“And for the rest of it,” Hilton went on, “hashed-brown potatoes and buttered
toast-plenty of extra butter-strong coffee from first to last. Whipping cream and sugar on
the side. For dessert, apple pie a la mode.”
“You make me drool, chief. Play that for me, please, Innocent, all the way.”
“Oh? You are-you, personally, yourself, sir?-re-naming me `Innocent’?”
“If you’ll sit still for it, yes.”
“That is an incredible honor, sir. Simply unbelievable. I thank you! I thank you!”
Radiating happiness, she dashed away toward the kitchen.
When the two men were full of food, they strolled over to a davenport facing the fire.
As they sat down, Innocent entered the room, carrying a tall, dewy mint julep on a tray.
She was followed by another female figure bearing a bottle of avignognac and the
appurtenances which are its due-and at the first full sight of that figure Hilton stopped
breathing for fifteen seconds.
Her hair was very thick, intensely black and long, cut squarely off just below the lowest
points of her shoulder blades. Heavy brows and long lashes-eyes too-were all intensely,
vividly black. Her skin was tanned to a deep and glowing almost-but-not-quite-brown.
“Murchison’s Dark Lady!” Hilton gasped. “Larryy You’ve-we’ve-I’ve got that painting
here?”
“Oh, yes, sir.” The newcomer spoke before Larry could. “At the other end-your part-of
the room. You will look now, sir, please?” Her voice was low, rich and as smooth as
cream.
Putting her tray down carefully on the end-table, she led him toward the other fireplace.
Past the piano, past the tri-di pit; past a towering grillwork holding art treasures by the
score. Over to the left, against the wall, there was a big, business-like desk. On the
wall, over the desk, hung the painting; a copy of which had been in Hilton’s room for
over eight years.
He stared at it for at least a minute. He glanced around: at the other priceless
duplicates so prodigally present, at his own guns arrayed above the mantel and on
each side of the fireplace. Then, without a word, he started back to join Karns. She
walked springily beside him.
“What’s your name, Miss?” he asked, finally.
“I haven’t earned any as yet, sir. My number is . . :’ “Never mind that. Your name is
`Dark Lady.”
“Oh, thank you, sir; that is truly wonderful!” And Dark Lady sat cross-legged on the rug
at Hilton’s feet and busied herself with the esoteric rites of Old Avignon.
Hilton took a deep inhalation and a small sip, then stared at Karns. Karns, over the rim
of his glass, stared back.
“I can see where this would be habit-forming,” Hilton said, “and very deadly. Extremely
deadly.”
“Every wish granted. Surrounded by all this.” Karns swept his arm through
three-quarters of a circle. “Waited on hand and foot by powerful men and by the
materializations of the dreams of the greatest, finest artists who ever lived. Fatal? I
don’t know . . .”
“My solid hope is that we never have to find out. And when you add in Innocent and
Dark Lady . . . They look to be about seventeen, but the thought that they’re older than
the hills of Rome and powered by everlasting atomic engines-” He broke off suddenly
and blushed. “Excuse me, please, girls. I know better than to talk about people that
way, right in front of them; I really do.”
“Do you really think we’re people?” Innocent and Dark Lady squealed, as one.
That set Hilton back onto his heels. “I don’t know . . . I’ve wondered. Are you?”
Both girls, silent, looked at Larry.
“We don’t know, either,” Larry said. “At first, of course, there were crude, non-thinking
machines. But when the Guide attained its present status, the Masters themselves
could not agree. They divided about half and half on the point. They never did settle it
any closer than that.”
“I certainly won’t try to, then. But for my money, you are people,” Hilton said, and Karns
agreed.
That, of course, touched off a near-riot of joy; after which the two men made an
inch-by-inch study of their tremendous living-room. Then, long after bedtime, Larry and
Dark Lady escorted Hilton to his bedroom.
“Do you mind, sir, if we sleep on the floor at the sides of your bed?” Larry asked. “Or
must we go out into the hall?” “Sleep? I didn’t know you could sleep.”
“It is not essential. However, when round-the-clock work is not necessary, and we have
opportunity to sleep near a human being, we derive a great deal of pleasure and
satisfaction from it. You see, sir, we also serve during sleep.”
“Okay, I’ll try anything once. Sleep wherever you please.” Hilton began to peel, but
before he had his shirt off both Larry and Dark Lady were stretched out flat, sound
asleep, one almost under each edge of his bed. He slid in between the sheets-it was
the most comfortable bed he had ever slept in-and went to sleep as though
sandbagged.
He had time to wonder foggily whether the Omans were in fact helping him go to
sleep-and then he was asleep.
A month passed. Eight couples had married, the Navy chaplain officiating-in the
Perseus, of course. since the warship was, always and everywhere, an integral part of
Terra.
Sandra had dropped in one evening to see Hilton about a bit of business. She was now
sitting, long dancer’s legs outstretched toward the fire, with a cigarette in her left hand
and a tall, cold drink on a coaster at her right.
“This is a wonderful room, Jarvis. It’d be perfect if it weren’t quite so . . . so mannish.”
“What do you expect of Bachelors’ Hall-a boudoir? Don’t tell me you’re going domestic,
Sandy, just because you’ve got a house?”
“Not just that, no. But of course it helped it along.”
“Alex is a mighty good man. One of the finest I have ever known..”
She eyed him for a moment in silence. “Jarvis Hilton, you are one of the keenest, most
intelligent men who ever lived. And yet . . .” She broke off and studied him for a good
half minute. “Say, if I let my hair clear down, will you?”
“Scout’s Oath. That “and yet’ requires elucidation at any cost.
“I know. But first, yes, it’s Alex. I never would have believed that any man ever born
could hit me so hard. Soon. I didn’t want to be the first, but I won’t be anywhere near
the last. But tell me. You were really in love with Temple, weren’t you, when I asked
you?”
“Yes.”
“Ha! You are letting your hair down! That makes me feel better.”
“Huh? Why should it?”
“It elucidates the ‘and yet’ no end. You were insulated from all other female charms by
ye brazen Bells. You see, most of us assistants made a kind of game out of seeing
which of us could make you break the Executives’ Code. And none of us made it.
Teddy and Temple said you didn’t know what was going on; Bev and I said nobody as
smart as you are could possibly be that stupid.”
“You aren’t the type to leak or name names-oh, I see. You are merely reporting a
conversation. The game had interested, but non-participating, observers. Temple and
Teddy, at least.”
“At least,” she agreed. “But damn it, you aren’t stupid. There isn’t a stupid bone in your
head. So it must be love. And if so, what about marriage? Why don’t you and Temple
make it a double with Alex and me?”
“That’s the most cogent thought you ever had, but setting the date is the bride’s
business.” He glanced at his Oman wristwatch. “It’s early yet; let’s skip over. I wouldn’t
mind seeing her a minute or two.”
“Thy statement ringeth with truth, friend. Bill’s there with Teddy?”
“I imagine so.”
“So we’ll talk to them about making it a triple. Oh, nice, let’s go!”
They left the house and, her hand tucked under his elbow, walked up the street.
Next morning, on her way to the Hall of Records, Sandra stopped off as usual at the
office. The Omans were all standing motionless. Hilton was leaning far back in his chair,
feet on desk, hands clasped behind head, eyes closed. Knowing what that meant, she
turned and started back out on tiptoe.
However, he had heard her. “Can you spare a couple of minutes to think at me,
Sandy?”
“Minutes or hours, chief.” Tuly placed a chair for her and she sat down, facing him
across his desk.
“Thanks, gal. This time it’s the Stretts. Sawtelle’s been having nightmares, you know,
ever since we emerged, about being attacked, and I’ve been pooh-poohing the idea.
But now it’s a statistic that the soup is getting thicker, and I can’t figure out why. Why in
all the hells of space should a stasis that has lasted for over a quarter of a million years