project to make contact with the alien starship that had appeared near the planet Jupiter. When Stoner had flown out to the starship and remained in it, frozen in the cryogenic cold of deep space, Jo had clawed her way to the top of Vanguard Industries to gain the power to reach the distant spacecraft and return the man she loved to Earth and to life.
But he was not the same man that she had known eighteen years earlier. Frozen in the cryogenic cold of space aboard the alien starship, he had somehow been changed. It was strange. Keith seemed more human than he had been earlier, more attuned to life than the self-contained, solitary scientist she had once known. He could open his emotions to her and love her as he had never been able to do before. Yet he was somehow beyond human, endowed with abilities that no human being had ever known, burning with the urgency of a demon-driven fanatic—or a saint.
But he loved her. Loved her as she loved him. For Jo, nothing else mattered.
Now she felt his strong arms around her and relaxed for the first time since she had left their home, four days earlier.
“I thought you’d stay the night in Washington,” he said, smiling down at her.
Jo said, “The party was pretty much of a bore. I decided I’d be much happier at home.”
“I’m much happier, too.”
They walked arm in arm into the house while the chauffeur handed Jo’s overnight bag and briefcase to one of the squat, many-armed household robots.
Stoner stopped at the foot of the stairs that led up to the master bedroom suite. On their right was the spacious living room; straight ahead along the corridor was the kitchen.
“You must be still on Eastern time,” he said. “Do you want some dinner or some breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry at all,” Jo replied.
He pursed his lips slightly. “You know, the best way to adapt to a change in time zones is to go to bed and sleep until you’ve caught up with the local time.”
She grinned up at him. “Sleep?”
“There’s iced champagne waiting in the bedroom.” He grinned back at her.
“How about a nice long shower first?” she suggested as they started up the steps.
“Sounds good to me.”
Hours later Stoner lay on his back gazing up at the stars. Jo was curled next to him on the waterbed, warm and breathing in the slow regular rhythm of sleep. All of Stoner’s childhood friends were in their places in the night sky: Orion and the Twins, the Bull, the glittering cluster of the Pleiades. A slim crescent Moon hung in the darkness like a scimitar, with the red jewel of Mars nearby.
There was no ceiling to their bedroom, only a bubble of energy that kept out the weather and served as a soundproof barrier. Yet it was completely transparent; like having the bedroom outdoors. Flowered hangings both inside and outside the room filled the dark night air with the fragrance of orange blossoms and magnolias, completing the illusion of being out in a sighing, whispering garden.
The energy screens that had ended humankind’s nightmare fear of nuclear holocaust could also serve more romantic purposes, Stoner mused. A gift from the stars. From my star brother.
He felt no need of sleep. Instead, as he watched the stately motion of the stars arcing across the dark sky he murmured the command that turned on the record player, keeping it so low that only he could hear it. The muted, moody opening of Villa-Lobos’s Bachianas Brasileiras No . 8 filled the room faintly, violins and cellos dark and sensuous.
The best invention the human race has ever made, Stoner thought. The symphony orchestra. And so typically human: a hundred virtuosos voluntarily submerging their individuality to produce something that no one of them could produce alone.
A meteor flashed across the night sky, silent and bright for the span of an eyeblink. Stoner sank back on his pillows and clasped his hands behind his head, content to lie beside his sleeping wife and wait for the dawn while the
But he was not the same man that she had known eighteen years earlier. Frozen in the cryogenic cold of space aboard the alien starship, he had somehow been changed. It was strange. Keith seemed more human than he had been earlier, more attuned to life than the self-contained, solitary scientist she had once known. He could open his emotions to her and love her as he had never been able to do before. Yet he was somehow beyond human, endowed with abilities that no human being had ever known, burning with the urgency of a demon-driven fanatic—or a saint.
But he loved her. Loved her as she loved him. For Jo, nothing else mattered.
Now she felt his strong arms around her and relaxed for the first time since she had left their home, four days earlier.
“I thought you’d stay the night in Washington,” he said, smiling down at her.
Jo said, “The party was pretty much of a bore. I decided I’d be much happier at home.”
“I’m much happier, too.”
They walked arm in arm into the house while the chauffeur handed Jo’s overnight bag and briefcase to one of the squat, many-armed household robots.
Stoner stopped at the foot of the stairs that led up to the master bedroom suite. On their right was the spacious living room; straight ahead along the corridor was the kitchen.
“You must be still on Eastern time,” he said. “Do you want some dinner or some breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry at all,” Jo replied.
He pursed his lips slightly. “You know, the best way to adapt to a change in time zones is to go to bed and sleep until you’ve caught up with the local time.”
She grinned up at him. “Sleep?”
“There’s iced champagne waiting in the bedroom.” He grinned back at her.
“How about a nice long shower first?” she suggested as they started up the steps.
“Sounds good to me.”
Hours later Stoner lay on his back gazing up at the stars. Jo was curled next to him on the waterbed, warm and breathing in the slow regular rhythm of sleep. All of Stoner’s childhood friends were in their places in the night sky: Orion and the Twins, the Bull, the glittering cluster of the Pleiades. A slim crescent Moon hung in the darkness like a scimitar, with the red jewel of Mars nearby.
There was no ceiling to their bedroom, only a bubble of energy that kept out the weather and served as a soundproof barrier. Yet it was completely transparent; like having the bedroom outdoors. Flowered hangings both inside and outside the room filled the dark night air with the fragrance of orange blossoms and magnolias, completing the illusion of being out in a sighing, whispering garden.
The energy screens that had ended humankind’s nightmare fear of nuclear holocaust could also serve more romantic purposes, Stoner mused. A gift from the stars. From my star brother.
He felt no need of sleep. Instead, as he watched the stately motion of the stars arcing across the dark sky he murmured the command that turned on the record player, keeping it so low that only he could hear it. The muted, moody opening of Villa-Lobos’s Bachianas Brasileiras No . 8 filled the room faintly, violins and cellos dark and sensuous.
The best invention the human race has ever made, Stoner thought. The symphony orchestra. And so typically human: a hundred virtuosos voluntarily submerging their individuality to produce something that no one of them could produce alone.
A meteor flashed across the night sky, silent and bright for the span of an eyeblink. Stoner sank back on his pillows and clasped his hands behind his head, content to lie beside his sleeping wife and wait for the dawn while the
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