“A moment, if you please,” Svoboda requested.
“Uh, sure.” Aliyat glanced away.
Svoboda didn’t take the hint. “Don’t resent this. I must try it. You should go in there less often.”
Anger quivered. “Everybody else says it. Why not you? I know what I’m doing.”
“Well, I can’t prescribe for you, but—“
“But you’re afraid I’m curling up in a ball and someday I won’t be able to uncurl.” Aliyat inhaled. Suddenly she felt like speaking. “Listen, dear. You’ve been in situations in the past where you had to go away from yourself.”
Svoboda paled a bit. “Yes.”
“I have a lot more than you. I know them pretty thoroughly, believe me. The dream box is a better escape than booze or dope or—“ Aliyat grinned—“closing my eyes and flunking of England.”
“But this isn’t that kind of thing!”
“No, not exactly. Still— Listen. What happened today pros that I got so furious that if I couldn’t go conjure a private world, I’d’ve had to scream and smash things and generally throw a fit. What would that have done for crew morale?”
“What was the matter?”
“Hanno. What else? We met by chance and he buttonholed me and, oh, you can imagine. He repeated the same tired noises you just did, about me and the dream box. He tried to say, very roundabout— Never mind.”
Svoboda bared a brief smile. “Let me guess. He implied you are a menace to relationships aboard ship.”
“Yeah. He’d like to pair off with me. Of course he would. Hasn’t gotten laid for months now, has he? I suggested what he could do instead, and walked off. But I was volcano angry.”
“You were overreacting; you, of all people. Stress—”
“I s’pose.” Faintly surprised at how rage and loss alike had eased within her, Aliyat said, “Look, I’m not addicted to dreams. Really I’m not. Everybody uses them once in a while. Why don’t you share with me sometime? I’d like that. An interactive dream has more possibilities than letting the computer put into your head what it thinks you’ve demanded.”
Svoboda nodded. “True. But—“ She stopped.
“But you’re afraid I might learn things about you you’d rather I didn’t. That’s it, nght?” Aliyat shrugged. “I’m not offended. Only, don’t preach at me, okay?”
“Why did you resent Hanno’s attempt?” Svoboda asked quickly. “It was quite natural. You need not have cursed him for it.”
“After what he’s done to us?” Counterattack: “Do you still have a soft spot for him?”
Svoboda looked elsewhere. “I shouldn’t, I know. On se veut—”
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing. A stray memory.”
“About him.”
Svoboda met the challenge. Probably, Aliyat thought, she wants to be friendly toward me; feels she has to. “Yes. Of no importance. Some lines we saw once. It was … the late twentieth century, a few years after we—we seven had gone under cover, while Patulcius was still keeping his own camouflage. Hanno and I were traveling about incognito in France. We stayed one night at an old inn, yes, old already then, and in the guest book we found what somebody had written, long before. I was reminded now, that’s all.”
“What was it?” Aliyat asked.
Again Svoboda looked past her. The wry words whis-jjjered forth as if of themselves.
“On se veut On s’enlace Ons’enlasse On s’en veut.”
9
Before Aliyat could respond, she nodded adieu and hurried on down the corridor.
ONCE MORE Yukiko was redecorating her room. Until she finished, it would be an uninhabitable clutter. Thus she spent most of her private hours in Tu Shan’s, as well as deeping there. In due course they would share hers while Idle worked on his. It was her proposal. He had assented without seeming to care. The brushstroke landscape and calligraphy she earlier put on his walls had over the years been ween until they were all but invisible. However, she had a feeling that he would never especially have noticed their disappearance.
Entering, she found him cross-legged on the bed, left hand supporting a picture screen, right hand busy with a light pencil. He drew something, considered it, made an aikation, studied it further. His big body seemed relaxed and the features bore no mark of a scowl.