Approaching Oblivion Part 17

He turns away again. Hiding his face from her, he says, "I'm only permitted to stalk him during regulation hours, you know that."

"Break the regs."

He won't turn around. "I'm a Catman. I can't do that. I'm bound."

"If you don't, I'll see that someone else does."

"I'm beginning not to care."

"Have it your way."

"Your way."

"My way then. But my way whichever way."

He vanishes into the main room and a moment later she hears the dropshaft hiss. She sits at the table staring into the mid-distance, remembering. Her face softens and flows and lines of weariness superimpose themselves over her one hundred and sixty-five year old youthful face. She drops her face into her hand, runs the fingers up through her thick coppery hair, the metal fingernails making tiny clicking noises against the fibers and follicles. She makes a sound deep in her throat. Then she stiffens her back and rises. She stands there for several moments, listening to the past; she shrugs the robe from her slim, pale body and follows her husband's path to the dropshaft.

The dining salon is empty. From the main room comes the hiss of the dropshaft. Menials purr from the walls and clean up the dining area. Below, punishment and coercion reduce philosophies to diamond dust and suet.

Seven miles away, the thief reappears in his cool apartments. The sights and sounds of what he has overheard and seen between his parents, hidden in the main room till his father left his mother, tremble in his mind. He finds himself rubbing the palm of his left hand up the wall, rubbing over and over without control; his hand hurts from the friction but he doesn't stop.

He rubs and rubs till his palm is b.l.o.o.d.y. Then he vanishes, illegally.

Sub-level one:eleven-Central was converted to ocean. Skipboats sliced across from Oakwood on the eastern sh.o.r.e to Caliban on the western cliffs. In the coves and underwater caves sportsmen hunted loknesses, bringing home trophies that covered large walls. Music was bubblecast across the water.

Plankton beaneries bobbed like buoys near the tourist sh.o.r.es. Full Fathom Five had gotten four stars in The Epicure and dropshafts carried diners to the bottom to dine in elegance while watching the electro stims put on their regularly scheduled shows among the kelp beds. Neil Leipzig emerged into the pulsing ochre throat of the reception area, and was greeted by the maitre d'.

"Good evening, Max. Would Lady Effim and her party be here yet?"

The maitre d' smiled and his neck-slits opened and closed to reveal a pink moistness. "Not yet, Mr. Leipzig. Would you care to wait at the bar? Or one of the rooms?"

"I'll be at the bar. Would you let them know I'm here when they arrive?"

The thief let the undulant carry him into the bar and he slid into a seat beside the great curved pressure window. The kelp beds were alive with light and motion.

"Sir?"

The thief turned from watching the light-play. A domo hovered at the edge of the starburst-shaped table. "Oh. A chinchin, please, a little heavier on the Cinzano." The domo hummed a thankyou and swirled away. Neil Leipzig turned back to the phantasmagoria beyond the pressure window. A bubble of music struck the window and burst just beyond the thief's nose. He knew the tune.

"Neil."

The thief saw her reflection, dimly, in the window. He did not turn around for a moment, gathering his feelings. "Joice," he said, finally. "Nice to see you again."

"Then why don't you turn around so you can."

He let the seat turn him toward her.

She was still remarkable. He wanted to see dust marks on her loveliness, product of treachery and floating ethics, but he knew she had not really been treacherous, and if there had been an ethical failure, it had been his.

"May I sit?"

"I'm going to be joining a party in a few minutes, but please..." He waved her to the seat beside him. She settled into it, crossing her legs. The chiton opened and revealed smooth thigh vanishing up into ivory fabric. "How have you been?"

"I've been excellent, Neil. Breve sends his best."

"That was unnecessary."

"I'm trying to be reasonable, Neil. It's been a long time and I'm uncomfortable with it this way between us."

"Be comfortable. I've got it all straight."

"I'm trying to be friendly."

"Just be reasonable, that'll be enough."

The domo came bobbing through the room and hovered beside the table. It set the chin-chin down.

The thief sipped and nodded acceptance. "Lady?" the domo hummed.

"Nothing for me, thanks." The domo shot straight up and went away just below ceiling height "Are you still doing dust?" she asked.

He stiffened and his eyes came to her face with anger as he stopped watching the domo. "Your manners haven't improved any with time."

She started to say I'm sorry. But his anger continued to sheet: "If we run out on that topic, we can always discuss Breve's throat!"

"Oh, G.o.d, Neil, that's unfair...unfair and lousy!"

"I understand from one of the twinkle boys that Breve's using some new steroid vexing agent and a stim-sensitive synthetic that lets him vibrate it like mad. Must be terrific for you...when he's not with twinkles."

Joice pressed a fingertip against the room-call plate set into the surface of the starburst-shaped table. Near the reception area Max heard the tone on his console, noted it was Neil Leipzig's table, punched up an empty, and made a mental note to let Lady Effim know the thief was in a room, when she and her party arrived. At the starburst-shaped table, the number 22 pulsed in the translucent face of the room-call plate.

"All right, Neil. Enough already. Overkill doesn't become you."

She stood up.

"And mealy-mouth attempts at bonhomie don't become you."

He stood up.

"It's simply I see no reason why we have to be on the outs. There are still some good memories."

Side by side, they walked across the enormous dining room of the Full Fathom Five, toward the curving wall of gla.s.s-fronted private rooms.

"Look, Joice: I don't want to talk about it. You stopped to talk to me, remember? I didn't force myself on you."

"Just now, or three years ago?"

He couldn't help laughing. "Point for you," he said, opening the door to the private room. The magnifying gla.s.s of the room's front wall curved the diners beyond into a mere smear of moving color.

From outside, the tableau in the room was cast large for anyone to watch.

"I'm sorry I said that about the dust," Joice said, slipping the soft fabric of the chiton off her shoulders. It floated to the floor like fog.

"I'm not sorry about my comments where Breve is concerned," Neil replied. Naked, he moved his shoulder blades in a loosening movement, realizing the scene with his parents had made him unbelievably tense. He slid into the free-fall c.u.mulus fizz and lay on his back.

"Gardyloo!" she said, and dove into the mist beside him. Her long auburn hair floated wildly around her head.

"What the h.e.l.l's all this in aid of, Joice?" the thief said. She rolled him under her, sitting astride his thighs, positioning herself above his erect p.e.n.i.s.

"Peaceful coexistence," she said, and settled down slowly till he was deep up inside her.

"Has he med for you?"

"No."

"Does he intend to?"

"I have no idea."

"You've gotten more laissez-faire since we were a pair. I can't recall a week when you weren't badgering me to file."

"I loved you."

"And you don't love Breve. "

She moved her hips in a circular pattern. He contracted and expanded his p.e.n.i.s in a steady pulse.

She leaned back and rested her hands on his upper thighs, sliding up and down smoothly.

"I didn't say I don't love Breve. He just hasn't filed and it isn't a problem at the moment."

"Why don't you file for him?"

"Don't be cruel; you know Breve isn't in the Pool."

"So what is the problem? Twinkles?" "Don't be ridiculous."

He freed one hand and, pressing her lower lips, very gently sought out and stroked the mercury heaviness of her c.l.i.toris. She shuddered and opened her eyes, then they slid closed once more.

"Then what is?"

"There's nothing wrong between us. He's doing very well, his work is going well, and I'm fulfilled. It's a good merging."

She spasmed, from deep in her stomach muscles, and he felt her contracting around him. When she climaxed it was with a succession of small ignitions. He continued touching her, maintaining a rhythm, and she spiraled upward through a chain of multiple o.r.g.a.s.ms till she dropped her upper body onto him, reached under to grasp his b.u.t.tocks, and thrust herself up and down rapidly. He thought of metal surfaces.

She forced air through her clenched teeth and groaned from low in her throat, and he felt her rising for the final ascent. When it came, Neil held his breath and could feel the sudden cessation of her heartbeat.

They rolled and turned in the free-fall mist, and Joice spasmed for half a minute.

They lay locked together for a time, and then she raised her head and looked down at him.

"Nothing happened."

"For me. You're fine."

"Too much dust, Neil?"

"Too little interest."

"I don't believe that."

"Life is filled with little disappointments."

"You make me feel sad."

"Life is filled with little disappointments."

She pulled off him and reached for a moist and scented serviette in a dispenser on the wall. She dried herself between her legs and swam out of the fizz. Neil Leipzig lay on his back, at a forty-five degree angle to the floor, hanging artfully in mid-air, and watched her. "I don't regret losing you, Joice. I have more to work with, now that your appet.i.tes are satisfied at other groaning boards."

"Spare me the metaphors, Neil. Are you aware that in most circles you're considered ridiculous?"

"I seldom travel in those circles. It must get you dizzy."

"Hurting each other won't make the past more liveable."

"I don't live in the past."

"That's right. I forgot. You live in tin cans."

He felt his face getting hot. Too close, she'd come too close with that one. "Goodbye, Joice. Don't slam the door."

She draped the chiton over her arm, opened the door and stepped partially into the dining room proper. "Don't get metal splinters in your c.o.c.k." She smiled a smile of victory and closed the door behind her. Softly.

He watched her striding across the Full Fathom Five to join a group of Twinkles, Dutchgirls, a Duenna...and Breve. As she moved, she was comically distorted by the magnifying window. It was like watching her stride through rainbows. She sat down with them and Breve helped her into the chiton. Neil smiled and with a shrug reached for a serviette.

The door opened and the maitre d' stuck his head in. "Mr. Leipzig, Lady Effim and her party have arrived. The coral room. Would you like your drink sent over?"

"Thank you, Max. No, a fresh one, please. Chin-chin, a little heavier on the Cinzano. And tell Lady Effim I'll be there in a moment."

He lay in the fizz for a few minutes, thinking of metal surfaces, his eyes closed, fists clenched.

The thief had no real, concrete data on what Lady Effim's side-boys did to earn their keep, but he was gut certain it was at least partially s.e.xual in nature; and Neil Leipzig did not dismiss the possibility that another substantial expenditure of their time in her behalf was legitimately connected with the continent she owned and exploited; and that other time was spent in illegitimate pursuits; and darker times spent in places, and doing things the thief did not wish to dwell on.