Lord of Janissaries by Jerry Pournelle, Roland J. Green

come in with her and that they go to bed together, and that he aroused her to flights of passion she had never supposed possible.
    He stayed until noon.
    And now he was coming back and wanted to take her somewhere. She dressed carefully. A skirt that didn’t wrinkle. They didn’t have to wrestle in a car—he was welcome in her bed—but who knows? she thought. She grinned at her image in the mirror. “Painted hussy,” she told it.
    The image grinned back. “We like it, don’t we, ducks?”
    “Damn straight,” Gwen said. “Damn straight. Never thought I would—”
    She laughed at herself, but she studied her small collection of jewelry and perfume just the same. What would he like?
    “Independent. Liberated. And working my arse off to make him want me,” she told the mirror.
    “Hang on to this one,” the image said.
    “Right.” If we can. Please. Let this be all right. Let this last.
    * * *
    When the doorbell rang an hour after midnight, she ran to it, then caught herself. He knew she liked him, but she didn’t want him to think she was that nuts over him. Still, she was a little breathless when she opened the door. Would he leap at her? Carry her to bed? She damned well wasn’t going to resist—
    He kissed her, but broke away quickly before that could lead to anything else. Then he grinned. “Later. We’ll have a lot of time.”
    “Good.”
    “Go for a drive?” he asked.
    “Sure. Where? Do I need a coat?”
    “Actually, I had in mind a weekend trip. Can you pack a bag?”
    She frowned. Was he that confident? But then he had reason to be. And why not? “I can get away,” she said. “For a couple of days. but I ought to call my landlady and tell her—”
    “Leave a note. It’s late.”
    “What should I pack? Swimsuit? Ski clothes?”
    “Do you like boats? Sailing?”
    “I never went on one before. I don’t get motion sick—I guess I’ve told you that.”
    “You have.”
    There it was. The tiny accent. “Just where did you grow up?” she asked.
    “I thought you were the professional who’d guess from my speech patterns.” He grinned.
    It’s a nice grin, she thought. A nice grin, on a nice face. She moved closer to him. “Wheedle, wheedle.”
    He pulled her against him and held her for a moment.
    “You’re just the right size,” she said.
    “How’s that?”
    She shrugged. “Big enough that I think of you as a big man, but not so big you tower over me. And not so big in other ways, if you know what I mean—”
    He laughed. “We do seem compatible.”
    “Yes, I like that. I’ll pack my sailing clothes,” she said. “I won’t be long.”
    * * *
    “I didn’t know they kept boats in the mountains,” Gwen said. “Just where are you taking me?”
    It seemed a reasonable question. The road climbed steadily higher into the Angeles Mountains, directly away from the sea. At first she’d thought they were driving up the coast toward Santa Barbara, but he’d turned east.
    The truck hummed along the road. It was a heavy Ford pickup, and the bed was crammed with odd shapes covered with a tarpaulin. That seemed strange too. Why a loaded truck for a weekend date? “Where are we going, Les?”
    “Don’t you trust me?”
    “I—I don’t know. I don’t—Les please. Don’t play head games with me.”
    “I don’t want to, Gwen.” His voice was very serious. “But I don’t have much choice.” He hesitated a moment. “You told me you want to learn. You like anthropology because you want to learn. To travel, see strange people and learn how they live—”
    “Yes—”
    “I can give you a chance to do that. Right now. But it’s a long trip. Will you come with me?”
    “Right now? Just like that? Not tell anyone—”
    “Yes.”
    “Les, I can’t—”
    “Sure you can. You told me yourself, nobody cares what happens to you. Your mother’s dead, and you haven’t heard from your father in years. Sure you can. Who’ll care? The people at the university? Landlady? Not