She tipped her hand back, holding up to him her red, sweetly curved, smiling lips, and his arms swept around her. Her arms went up around his neck and they stood, clasped together in the motionless ecstasy of love’s first embrace.
“Girl, girl, how I love you!” Costigan’s voice was husky, his usually hard eyes were glowing with a tender light. “That settles that. I’ll really live now, anyway, while . . .”
“Stop it!” she commanded, sharply. “You’re going to live until you die of old age – see if you don’t. You’ll simply have to, Conway!”
“That’s so, too – no percentage in dying now. All the pirates between Tellus and Andromeda couldn’t take me after this – I’ve got too much to live for. Well, goodnight, sweetheart, I’d better beat it – you need some sleep.”
The lovers’ parting was not as simple and straightforward a procedure as Costigan’s speech would indicate, but finally he did seek his own room and relaxed upon a pile of cushions, his stern visage transformed. Instead of the low metal ceiling he saw a beautiful, oval, tanned young face, framed in a golden-blonde corona of hair.
His gaze sank into the depths of loyal, honest, dark blue eyes; and looking deeper and deeper into those blue wells he fell asleep. Upon his face, too set and grim by far for a man of his years – the lives of Sector Chiefs of the Triplanetary Service were not easy, nor as a rule were they long – there lingered as he slept that newly-acquired softness of expression, the reflection of his transcendent happiness.
For eight hours he slept soundly, as was his wont, then, also according to his habit and training he came wide awake, with no intermediate stage of napping.
“Clio?” he whispered. “Awake, girl?”
“Awake!” her voice come through the ultra phone, relief in every syllable. “Good heavens, I thought you were going to sleep until we got to wherever it is that we’re going! Come on in, you two – I don’t see how you can possibly sleep, just as though you were home in bed.”
“You’ve got to learn to sleep anywhere if you expect to keep in . . . “ Costigan broke off as he opened the door and saw Clio’s wan face. She had evidently spent a sleepless and wracking eight hours. “Good Lord, Clio, why didn’t you call me?” , “Oh, I’m all right, except for being a little jittery. No need of asking how you feel, is there?”
“No – I feel hungry,” he answered cheerfully. “I’m going to see what we can do about it – or say, guess I’ll see whether they’re still interfering on Samms’ wave.”
He took out the small, insulated case and touched the contact stud lightly with his finger. His arm jerked away powerfully.
“Still at it,” he gave the unnecessary explanation. “They don’t seem to want us to talk outside, but his interference is as good as my talking – they can trace it, of course.
Now I’ll see what I can find out about our breakfast.”
He stepped over to the plate and shot its projector beam forward into the control room, where he saw Nerado lying, dog-like, at his instrument panel. As Costigan’s beam entered the room a blue light flashed on and the Nevian turned an eye and an arm toward his own small observation plate. Knowing that they were now in visual communication, Costigan beckoned an invitation and pointed to his mouth in what he hoped was the universal sign of hunger. The Nevian waved an arm and fingered controls, and as he did so a wide section of the floor of Clio’s room slid aside. The opening thus made revealed a table which rose upon its low pedestal, a table equipped with three softly-cushioned benches and spread with a glittering array of silver and glassware.
Bowls and platters of a dazzlingly white metal, narrow-waisted goblets of sheerest crystal; all were hexagonal, beautifully and intricately carved or etched in apparently conventional marine designs. And the table utensils of this strange race were peculiar indeed. There were tearing forceps of sixteen needle-sharp curved teeth; there were flexible spatulas; there were deep and shallow ladles with flexible edges; there were many other peculiarly-curved instruments at whose uses the Terrestrials could not even guess; all having delicately-fashioned handles to fit the long slender fingers of the Nevians.
But if the table and its appointments were surprising to the Terrestrials, revealing as they did a degree of culture which none of them had expected to find in a race of beings so monstrous, the food was even more surprising, although in another sense.
For the wonderful crystal goblets were filled with a grayish-green slime of a nauseous and over-powering odor, the smaller bowls were full of living sea spiders and other such delicacies; and each large platter contained a fish fully a foot long, raw and whole, garnished tastefully with red, purple, and green strands of seaweed!
Clio looked once, then gasped, shutting her eyes and turning away from the table, but Costigan flipped the three fish into a platter and set it aside before he turned back to the visiplate.
“They’ll go good fried,” he remarked to Bradley, signaling vigorously to Nerado that the meal was not acceptable and that he wanted to talk to him, in person. Finally he made himself clear, the table sank down out of sight, and the Nevian commander cautiously entered the room.
At Costigan’s insistence, he came up to the visiplate, leaving near the door three alert and fully-armed guards. The man then shot the beam into the galley of the pirate’s lifeboat, suggesting that they should be allowed to live there. For some time the argument of arms and fingers raged – though not exactly fluent conversation, both sides managed to convey their meanings quite clearly. Nerado would not allow the Terrestrials to visit their own ship – he was taking no chances – but after a thorough ultra-ray inspection he did finally order some of his men to bring into the middle room the electric range and a supply of Terrestrial food. Soon the Nevian fish were sizzling in a pan and the appetizing odors of coffee and browning biscuit permeated the room. But at the first appearance of those odors the Nevians departed hastily, content to watch the remainder of the curious and repulsive procedure in their visiray plates.
Breakfast over and everything made tidy and ship-shape, Costigan turned to Clio.
“Look here, girl; you’ve got to learn how to sleep. You’re all in. Your eyes look like you’ve been on a Martian picnic and you didn’t eat half enough breakfast. You’ve got to sleep and eat to keep fit. We don’t want you passing out on us, so I’ll put out this light, and you’ll lie down here and sleep until noon.”
“Oh, no, don’t bother. I’ll sleep tonight. I’m quite . . :’ “You’ll sleep now,” he informed her, levelly. “I never thought of you being nervous, with Bradley and me on each side of you. We’re both right here now, though, and we’ll stay here. We’ll watch over you like a couple of old hens with one chick between them. Come on; lie down and go bye-bye.”
Clio laughed at the simile, but lay down obediently. Costigan sat upon the edge of the great divan holding her hand, and they chatted idly. The silences grew longer, Clio’s remarks became fewer, and soon her long-lashed eyelids fell and her deep, regular breathing showed that she was sound asleep. The man stared at her, his very heart in his eyes. So young, so beautiful, so lovely – and how he did love her! He was not formally religious, but his every thought was a prayer. If he could only get her out of this mess . . . he wasn’t fit to live on the same planet with her, but . . . just give him one chance, God . . . just one!
But Costigan had been laboring for days under a terrific strain, and had been going very short on sleep. Half hypnotized by his own mixed emotions and by his staring at the smooth curves of Clio’s cheek, his own eyes closed and, still holding her hand, he sank down into the soft cushions beside her and into oblivion.
Thus sleeping hand in hand like two children Bradley found them, and a tender, fatherly expression came over his face as he looked down at them.
“Nice little girl, Clio,” he mused, “and when they made Costigan they broke the mold. They’ll do – about as fine a couple of kids as old Tellus ever produced. I could do with some more sleep myself.” He yawned prodigiously, lay down at Clio’s left, and in minutes was himself asleep.
Hours later, both men were awakened by a merry peal of laughter. Clio was sitting up, regarding them with sparkling eyes. She was refreshed, buoyant, ravenously hungry and highly amused. Costigan was amazed and annoyed at what he considered a failure in a self-appointed task; Bradley was calm and matter-of-fact.