Croft,” he proposed. That was among his fictitious personalities. Abner Croft owned a cabin on LakeArtemis, a hundred kilometers hence. His phone possessed more than a scrambler. It had a military gadget Brodersen had learned about on Earth and re-created for himself, as an extra precaution during the lliadic crisis. A tap on the line would register a banal pre-recorded conversation. He and Lis had had fun creating several such, using disguises and voder-altered voices. He could get in circuit from any third instrument by requesting a conference call; the switching machinery didn’t care.
“M-hm,” she said. “Where do you expect you’ll actually be?”
“In the uplands. Logical area, no?”
She paused. “With Caitlín?”
Taken aback because she spoke so gravely, he floundered, “Well, um, that’s where she is this time of year. Everybody local’ll know how to find her, and think it quite natural that an outside visitor would want to hear a few songs of hers. And who else could better keep me concealed, or tell what’s a safe rendezvous in those parts, or… or whatever?”
He puffed hard. Lis touched him anew, and now she did not let go. “Forgive me that I asked,” she said low. “I’m not protesting. You’re right, she’s a fine bet to help us. But you see—no, I’m not jealous, but I might never see you again after tonight, and she means a great deal more to you than Joelle, doesn’t she?”
“Aw, sweetheart.” He laid his pipe aside, to slide from the bench and stand holding her.
Head on his breast, fingers tight against his back, she let the words tumble forth, though she kept them soft. “Dan, dearest, understand. I know you love me. And I, after that wretched marriage of mine broke up, when I met you—Everything you’ve been says you love me. But you, your first wife, you were never happier than when you had Antonia, were you?”
“No,” he confessed around a thickness. “Except you’ve given me—”
“Hush. I’ve made it clear to you I don’t mind—enough to matter—if you wander a bit once in a while. You meet a lot of assorted people, and I don’t usually go along on your business trips to Earth, and you’re a mighty attractive bull, did I ever tell you? No, shut up, darling, let me finish. I don’t worry about Joelle. From what little you’ve said, there’s a kind of witchcraft about her—a holothete and—But you didn’t ever invent excuses to go back to her. Caitlín, though—”
“Her either—” he tried.
“You haven’t told me she was anything but a friend and occasional playmate. Well, you haven’t told me that, openly, about anyone. You’re a private person in your way, Dan. But I’ve come to know you regardless. I’ve watched you two when she came visiting. Caitlín is quite a bit like Toni, isn’t she?”
He could only grip her to him for reply.
“You said I didn’t have to be a monogamist myself,” Lis blurted. “And maybe I won’t always.” She gulped a giggle. “What a pair of anachronisms we are, knowing what ‘monogamy’ means!… But since we got married, Dan, nobody’s been worth the trouble. And nobody will be while you’re away this trip and I don’t know if you’ll get back.”
“I will,” he vowed, “I will, to you.”
“You’ll do your damnedest, sure. Which is one blazing hell of a damnedest.” She raised her face to his. He saw tears, and felt and tasted them. “I’m sorry,” she got forth. “I shouldn’t have mentioned Caitlín. Except… give her my love, please.”
“I, I said earlier, your practical question reminded me what kind of people you are,” he stammered. “Then, uh, this—You’re flat-out unbelievably
good.”
Lis disengaged, stepped back, flowed her hands from his ribs to his hips, and said far down in her throat: “Thanks, chum. Now look, this’ll be a short night—you’ll want to catch your bus when the passengers are sleepy—and we’ve a lot of plotting to do yet.
“M-hm,” she said. “Where do you expect you’ll actually be?”
“In the uplands. Logical area, no?”
She paused. “With Caitlín?”
Taken aback because she spoke so gravely, he floundered, “Well, um, that’s where she is this time of year. Everybody local’ll know how to find her, and think it quite natural that an outside visitor would want to hear a few songs of hers. And who else could better keep me concealed, or tell what’s a safe rendezvous in those parts, or… or whatever?”
He puffed hard. Lis touched him anew, and now she did not let go. “Forgive me that I asked,” she said low. “I’m not protesting. You’re right, she’s a fine bet to help us. But you see—no, I’m not jealous, but I might never see you again after tonight, and she means a great deal more to you than Joelle, doesn’t she?”
“Aw, sweetheart.” He laid his pipe aside, to slide from the bench and stand holding her.
Head on his breast, fingers tight against his back, she let the words tumble forth, though she kept them soft. “Dan, dearest, understand. I know you love me. And I, after that wretched marriage of mine broke up, when I met you—Everything you’ve been says you love me. But you, your first wife, you were never happier than when you had Antonia, were you?”
“No,” he confessed around a thickness. “Except you’ve given me—”
“Hush. I’ve made it clear to you I don’t mind—enough to matter—if you wander a bit once in a while. You meet a lot of assorted people, and I don’t usually go along on your business trips to Earth, and you’re a mighty attractive bull, did I ever tell you? No, shut up, darling, let me finish. I don’t worry about Joelle. From what little you’ve said, there’s a kind of witchcraft about her—a holothete and—But you didn’t ever invent excuses to go back to her. Caitlín, though—”
“Her either—” he tried.
“You haven’t told me she was anything but a friend and occasional playmate. Well, you haven’t told me that, openly, about anyone. You’re a private person in your way, Dan. But I’ve come to know you regardless. I’ve watched you two when she came visiting. Caitlín is quite a bit like Toni, isn’t she?”
He could only grip her to him for reply.
“You said I didn’t have to be a monogamist myself,” Lis blurted. “And maybe I won’t always.” She gulped a giggle. “What a pair of anachronisms we are, knowing what ‘monogamy’ means!… But since we got married, Dan, nobody’s been worth the trouble. And nobody will be while you’re away this trip and I don’t know if you’ll get back.”
“I will,” he vowed, “I will, to you.”
“You’ll do your damnedest, sure. Which is one blazing hell of a damnedest.” She raised her face to his. He saw tears, and felt and tasted them. “I’m sorry,” she got forth. “I shouldn’t have mentioned Caitlín. Except… give her my love, please.”
“I, I said earlier, your practical question reminded me what kind of people you are,” he stammered. “Then, uh, this—You’re flat-out unbelievably
good.”
Lis disengaged, stepped back, flowed her hands from his ribs to his hips, and said far down in her throat: “Thanks, chum. Now look, this’ll be a short night—you’ll want to catch your bus when the passengers are sleepy—and we’ve a lot of plotting to do yet.
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