Stories Complete, page 8
Vince Conway wheeled, twisting himself to an upright position. He blinked—hard. So close that he could reach out and touch them, were a delicate pair of ankles. And from somewhere above the ankles, a fresh wisp of tobacco smoke floated past the hem of a flared skirt!
The voice that went with the mirage was a throaty one. “Well, what do you know?” the voice said. “A man—a real man!”
Vince lifted his eyes, staring at the red lips that were in the act of sucking a fresh drag out of the cigarette. The girl was young, probably in her early twenties. She wore a pink, open at the neck, blouse, and a shock of shoulder-length strawberryblonde hair tapered up to bangs that fell across her forehead. Without taking her eyes from him, she allowed a thin ribbon of smoke to curl downward.
“Aren’t you in the habit of getting up when a lady speaks to you?” she asked whimsically.
Vince remained seated, eyeing the girl stupidly.
“Perhaps you haven’t made up your mind about me being a lady, is that it?”
Vince stumbled awkwardly to his feet, struggling for words. Unconsciously, he found his gaze riveted on the top button of the girl’s blouse. It was partially open, and hung provocatively across a very smooth white shoulder.
“You’re being rude,” the girl said. She made no attempt to adjust the garment.
Vince jerked his stare level with the pair of grey-green eyes that were twinkling a bit at the corners. He gulped. “I’m Vince Conway,” he blurted out suddenly. “I’ve just returned from the perimeter. My ship crashed on a dead planet out in the Yeandro System. My crew were all killed and I was marooned there. I’ve just got back. That’s all about me, now who are you?”
Strawberry-hair stubbed out the cigarette under the heel of her sandal. “I’m Lois Burbank,” she said huskily. “It’s going to be nice knowing you, Vince—real nice.
Conway forced a grin. “I’m sorry I was rude. I’m afraid I’m not used to being around people. Now that I’m back to civilization I guess I’ll have to learn some manners.”
Lois Burbank brushed a sliver of tobacco off her lower lip. “I’ve got news for you, Vince. There aren’t any people. . . .”
“You mean. . . .”
The girl nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean, Vince. There’s just you and me. Does the situation annoy you?”
Vince could feel a lump rising in his throat. He took a step forward. “In a sense you do annoy me. . . .”
The girl stepped back. Still smiling, she said: “You look beat, Vince. You need a shave. You need one real bad.” She turned then and walked away from him, while he stroked his chin bristles reflectively.
He watched her walk halfway to the Governor’s Mansion, before it occurred to him to follow. He caught up with her just inside the great steel doors, and fell in step beside her. The initial shock of the strange meeting was beginning to wear off now.
“You live here?” he asked.
Lois moved her shoulders. “Why not? I’ve the whole town to choose from.”
He laid a hand on her arm. “But why? How come you’re here and everyone else is gone?”
The girl turned, her grey-green eyes searching his face. “You mean you don’t know?” she asked incredulously.
Vince shook his head. “Like I told you, I’ve just returned for the perimeter. I don’t even know how long I’ve been gone!”
The girl didn’t answer. Instead she plucked a fresh cigarette from her blouse pocket. Without taking her eyes off him, she lit it and blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling. “You’ve been gone a long while, Vince,” she said absently. “You’ve missed out on a lot. Why don’t you freshen up a bit, then maybe I can bring you up to date.”
Vince swallowed hard. There was something about the girl—something about the way she looked at him, that made him drop his eyes and stare at the grimy knobs of his own knuckles.
“You’ll find what you need upstairs,” he heard her say. “They left in a hurry and didn’t bother to take much with them.”
He started to reply, but already she had turned away and started toward the arched entrance of the nearby lounge. Over her shoulder she said: “Hurry back, Vince. I’ll be waiting for you.”
He crossed the thick carpet then, to where a gleaming metal stairway reached toward a balcony that overflowed the floor of the lobby. Around the balcony were a dozen doors of simulated marble. He walked up to one of them and it hissed open. He went inside.
The place was obviously a guest room, one of the dozens reserved for visiting dignitaries who might literally drop in from out of the stars. He walked past the overside bed, and into the lavatory. The water was still running. Carefully, he peeled off his clothes and stepped under the shower. The water was cold—almost icy. But it felt fresh and invigorating as it spilled over his broad shoulders. It had been over five years since he’d had the luxury of a running shower, yet his actions were all mechanical.
Desperately, his mind struggled to rationalize the strange events of the past few hours. . . . What had happened on Gallion—one of the richest plums in the entire galaxy—to warrant complete and utter evacuation? Had someone finally succeeded in cracking the perimeter? Was that where they’d gone? And if so, why? What could possibly be out there—or anywhere for that matter—that could influence an entire population to desert the possessions it had taken them a life-time to build up. . . . Or was it because of some impending catastrophe? It would seem not. . . . Downstairs in the lounge was a girl—a girl with long shapely legs and strawberry-colored hair who seemed anything but worried about impending doom.
The shav-lite, probably operated by a pile generator somewhere. inside the building, was, oddly enough, in operating condition. Then, after the last of his bristles had disappeared, he stepped in front of the full length mirror. . . . Outwardly, the five years he’d spent in solitude had done little harm to his physical condition. He looked—he told himself—almost exactly the way he had before he left: a rather well-built man in his middle-thirties, with dark hair and grey eyes that were just beginning to acquire almost-invisible creases around the corners. There was a time when women had complimented him on his eyes. But that was a long while ago. That was back in the days when he had quick, witty answers to the comments of the buxom frontier-followers who worked out of the spaceport bars where they buttonholed the crews even before the jets were cold. Now it was different.
Now apparently his glib tongue had deserted him. Furthermore, the girl downstairs knew it. And knowing it, seemed intent on pressing her advantage by use of a half-insolent smile and seductive double-talk. He frowned at the image he saw in the mirror. And the reflection frowned back at him. He hated himself for allowing her to get under his skin this way. . . . and he hated her too—hated her in a vague, uncomfortable sort of way.
Almost savagely, he stalked across the room and picked up the grimy clothes off the floor. Scowled, when a smudge of grease from the jumper rubbed off on his hand, and dropped the garment back on the floor.
There was something oddly amusing about climbing back into the filthy clothes when a city-full of fresh ones were available for the taking. In less than five minutes he could be out of the building and back inside with a fresh and complete change. He wondered what Lois would say were she to see him prowling about the building stark naked. He smiled. Lois was a strange girl. Her reaction to that situation was a matter of interesting speculation. He was turning the possibilities over in his mind when a thought occurred to him.
Impulsively, he crossed the room and pressed the metal border of a section of colorful wall-paneling. The closet slid open. He stepped back, examining its contents.
The residents of Gallion HAD left in a hurry—a big hurry.
The closet was stocked full of clothes!
III
From the wide variety of garments, he selected a red and grey kryton shirt with trousers to match. Though the shirt was small, fortunately its owner had been a vain man. Under a quick wrench of his fingers, the neatly disguised air pockets in the shoulders collapsed. Carefully, he draped the altered garment over his big frame. The outfit was still too small, but it looked good on him—probably better than it had on its original owner.
He was still regarding himself in the mirror when he heard the door hiss open. . . . He wheeled. Lois stood in the threshold, leaning carelessly on one elbow against the door-frame.
Vince drew a deep breath. Lois too had spent some time on her appearance. She was wearing something black and filmy that became almost transparent where it touched the flesh. She walked toward him, the transparencies shifting subtly over the length of her body. She’d done something to her hair too. The strawberry bangs had been swept upward, away from the forehead, where they were whipped into a half-halo effect that gave her a raw provoking type of elegance. Only the smile was the same—that half-curious smile that seemed to say: Come and get me.
So intent was he on her appearance that he didn’t even notice the tray of food she was carrying until she set it down on the small bed-table. She looked at him then—brazenly, with her hands on her hips. Methodically, she swiveled her high-arched eyebrows from the top of his hairline to his still-bare feet.
“You look smooth, Vince,” she said finally, “real smooth. You look almost good enough to eat.”
There was an enbarrassing silence. Then Lois said: “That’s what you should have said, Vince. You should have told me, ‘Lois, you look good enough to eat!’ I do, don’t I?”
He could feel the blood pounding against his temples.
“Well, don’t I?”
Vince took a step forward. “Yes, damn you!” he hissed. You do! You look good enough to eat!” His arms reached out for her. Again she stepped back out of reach. There was no panic in the movement. And as always, the half-mocking smile continued to play around the corners of her mouth. Carelessly, she jerked her head at the tray of food.
“You must be hungry, Vince,” she said. “Why don’t you have something to eat?”
Vince looked at the food, then at the girl, then back to the food again. He managed a tight grin, then deliberately turned his back on her and sat down at the table. He forked a mouthful of food. It tasted good. He continued eating, carefully ignoring the girl.
He’d all but finished the generous helping when, from the edge of his eye, he saw her walk around the table and sit opposite him. He could feel her eyes on him, but he refused to answer their solemn stare.
“Vince?”
He gulped down the last swallow of coffee and looked up. “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?” she asked.
He ignored the napkin on the corner of the tray and wiped his lips on the sleeve of his shirt. “Why should I be?” he asked. “It’s your party. I wasn’t even invited.”
“Don’t be like that, Vince.”
“Like what?” He was careful to keep his voice pitched above the conflict of emotions that churned up inside him.
He watched her hand reach across the table and come to rest on top of his knuckles. It felt cool and comfortable, as if it belonged there. “I can make it up to you,” she said. “I can, if you still want me to.”
Vince stared at her. The thickness he felt inside him was primarily born of lust and passion. He knew that. Yet overshadowing it was a stronger desire—the desire for revenge.
“The dinner was good,” he said flatly.
Lois nodded. “I’m glad you liked it.”
Vince drummed his Angers on the table. “In fact,” he went on, “right now there’s only one thing that’s still bothering me.”
He could feel the girl’s Angers tighten across his knuckles. “There’s no need for anything to be bothering you, Vince,” she said.
“Isn’t there?”
“No, Vince, there isn’t.”
Vince picked up a spoon from the table and pretended to study it. Without raising his eyes, he said: All right. I’ll tell you what’s bothering me then. Maybe you’ll be able to come up with an answer.”
Lois smiled. “I’m sure I will, Vince.”
He raised his eyes, staring at the girl fixedly. “Tell me,” he said carefully, “what happened here that was important enough to make everyone pack up and leave?”
As he spoke, he watched the girl—watched her drop her eyes and fidget nervously in the chair. Without looking at him, she said: “I don’t know, Vince. . . . I don’t know what happened. I was on a trip on the other side of the planet. When I came back, I. . . . that’s when I found that everyone had left.”
Vince jerked his hand out from under the girl’s palm. “You’re lying!” he said thickly.
“I’m not! Please, Vince, I don’t know what happened. Can’t you take my word for that?”
“No!” He bit off the words: “If you traveled alone, where’s your copter? And if you didn’t, where are the others who were with you?”
“There weren’t any others. I was alone. My copter crashed ten miles outside the city, and I had to walk back. That’s when I found out that everyone had left.”
Vince sighed wearily. “All right, so they left. . . . So where do you think they went?”
“I don’t know, Vince.”
“Did they go out to the perimeter?”
“No!”
“What makes you so sure?”
Lois bit her lip, “I—I don’t know, Vince. No one’s ever gone out there and returned to tell about it, have they?”
“I have.”
“You didn’t go all the way out, Vince. You only got out as far as Yeandro IV.”
Vince stared at her, hard. “How did you know that?” he asked icily. Across the short width of the table, he watched her intently—watched the black, lacy V across her breasts rising and falling.
“You—you told me,” she said nervously.
“I told you I was marooned on a dead planet in the Yeandro system,” Vince snapped. “I didn’t say it was the fourth one!”
“I thought you did.”
Vince shook his head. “It just happens that you’re right. You’re right because you know that the only dead planet in that system is the fourth one. But how could you know that unless someone else had already been out there and returned to tell about it?”
Lois’ face flushed. The red lips were quivering now. She got up, almost knocking over the table. “I don’t have to put up with this inquisition,” she said angrily. You’ve no right to question me this way!” She wheeled, and started toward the door.
She’d taken three steps when Vince caught up with her. He grabbed her wrist, spun her around. Roughly he grasped both her arms just below the black lace covering her shoulders. “Where did they go?” he demanded.
Lois stared at him, but didn’t answer. Her face was very close.
“Where?” he repeated.
He could feel the subtle pressure of her body against him, and the grey-green eyes, only inches away, were beginning to blur. Savagely then, he pulled her yielding form against him, and pressed his mouth against the soft, red slash of her lips.
IV
After a time, Lois drew back, lacing her fingers carelessly behind his neck. Vince pulled her back toward him. She came willingly, burying her face against his shoulder.
“Let’s not argue anymore, Vince,” she whispered.
Against his check, Vince could feel the soft, wispy caress of the girl’s hair, as he muttered an assent.
“You’ll never be lonely again, Vince,” she said. “I’ll see to that.”
Vince didn’t answer. Flanked between two metal statues on the dressing table, he could see his own image in the mirror. It appeared coarse and ruddy-looking against Lois’ white shoulder. Further back was the open door.
He reached back slowly, disentangling the girl’s hands from behind his neck. Then deliberately, and half-hoping it was a trick done with mirrors, he turned toward the door.
A man was standing in the threshold. He was a short man—too short to be called well-built, yet stocky to the point of abnormality. He was leaning carelessly against the duro-chromo sash, with one hand pinched around a cigarette he didn’t bother to remove from his lips. The other arm dangled loosely at his side, where stubby fingers were curled around the stock of a snub-nosed anode pistol.
“Hello, Lois,” the stranger said.
Lois raised her eyes. “Get out of here, Lyle,” she said thinly. “Get out of my sight.”
The man called Lyle grinned around the stub of his cigarette. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” he asked.
Lois withered him with a look of studied insolence. “Get out!” she repeated.
The newcomer’s grin broadened. “Oh come, baby. Let’s not be unneighborly. You’ve got to be hospitable. I’m sure in view of the circumstances, your friend won’t mind sharing the wealth.”
He took a step forward. Then Vince was between Lois and the man with the gun.
The short man stopped, beaming a tight-lipped smile at Vince.
“Since our hostess seems indisposed, I’ll have to introduce myself. My name’s Lyle—Brandt Lyle.”
Vince stared at the man woodenly. “Where do you fit into the picture?”
The man called Lyle ground out the cigarette under the heel of his shoe. “I thought perhaps our girl friend had already told you that.”
Vince flicked a look at Lois. “She’s told me a lot of things. You weren’t among them.”
He felt Lois’ fingers close over his arm. “Please, Vince, don’t listen to him. You don’t understand. . . .”
Vince laughed shortly. He jerked his arm away. “That,” he
agreed acidly, “is probably the first true thing you’ve said since I’ve been here. All right, so I don’t understand. Suppose you start trying to make me understand! Never mind who he is. Let’s start off by telling me about you. Are you his wife?”
