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"Does flying this ship take all your attention, Albert?" I asked.
"Well, not really, Robin," he admitted. "It has full navigation programing, of
course."
"So your being there is just another way of amusing me. Then amuse me in a
different way, why don't you? Talk to me. Tell me some of that stuff you're
always anxious to show off. You know. About cosmology, and the Heechee, and
the Meaning of Everything, and God."
"If you wish, Robin," he said agreeably, "but first perhaps you would like to
see this incoming message."
Essie looked up from the corner where she was going over her customer-comment
synoptics as Albert wiped the big overhead screen of its star pictures and
displayed:
Robinette, my boy, for the guy who made the
Brazilians roll over and play dead nothing is too much.
High Pentagon alerted to your visit and instructed to extend every courtesy.
The joint is yours.
Manzbergen
"By God," said I, surprised and delighted, "they did it! They turned over the
data!"
Albert nodded. "So it would appear, Robin. I think you have a right to be
pleased with your efforts."
Essie came over and kissed the back of my neck. "I endorse this comment," she
purred. "Excellent Robin! Man of great influence."
"Aw, shucks," I said, grinning. I couldn't help grinning. If the Brazilians
had turned over their search-and-locate data to the Americans, then the
Americans could very probably put it together with their own data and find a
way to deal with the damn spaceborne terrorists and their damn crazy-making
TPT. No wonder General Manzbergen was pleased with me! I was pleased with
myself. And it just went to show that when problems seemed absolutely
overwhelming and you couldn't decide which to tackle first, if you just
tackled one of them you would find that all the others were melting away too .
. . "What?"
"I asked if you were still interested in carrying on a conversation,"
Albert said wistfully.
"Why, sure. I guess so." Essie was back in her corner, but watching Albert
rather than returning to her reports.
"Then if you don't mind," Albert said shyly, "it would give me pleasure to
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talk to you not about cosmology and eschatology and the missing mass, but
about my own previous life, instead."
Essie, scowling, opened her mouth to speak, but I raised a hand. "Let him
talk, love. I guess my mind wouldn't really be on the missing mass right now,
anyway."
So we flew along on that short, happy run to the High Pentagon while Albert,
leaning back in the pilot seat with his hands folded over the plump tummy in
the sloppy sweater, reminisced about early days in the patent office in
Switzerland, and the way the queen of Belgium used to accompany his violin-
playing on the piano; and meanwhile my at-third-hand friend Dolly Walthers was
being questioned with great vigor by military intelligence officers~4n the
High Pentagon; and meanwhile my not-quite-yet friend Captain was tidying up
the traces of his intervention and grieving over his lost love; and meanwhile
my once-much-more-than friend Klara Moynlin was. . . was . .
I didn't know what Klara was doing meanwhile, not then I didn't. Actually, in
detail, I surely did not really want to.
17
Picking Up the Pieces
The hardest part of Klara's new life was keeping her mouth shut. She had a
combative nature, Klara did, and with Wan, combat was all too easy to create.
What Wan wanted was food, sex, company, occasional assistance at the jobs of
running the spacecraft-when he wanted them, and not at any other times. What
Klara wanted was time to think. She wanted to think about this astonishing
derailment of her life. The possibility of getting killed she had always
faced-if not bravely, exactly, then at least steadfastly. The possibility that
so weird a misadventure as being stuck on a siding, inside a black hole, for
an entire generation while the world moved on without her had never crossed
her mind. That needed to be thought over.
Wan had no interest in Klara's needs. When he wanted her for some-
thing, he wanted her. When he didn't, he made that very clear. It was not his
sexual demands that troubled Klara. In general they were not much more
trouble, or more personally significant, than the routine of going to the
bathroom. Foreplay for Wan consisted of taking his pants off. The act was over
at his pace, and his pace was rapid. The use of Kiara's body disturbed her
less than the rape of her attention.
Klara's best times were when Wan was sleeping. They did not usually last very
long. Wan was a light sleeper. She would settle down for a conversation with
the Dead Men, or make herself something to eat that Wan didn't particularly
like, or simply sit and stare into space-a phrase that took on new meaning
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