Recruit for Andromeda. Marlowe Stephen
him. A failure, he was. I can just see it. What does he care if he goes away forever and doesn’t come back? One bread line is as good as another.
FIRST MAN: Ha-ha.
SECOND MAN: Yeah, well I mean it. Forever. We’re going away, someplace—forever. We’re not coming back, ever. No one comes back. It’s for good, for keeps.
FIRST MAN: Tell it to your congressman. Or maybe you want to pull a sick act, too?
THIRD MAN: (Hits First Man, who, surprised, crashes back against a table and falls down) It isn’t an act, damn you!
GUARD: All right, break it up. Come on, break it up....
ALARIC ARKALION: (To himself) I wish I saw that ten million dollars already—if I ever get to see it.
* * * *
They drove for hours through the fresh country air, feeling the wind against their faces, listening to the roar their ground-jet made, all alone on the rimrock highway.
“Where are we going, Kit?”
“Search me. Just driving.”
“I’m glad they let you come out this once. I don’t know what they would have done to me if they didn’t. I had to see you this once. I—”
Temple smiled. He had absented himself without leave. It had been difficult enough and he might yet be in a lot of hot water, but it would be senseless to worry Stephanie. “It’s just for a few hours,” he said.
“Hours. When we want a whole lifetime. Kit. Oh, Kit—why don’t we run away? Just the two of us, someplace where they’ll never find you. I could be packed and ready and—”
“Don’t talk like that. We can’t.”
“You want to go where they’re sending you. You want to go.”
“For God’s sake, how can you talk like that? I don’t want to go anyplace, except with you. But we can’t run away, Steffy. I’ve got to face it, whatever it is.”
“No you don’t. It’s noble to be patriotic, sure. It always was. But this is different, Kit. They don’t ask for part of your life. Not for two years, or three, or a gamble because maybe you won’t ever come back. They ask for all of you, for the rest of your life, forever, and they don’t even tell you why. Kit, don’t go! We’ll hide someplace and get married and—”
“And nothing.” Temple stopped the ground-jet, climbed out, opened the door for Stephanie. “Don’t you see? There’s no place to hide. Wherever you go, they’d look. You wouldn’t want to spend the rest of your life running, Steffy. Not with me or anyone else.”
“I would. I would!”
“Know what would happen after a few years? We’d hate each other. You’d look at me and say ‘I wouldn’t be hiding like this, except for you. I’m young and—’”
“Kit, that’s cruel! I would not.”
“Yes, you would. Steffy, I—” A lump rose in his throat. He’d tell her goodbye, permanently. He had to do it that way, did not want her to wait endlessly and hopelessly for a return that would not materialize. “I didn’t get permission to leave, Steffy.” He hadn’t meant to tell her that, but suddenly it seemed an easy way to break into goodbye.
“What do you mean? No—you didn’t....”
“I had to see you. What can they do, send me for longer than forever?”
“Then you do want to run away with me!”
“Steffy, no. When I leave you tonight, Steffy, it’s for good. That’s it. The last of Kit Temple. Stop thinking about me. I don’t exist. I—never was.” It sounded ridiculous, even to him.
“Kit, I love you. I love you. How can I forget you?”
“It’s happened before. It will happen again.” That hurt, too. He was talking about a couple of statistics, not about himself and Stephanie.
“We’re different, Kit. I’ll love you forever. And—Kit ... I know you’ll come back to me. I’ll wait, Kit. We’re different. You’ll come back.”
“How many people do you think said that before?”
“You don’t want to come back, even if you could. You’re not thinking of us at all. You’re thinking of your brother.”
“You know that isn’t true. Sometimes I wonder about Jase, sure. But if I thought there was a chance to return—I’m a selfish cuss, Steffy. If I thought there was a chance, you know I’d want you all for myself. I’d brand you, and that’s the truth.”
“You do love me!”
“I loved you, Steffy. Kit Temple loved you.”
“Loved?”
“Loved. Past tense. When I leave tonight, it’s as if I don’t exist anymore. As if I never existed. It’s got to be that way, Steffy. In thirty years, no one ever returned.”
“Including your brother, Jase. So now you want to find him. What do I count for? What....”
“This going wasn’t my idea. I wanted to stay with you. I wanted to marry you. I can’t now. None of it. Forget me, Steffy. Forget you ever knew me. Jase said that to our folks before he was taken.” Almost five years before Jason Temple had been selected for the Nowhere Journey. He’d been young, though older than his brother Kit. Young, unattached, almost cheerful he was. Naturally, they never saw him again.
“Hold me, Kit. I’m sorry ... carrying on like this.”
They had walked some distance from the ground-jet, through scrub oak and bramble bushes. They found a clearing, fragrant-scented, soft-floored still from last autumn, melodic with the chirping of nameless birds. They sat, not talking. Stephanie wore a gay summer dress, full-skirted, cut deep beneath the throat. She swayed toward him from the waist, nestled her head on his shoulder. He could smell the soft, sweet fragrance of her hair, of the skin at the nape of her neck. “If you want to say goodbye ...” she said.
“Stop it,” he told her.
“If you want to say goodbye....”
Her head rolled against his chest. She turned, cradled herself in his arms, smiled up at him, squirmed some more and had her head pillowed on his lap. She smiled tremulously, misty-eyed. Her lips parted.
He bent and kissed her, knowing it was all wrong. This was not goodbye, not the way he wanted it. Quickly, definitely, for once and all. With a tear, perhaps, a lot of tears. But permanent goodbye. This was all wrong. The whole idea was to be business-like, objective. It had to be done that way, or no way at all. Briefly, he regretted leaving the encampment.
This wasn’t goodbye the way he wanted it. The way it had to be. This was auf weidersen.
And then he forgot everything but Stephanie....
* * * *
“I am Alaric Arkalion III,” said the extremely young-looking man with the old, wise eyes.
How incongruous, Temple thought. The eyes look almost middle-aged. The rest of him—a boy.
“Something tells me we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” Arkalion went on. The voice was that of an older man, too, belying the youthful complexion, the almost childish features, the soft fuzz of a beard.
“I’m Kit Temple,” said Temple, extending his hand. “Arkalion, a strange name. I know it from somewhere.... Say! Aren’t you—don’t you have something to do with carpets or something?”
“Here and now, no. I am a number. A-92-6417. But my father is—perhaps I had better say was—my father is Alaric Arkalion II. Yes, that is right, the carpet king.”
“I’ll be darned,” said Temple.
“Why?”