"Who won the fight?"
"Neither; people pulled them apart. Those human canker sores heartily dislike each other, but they make better pictures together than separately. So they stick."
"Like Gilbert and Sullivan?"
"Precisely. Kostis thinks he's a great artist as well as a financial wizard; so he tampers with the scripts and sets, and that makes Fodor furious. Actually, Kostis has all the esthetic sensitivity of Paddy's pig. He admires me; I guess that proves I'm no great shakes."
"Come on, Lish!" said Reith. "You've never lacked admirers, honorable or otherwise."
"Sure; I gather propositions the way garbage does flies. People assume a divorcee is good for high diddle any time of day or night."
"It's lust that makes the world go round."
"Perhaps; but I'd want a good husband or nobody at all."
"Well, Krishna's the place to look, for demographic reasons." Reith's imp of perversity tricked him into adding, with a wry smile: "I tried to be a good husband." He instantly regretted the remark.
"Fergus, if you say another word about that, you'll make me cry. You were a splendid husband until I spoiled it all." She blew her nose.
Reith quickly changed the subject. "Tell me, what does an assistant production manager do?"
"Oh, I'm just a glorified gofer, handling matters the production manager can't or won't.
"What I don't understand," said Reith, "is how a company can send its people off on a project for which they won't see results for twenty years."
"Big corporations can afford to take the long view; like raising trees commercially or building a fusion-power plant. They want to find out if shooting on another planet can be profitable despite the long lead time."
"Isn't Stavrakos afraid someone will steal his job while he's away?"
She smiled. "They say he's a sharp man with a contract; so I'm sure he's taken precautions."
"Let's hope we don't have trouble with that nut Schlegel. His last flimflam scheme—"
The cook appeared to say in Gozashtandou, "Sir and Madam, dinner is served."
When Alister Reith joined Fergus and his guest at dinner, Alicia drew the young man out with the skill of an experienced interviewer.
"I go to school in Novo, Miss—I mean Doctor Dyckman," he said. "But what I really like is working the shaihans with the Krishnans."
With paternal pride, Reith said: "Here's a rancher in the making. I'm also breaking him in as a tour guide; he'll be good at that, too, I hope."
After dinner, they sat around a crackling wood fire; for Krishnan nights, as a result of the slower rotation of the planet, became quite cold even in low latitudes. Throughout the evening, Alicia eagerly asked for news of people she had known, and Reith gave long, gossipy replies. She inquired: "Where's Ken Strachan nowadays?"
Reith chuckled. "Poor Ken! The great apostle of love 'em and leave 'em fell hook, line, and sinker for one of the secretaries, Juanita Rincon."
"Juana's daughter?"
"The same. The last I heard, Ken was in Rosid, building mechanical toys for the Dasht of Ruz. When he's away from home, they say ..." Reith glanced at his son's eager face. "Hey, String! Isn't it about time you hit the books?"
Looking disappointed, Alister said good night and vanished. Reith remarked: "There's a problem with Alister, which I share with other local parents."
"What problem?"
"Higher education. I'm sure he's college material; but I don't want to send him to Terra and not see him again for a quarter-century, if ever. As for Krishnan universities—well, you know what they teach. Some of us are trying to start a Novorecife College."
"Splendid!" said Alicia. "Maybe you could use me on your faculty."
"Hey, that's an idea! If you decide to stay, that is. I'll bring the matter up the next time the committee meets ..."
The talk trailed off; at last, by wordless consent, Reith and Alicia rose. Reith said: "If you want anything, Lish, that's my room down the hall."
For several heartbeats, Reith and Alicia stared silently, as if wondering what to say next. Reith was tempted to invite her to share his bed. But, although in his profession a decisive, quick-thinking, resourceful man, he hesitated. For one thing, her posture was not encouraging: back straight, head up, arms folded. Slightly raised lower eyelids implied wary suspicion, belying her friendly smile. To Reith her stance said "Let's be friends, but only friends!"
He took refuge in a change of subject. "Lish, shouldn't I read the script of the movie, to find out where to take your people? I'm new to this—"
"Fergus dear, I'm way ahead of you. While you were reveling in the Nova Iorque, I ran off a copy." She darted into her room and, returning, thrust a bulky envelope into his hands. "Here you are!"
Reith said: "Good night, Lish. Remember, my door is never locked against you."
He watched to see if she would react to the hint; but all she said was: "Good night, Fergus." She gave him a brief, cousinly kiss and vanished into her room; Reith heard the snick of the bolt.
Reith tried to sleep; but the harder he tried, the more memories tumbled into his brain. He recalled events he had not thought about in years: the narrow escapes with Alicia; the times he and she had saved each other's lives; the nights of passion ... He also remembered their quarrels and Alicia's shrieking tantrums; her stunning him with a frying pan during their last dispute ...
Questions whirled through his brain. Had she changed? She did seem different—less aggressive and argumentative; more reserved and self-controlled.
What did he want? Wife, mistress, light love, platonic friend, or capable business associate? What were her expectations? Might she lead him on to enjoy the revenge of refusing him, as he had refused her? Could anyone retain strong feelings, pro or contra, towards another for twenty years, despite a complete lack of contact? Could there still be a spark of mutual love, waiting to be fanned into flame? No, no! Old hostilities had surely quenched that fire for good ...
To calm his emotions, Reith turned up the oil lamp, hauled out the script, and settled himself to read. The script stirred him up almost as much as thoughts of Alicia. It enraged him that anyone should be paid handsomely to write such bilge. The scenario was false to the character and ways of life of the Krishnan hominoids. Worse, it bored. Before the final scene, Reith fell asleep with the lamp still lit.
II – Alicia Dyckman
Fergus Reith arrived at the dining table to find Alister tucking away an enormous adolescent breakfast. "Hello, String!" said Reith.
"Hi, Dad. Say, is this Doctor Dyckman the girl you were married to before you met Mom?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"I've heard talk, and she seemed to fit. Are you going to marry her again?"
Reith choked on his fried bijar egg. "Great Bákh! Please, Alister! Till yesterday, we hadn't seen each other in eighteen Krishnan years. Would you object if I did?"
Alister frowned. "I've always wondered what it would be like to have a mother. Doctor Dyckman seems nice, and she's certainly swell-looking. But I've heard stories about how badly she treated you before; makes me mad every time I think of them."
"She's supposed to have had a big personality lift on Terra," said Reith. "We'd have to see if it worked."
"Besides," said Alister, "you'd have to get rid of that native girlfriend you've got upriver."
"Gluk" sputtered Reith, disconcerted for the second time. "You know about her?"
"Oh, sure. These things get around."
"Just what do you know?"
"She's at Rimbid; her name is something like 'sorry,' and you stop off there about once a moon."