In any event, Monat was forever out of reach of anybody in this world, Gone On. To what?
To conceal the tears, Burton strode to the furniture and began dragging it away from the door. By the time the others had joined him, his eyes were dry.
He opened the door and breathed deeply. The air was no fresher than that in the suite. But it offered liberation.
Near their apartments was a room containing a swimming pool sixty meters long and thirty meters wide. When no one was in the room it was dark, but the heat detectors would turn the light on if a single person entered it. The light was a simulated sun at zenith in a cloudless blue sky. The walls displayed a forest surrounding the pool and snow-capped mountains far in the distance. Even if a person stood within an inch of the wall, the trees seemed to be real. As real-looking as the trees, birds flew among the branches or lit on them, and their songs cried out pleasantly. Occasionally, the swimmers could see a rabbit or fox among the trees and, rarely, a panther-like beast or bear moving silently in the twilight under the branches.
The water was fresh and about 68 °F and had a depth of twelve meters at the deep end. Here the eight tenants usually gathered for an hour or so of swimming in midmorning.
Burton had been studying the list of operational limits until 11:00 a.m. He entered the huge echoing chamber noisy with cries and splashes and stood for a moment. All were there except Nur. The men were in scanty trunks and the women in bikinis. They did not seem to have a care nor had they posted a guard. Beamers, however, lay along the edge of the pool, and he saw several at the bottom outlined against the red, black and green mural.
Burton dived in and swam the length of the pool seven times. Then he hauled himself out and waited until de Marbot swam by. He called out to him; the Frenchman turned, came to the edge, and looked up. Burton considered his merry blue eyes, slick black hair, round face and snub nose.
Burton squatted down and said, “I’m going to make a flying trip, an exploratory one, through the tower. Do you want to come along?”
“That sounds like fun,” de Marbot said. He narrowed his eyes and grinned. “Do you hope to surprise the Snark?”
“There’s little chance of that,” Burton said. “But… well… we might entice him to take some action. We’ll be human decoys.”
“I’m your man,” the Frenchman said, and he pulled himself out. He was only five feet five inches tall and shared with Nur the distinction of being the smallest man in the group. Burton had chosen him as his companion, however, because he was utterly courageous and had more experience in martial action than any of them. Serving under Napoleon, he had been in most of the conqueror’s great battles, had been wounded seventeen times, had fought in hundreds of small engagements, and had led so adventurous a life that A. Conan Doyle had written a series of stories based on his exploits. He was an excellent swordsman and a deadly shot and had an unsurpassed coolness under fire.
They dried themselves off in an anteroom, changed into dry clothes, sleeveless shirts and shorts, put their beamers in holsters, and walked along the pool. Burton paused for a minute to tell Turpin that they were going exploring.
“What time you coming back?” Turpin said through a mouthful of baked Montana grouse fed on huckleberries.
“About six p.m.,” Burton said, glancing at his wristwatch.
“Maybe you should report in every hour on the hour.”
“I don’t think so,” Burton said in a low voice, looking at the wall as if it had ears. Which it did. “I’m not going to make it easy for the unknown to find us.”
Turpin smiled. “Yeah, that’s right. Hope I see you again.” He laughed, spewing out bits of meat and bread.
Burton was worried about Turpin. The man had lost much weight during the trying and dangerous passage over the mountains to the north polar sea. Now he seemed to be intent on becoming as fat as he had been on Earth, close to three hundred pounds. He was always eating, and he was not far behind Li Po in drinking.