“You’re pretty naive, aren’t you? She’s been raped, my friend.”
“Raped!” The thought shocked Van, disgusted him. Raped. Good God.
The medic nodded. “Mmm, not very pleasant. Let’s hope nothing more comes of it.” He looked at his wrist chronometer and then asked, “What’s she on?”
“Opaine, I think.”
“Keep her off it for the next week or so. She won’t miss it, because she’ll be under sedatives most of the time. Keep her off it, anyway, even if she wants it.”
“All right,” Van said. “What do I owe you?”
“Twenty. Night call.”
“Sure.” He made out a check, and the medic accepted it in the same curiously detached manner all medics accept money. When he left, Van bolted the front door and walked into the bedroom.
“Liz,” he called softly.
She opened her eyes and then blinked them shut against the ceilamp. He flicked the switch, and then walked across the room to turn on a small lamp on the night table.
“Thank you, Van,” she said. “Thank you for everything.”
“Get some sleep, Liz,” he said.
“I’ve... I’ve taken your bed, haven’t I?”
“The couch’ll do nicely.”
“You’re very good, Van.”
“No slop, mother. Get some sleep.”
“Yes, Van.” She grinned stupidly, her eyes almost shut already. He tucked the covers around her, walked quietly to the door, and then made the couch up for sleeping.
It was a little while before Liz was able to talk about it. Brant left her alone for most of the day, but the door was firmly bolted, and she had instructions to admit no one. He rose early, prepared breakfast for both of them, and served her in bed, leaving her to eat alone. Before he left for the office — or the shooting, or another damned appointment with Carson Fields, whichever was first on his schedule for that day — he made several sandwiches and left them together with something to drink on the night table. He respected the privacy of eating, taking his meals in the kitchen. Even this proximity made him slightly embarrassed. He consoled himself with the thought that it would not be for long. Liz was getting stronger every day, and except for the haunted look in her eyes, she was looking fine.
He usually got home at about 1730, pressed his thumb into the Identilock, and came into the apartment, being sure to call out as soon as he entered, so she’d know it was he.
She told him about it a week after he’d taken her into the apartment. He listened in shocked horror, and then shook his head sadly.
“A goddamn Ree,” he said. “Liz, they’re getting to be a menace. We’ve got to really do something about them, before...”
“No,” she said.
“No? No what? I don’t understand.”
“He wasn’t Ree, Van. He wore breeches, and there was the odor of alcojel on him; he wasn’t Ree.”
“What?”
“He was Vike, Van.” She paused. “As Vike as you or I.”
Brant thought about that for a long time. He never mentioned it again in any of their talks, but he always thought about it, and its significance lurked on the fringes of his mind. They talked about small things mostly. He was careful to lead the conversation away from that night whenever he saw it circling in that direction. He did not want the violent reaction the medic had mentioned. Liz was coming along fine, and he did not want to prolong her convalescence. She was not very much trouble, but he had lived alone too long and too successfully to wholeheartedly accept another person in the house — especially a woman.
“Are the neighbors talking?” she asked one night.
“About what?”
“About me. About ‘that woman’ in your apartment.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“This is Vike territory, isn’t it?”
“Of course.”
“And they’re not talking? Come now, Van.”
“All right, they’re talking. So what? What the hell do they know?”
“I’m sorry, Van.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You think I care what these idiots think? You’ll be well soon, anyway, and you can go back to your own apartment.”
She didn’t answer, but he didn’t think her silence strange at the time.
She progressed nicely, and soon it was she who rose early to prepare breakfast. Van protested vigorously, complaining that she was still not strong enough for it. She laughed his rantings aside, and he enjoyed the first good breakfasts he’d had since taking her in. When he came home at night, he found the apartment spotlessly clean, his couch all made up for sleeping, his clothes neatly laundered and pressed.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said.
“You didn’t have to take me in,” she answered.
And soon, she was strong enough to leave, he felt. They sat in the living room one night, shortly after he’d popped off. He felt drowsy, and he resented her alertness. She had not asked for a fix since the night of the accident, as they both referred to it. Nor had she expressed any desire for one. At first, he’d chalked this up to the effects of the sedative. But it had been a long time since the sedative ministrations had ceased, and he wondered if she wasn’t quitting the stuff entirely. He never asked her; there was something more important to discuss, and he hoped it wouldn’t be too difficult. He broached the topic carefully.
“How do you feel, Liz?”
“Fine. How do you feel?”
“I mean, well, you know. Do you feel strong enough now?”
“Strong enough to kill an ox. Do you have any oxen around?” She was smiling, and he didn’t like this playful banter. He was trying to be serious, goddamnit. He was annoyed, too, by the fact that she wore no cosmetics around the house. It had taken him a little while to get used to natural breasts. He had found himself staring curiously at her nipples on occasion, and he was embarrassed once when he lifted his eyes to find her staring back at him.
“I mean...” He paused. “Strong enough to go back to your own place.”
“Oh.”
There was a long silence.
“Well?”
“Well...”
“Are you, or aren’t you?”
“I suppose I am.”
“I don’t mean to rush you out, Liz; please understand that. I thought...”
“I understand.”
“You’ll be coming back to work, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I...” He rubbed his jaw. “When do you plan on leaving, Liz?”
“I hadn’t planned. I can leave now, if you like.”
“There’s no great rush, Liz. That is...”
“I’m still scared, Van,” she blurted. “I’m scared silly. If I had to live alone, I think I’d die. I’d jump out of bed at every sound. I’d...”
“But, Liz, you can’t let this thing haunt you for the rest of your life. It happened, sure; but it’s over now, and you’re all right.”
“Am I?”
“Well... sure.”
“All right, Van. I’ll pack now. I’ll leave tonight.”
She stood up, and he watched her sway across the room. She swung her hips, and the cloth of her skirt clung to her buttocks.
“Couldn’t you... couldn’t you find another girl to share a place with you?”
She turned at the door to the bedroom. “I suppose so. It’ll take a little while, though. I’m the only girl at our office, you know. I’ll have to find someone.”
“Liz...”
“It’s all right, Van; I’ll find someone.”
“What I mean is, there’s no need to rush off right this minute. I mean — well, hell, Liz, I don’t want to throw you out.”
“You’re not throwing me out. Don’t be silly, Van.” She lowered her head and looked at him across the length of the room, a curious gaze from upturned eyes.
“Why don’t you stay until... until you find a girl to share a place with. Damnit, I feel like a landlord threatening eviction.”