened, smiling back at him.
For a while he lay there, letting her undress him. Then she climbed above him again, the smooth warmth of her flesh against his own making him shiver with anticipation.
"Close your eyes . . ."
He lay there, letting her make love to him, slowly at first, then, as the ancient rhythm took her, wildly, urgently; her hands gripping his shoulders tightly, her face changed, unrecognizable, her teeth clenched fiercely, her eyes staring wildly down at him. In it he saw a reflection of the agony he was suffering from his damaged hand. That lay beside him, quivering, the fingers clenched tight, trapped in a prolonged spasm that was as painful as her lovemaking was delightful. Faster and more furious she moved, until, with a shudder that brought on his own orgasm, she arched her back and cried out, forcing herself against him as if to breach him: as if to press through the flesh that separated them and become him.
Afterward he lay still, the pain in his hand ebbing slowly. Meg lay across him, sleeping, her dark hair fanned across his chest. Two small bands of light lay across their shadowed bodies like golden ribbons joining their flesh, striping them at chest and hip, tracing the contours of their expired lust.
Ben looked down the length of their bodies, studying the play of shadow within shadow, noting where flesh seemed to merge with flesh. The scent of their lovemaking filled the tiny space, mingling with the smell of old hay. It seemed part of the shadows, the dust-specked bands of light.
He closed his eyes, thinking. What had she meant by this? To show her love for him? Her need? Perhaps. But needs were of different kinds. She had been wrong earlier. Though she thought so now, she would not die for missing him. She would wait, as she always waited, knowing he would be back. But he—he had to go. He would go mad—literally, mad—if he did not leave this place. Each day now it grew worse. Each day the feeling grew in him, feeding his restlessness, stoking the fire of dissatisfaction that raged in his belly.
Out. He had to get out. Or "in" as she preferred to call it. Whichever, he had to get away. Far away from here. Even from those he loved.
"Ben . . . ! Meg . . . !"
The calls were muted, distant, from the slope below the barn. Meg stirred and lifted her head slowly, turning to face him.
"What's that?"
He smiled and leaned forward, kissing her nose. "It's all right. It's only Mother calling us in. It must be lunchtime."
"Ah . . ." She started to relax again, then pushed herself up abruptly, suddenly awake. "Only Mother!"
"Mind—" he said, wincing at the pain that shot up his arm where she had bumped into his hand.
Her face was all concern. "Oh, Ben, I'm sorry ..."
Then they were laughing, clutching each other, Ben's hand held out to one side as he embraced her. And outside, more distantly, moving away from them now, the call came again.
"Ben . . . ! Meg . . . !"
BETH STOOD in the gateway at the bottom of the lower garden, relaxed, her apron tied loosely about her dress, waiting for them. She had let her hair down and she was smiling.
"Where were you?" she said as they came up to her. "I was looking everywhere. Didn't you hear me calling?"
Meg looked away, but Ben went straight to his mother. "We were in the barn," he said casually. "It was warm in there and musty. We were talking, then we fell asleep. We must have missed you calling."
"I see," she said, smiling, ruffling his hair.
"I'm sorry," he said, falling in beside her while Meg walked on ahead. "Lunch isn't spoiled, I hope."
Beth smiled and shook her head. "I wasn't calling you for lunch. It's your father. He's home."
Meg turned. "Daddy . . ." Then, without a further word, she raced up the slope and disappeared inside the house.
Ben walked beside his mother, taking her arm. "Is he okay?"
"What do you mean?"
Ben stopped, looking at her. Her voice had seemed strange, her answer too defensive. His query had been politeness, but she had taken it for something more meaningful.
"What's wrong with him?" he asked.
Beth looked away. "I don't know. He seems much older, somehow. Tired." She shrugged.
"Perhaps it's overwork. Things have been bad in there."
"Yes . . ." She smiled wistfully. "Maybe that's it."
They walked on. Up ahead, from inside the cottage, they could hear Meg's squeals of delight. Then she appeared, cradling what looked like a tiny, animated fur hat. She thrust the bundle at Ben.
"Isn't he just adorable?"
Ben held the kitten up to his face, meeting its strange, alien eyes. "Hello there, Mog. I'm Ben."
Meg took the kitten back at once. "Don't hurt him. And it's not Mog. It's Zarathustra."
"Of course." Ben reached out and rubbed the kitten between the ears, then moved past Meg into the doorway.
His father was sitting just inside, in the deep shadow of the hallway. Seeing Ben, his face creased into a smile.
"Ben! How are you, lad?"
"I'm fine," he answered, moving inside, feeling his mother's hand on his shoulder. "And you, Father?"
"I've been busy. Run ragged, you might say. I feel like I've put the whole world to rights these last few days."
Hal Shepherd sat back in the tall-backed, armless chair, his arms stretched wide in a gesture of expansiveness. The old fire still burned in his eyes, but Ben could see at once that he was ill. He saw the lines of tiredness and strain, the redness at the comer of his eyes, the way his muscles stood out at his neck when he spoke, and knew it was more than simple fatigue.
"The kitten's beautiful. What is it? GenSyn?"
Hal shook his head. "No, Ben. It's a real kitten. We confiscated its parents from Madam Moore the day the warrant was signed for her husband's arrest. It seems there are a few cats left in the Wilds. Moore must have smuggled it in through quarantine for her."
"Or bribed his way."
"More likely . . ." Hal took a deep breath—awkwardly, Ben thought—then smiled again. "I brought something back for you, too, Ben."
"A dog?"
Hal laughed, for a moment almost his old, vital self. "Now that would be something, wouldn't it? But no, I'm afraid not. Although I've a feeling that, as far as you're concerned, you. might find it a lot more interesting than a dog."
"What is it?"
Hal's smile remained while he studied his son; as if this was a sight he had not expected to see again. Then with a brief glance past him, at Beth, he said, "It's downstairs. In the cellar workrooms. I've rigged one of them up ready for you to try."
Ben frowned, trying to work out what his father meant, then he understood. "It's a pai pi! You've brought back a pai pi!"
"Not one, Ben. Eight of them."
"Eight!" Ben laughed, astonished. "Christ! Where did you get them? I thought they'd all been destroyed years ago. They've been banned for more than sixty years, haven't they?"
"That's right. But there are collectors among the Above. Men who secretly hold on to banned technology. These were found in the collection of a First-Level Executive."
Ben understood at once. "The Confiscations . . ."
"Exactly. The man was a Dispersionist. We were going to destroy them; but when I told Li Shai Tung of your interest, he signed a special order permitting me to take them out of the City. Here in the Domain, you see, the Edict has no power. We Shepherds can do as we wish."