Thorns

FOURTEEN: HAPPILY EVER AFTER

With two of his closest aides off in the West performing a complex balletic pas de quatre with Burris and Lona, Duncan Chalk was forced to rely almost entirely on the services of Leontes d’Amore. D’Amore was capable, of course, or he’d never have come as far as he had. Yet he lacked Nikolaides’s stability of character and also lacked Aoudad’s consuming blend of ambition and insecurity. D’Amore was clever but shifty, a quicksand man.

Chalk was at home, in his lakeside palace. Tickers and newstapes chittered all about him, but he tuned them out with ease. D’Amore behind his left ear, Chalk patiently and speedily dealt with the towering stack of the daily business. The Emperor Ch’in Shih Huang Ti, so they said, had turned over a hundred and twenty pounds of documents a day and still had sufficient spare time to build the Great Wall. Of course, documents were written on bamboo slabs in those days, much heavier than minislips. But old Shih Huang Ti had to be admired. He was one of Chalk’s heroes.

He said, “What time did Aoudad phone in that report?”

“An hour before you awoke.”

“I should have been awakened. You know that. He knows that.”

D’Amore’s lips performed an elegant entrechat of distress. “Since there was no crisis, we felt—”

“You were wrong.” Chalk pivoted and nailed D’Amore with a quick glance. D’Amore’s discomfort fed Chalk’s needs to some extent, but not sufficiently. The petty writhings of underlings were no more nourishing than straw. He needed red meat. He said, “So Burris and the girl have been introduced.”

“Very successfully.”

“I wish I could have seen it. How did they take to each other?”

“They’re both edgy. But basically sympathetic. Aoudad thinks it’ll work out well.”

“Have you planned an itinerary for them yet?”

“It’s coming along. Luna Tivoli, Titan, the whole interplanetary circuit. Though we’ll start them in the Antarctic. Accommodations, details—everything’s under control.”

“Good. A cosmic honeymoon. Maybe even a small bundle of joy to brighten the tale. That would be something, if he turned out fertile! We know she is, by God!”

D’Amore said worriedly, “Concerning that: the Prolisse woman is undergoing tests even now.”

“So you’ve got her. Splendid, splendid! Did she resist?”

“She was given a valid cover story. She thinks she’s being checked for alien viruses. By the time she wakes up, we’ll have the semen analysis and our answer.”

Chalk nodded brusquely. D’Amore left him, and the large man scooped the tape of Elise’s visit to Burris from its socket and fitted it into the viewer for another scanning. Chalk had been against the idea of letting her see him, at first, despite Aoudad’s strong recommendation. But in short order Chalk had come to understand some advantages of it. Burris had not had a woman since his return to Earth. Signora Prolisse, according to Aoudad (who was in a position to know!) had a peppery hunger for the distorted body of her late husband’s shipmate. Let them get together, then; see Burris’s response. A prize bull should not be nudged into a highly publicized mating without some preliminary tests.

The tape was graphic and explicit. Three hidden cameras, only a few molecules in lens diameter, had recorded everything. Chalk had viewed the sequence three times, but there were always new subtleties to derive. Watching unsuspecting couples in the act of love gave him no particular thrill; he obtained his pleasures in more refined manners, and the sight of the beast with two backs was interesting only to adolescents. But it was useful to know something of Burris’s performance.

He sped the tape past the preliminary conversation. How bored she seems while he tells of his adventures! How frightened he seems when she exposes her body! What terrifies him? He is no stranger to women. Of course, that was in his old life. Perhaps he fears that she will find his new body hideous and turn away from him at the crucial instant. The moment of truth. Chalk pondered it. The cameras could not reveal Burris’s thoughts, nor even his emotional constellation, and Chalk himself had not taken steps to detect his inner feelings. So all had to be by inference.

Certainly Burris was reluctant. Certainly the lady was determined. Chalk studied the naked tigress as she staked out her claim. It seemed for a while as though Burris would spurn her—not interested in sex, or in any event not interested in Elise. Too noble to top his friend’s widow? Or still afraid to open himself to her, even in the face of her unquestioned yearning? Well, he was naked now. Elise still undeterred. The doctors who had examined Burris upon his return said that he was still capable of the act—so far as they could tell—and now it was quite clear that they had been right.

Elise’s arms and legs waved aloft. Chalk tugged at his dewlaps as the tiny figures on the screen acted out the rite. Yes, Burris could make love even now. Chalk lost interest as the coupling ran to its climax. The tape petered out after a final shot of limp, depleted figures side by side on the rumpled bed. He could make love, but what about babies? Chalk’s men had intercepted Elise soon after she had left Burris’s room. A few hours ago the lusty wench had lain unconscious on a doctor’s table, the heavy legs apart. But Chalk sensed that this time he was bound to be disappointed. Many things were within his control; not all.

D’Amore was back. “The report’s in.”

“And?”

“No fertile sperm. They can’t quite figure out what they’ve got, but they swear it won’t reproduce. The aliens must have done a switch there, too.”

“Too bad,” Chalk sighed. “That’s one line of approach we’ll have to scratch. The future Mrs. Burris won’t have any children by him.”

D’Amore laughed. “She’s got enough babies already, hasn’t she?”