Chapter 14
“SO IT WAS NOT the same one that you saw before?” asked Diomedes.
“No, Captain. At least, I don’t think so. Her voice was different.”
“H’m. There must be an absolute nest of Arcadians in that bloody créche . . . And all . . . she did was to talk to you and warn you to make yourself scarce before any of the doctors came on the scene?”
“That was all, Captain.”
“You’re lying, Brasidus.”
“All right.” Brasidus’ voice was sullenly defiant. “I kissed him, her, it. And it—or she—kissed me back.”
“You what?”
“You heard me, sir. Your very vague instructions to me were that I should find out all that I could. And that was one way of doing it.”
“Indeed? And what did you find out?”
“That these Arcadians, as you have said, exercise a sort of hypnotic power, especially when there is physical contact.”
“Hypnotic power? So the touch of mouth to mouth almost put you to sleep?”
“That wasn’t the way I meant it, sir. But I did feel that, if I weren’t very careful, I should be doing just what she wanted.”
“And what did she want?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you, sir? Oh, I know that intercourse with an alien being must be wrong—but that was what she wanted.”
“And you?”
“All right. I wanted it, too.”
“Brasidus, Brasidus . . . You know that what you have just told me could get you busted down to helot. Or worse. But in our job, as you are learning, we often have to break the law in order to enforce it.”
“As a policeman, sir, I am reasonably familiar with the law. I cannot recall that it forbids intercourse with aliens.”
“Not yet, Brasidus. Not yet. But you will recall that contact with the crews of visiting ships is prohibited. And I think that the preliminaries to making love may be construed as contact.”
“But are these Arcadians in the créche crew members of visiting ships?”
“What else can they be? They must have got here somehow.” Diomedes looked long and hard at Brasidus, but there was no censure in his regard. “However, I am not displeased by the way in which things are turning out. You are getting to know something about these . . . . things. These Arcadians. And I think that you are strong enough to resist their lure . . . Now, what have we for you? This evening, I think, you will visit your friend Achron at the créche. Keep your eyes and ears open, but don’t stick your neck out. Tomorrow I have an assignment for you that you should find interesting. This Margaret Lazenby wishes to make a sightseeing trip, and she especially asked for you as her escort.”
“Will Lieutenant Commander Grimes be along, sir?”
“No. He’ll be consorting with the top brass. After all, he is the commander of Seeker and, to use spaceman’s parlance, seems to pile on rather more G’s than the master of a merchantman . . . Yes, Brasidus, have yourself a nice visit with your boyfriend, and then report to me here tomorrow morning at 0730 hours, washed behind the ears and with all your brasswork polished.”
000111
Brasidus spent the evening with Achron before the latter reported for duty. It was not the first time that he had been a guest at the nurse’s Club—but it was the first time that he had felt uncomfortable there. Apart from his own feelings, it was no different from other occasions. There were the usual graceful, soft-spoken young men, proud and happy to play host to the hoplites who were their visitors. There was the usual food—far better cooked and more subtly seasoned than that served in the army messes. There was the usual wine—a little too sweet, perhaps, but chilled and sparkling. There was music and there was dancing—not the strident screaming of brass and the boom and rattle of drums, not the heavy thud of bare feet on the floor, but the rhythmic strumming of lutes and, to it, the slow gyrations of willowy bodies.
But . . .
But there was something lacking.
But what could be lacking?
“You are very thoughtful tonight, Brasidus,” remarked Achron wistfully.
“Am I?”
“Yes. You . . . you’re not with us, somehow.”
“No?”
“Brasidus, I have to be on duty soon. Will you come with me to my room?”
The Sergeant looked at his friend. Achron was a pretty boy, prettier than most, but he was not, he could never be, an Arcadian . . .
What am I thinking? he asked himself, shocked. Why am I thinking it?
He said, “Not tonight, Achron.”
“But what is wrong with you, Brasidus? You never used to be like this.” Then, with a sort of incredulous bitterness, “It can’t be one of the men from the ship, can it? No, not possibly. Not one of those great, hairy brutes. As well consort with one of those malformed aliens they’ve brought with them!” Achron laughed at the absurdity of the idea.
“No,” Brasidus told him. “Not one of the men from the ship.”
“Then it’s all right.”
“Yes, it’s all right. But I shall have a heavy day tomorrow.”
“You poor dear. I suppose that the arrival of this absurd spaceship from some uncivilized world has thrown a lot of extra work on you.”
“Yes. It has.”
“But you’ll walk with me to the créche, won’t you?”
“Yes. I’ll do that.”
“Oh, thank you. You can wait here while I get changed. There’s plenty of wine left.”
Yes, there was plenty of wine left, but Brasidus was in no mood for it. He sat in silence, watching the dancers, listening to the slow, sensuous thrumming. Did the Arcadians dance? And how would they look dancing, stripped for performance, the light gleaming on their smooth, golden skins? And why should the mere thought of it be so evocative of sensual imaginings?
Achron came back into the hall, dressed in his white working tunic. Brasidus got up from the bench, walked with him out into the night. The two friends made their way through the streets in silence at first, but it was not the companionable silence to which they had become used. Finally Brasidus spoke, trying to keep any display of real interest out of his voice.
“Wouldn’t it be better if you nurses lived in at the créche? The same as we do in the barracks.”
“Then we shouldn’t have these walks, Brasidus.”
“You could visit me.”
“But I don’t like your barracks. And your Club’s as bad.”
“I suppose that the cooking could be improved in both. Just who does live in at the créche?”
“All the doctors, of course. And there are some engineers who look after the machinery.”
“No helots?”
“No. Of course not.” Achron was shocked at the idea. “Even we—but, after all, Brasidus, we are helots—have to live outside. But you know all that. Why are you asking me?”
That was a hard counterquestion to answer. At last Brasidus said, “There have been rumors . . .”
“Rumors of what?”
“Well, it’s a very large building. Even allowing for the wards and the birth machine, there must be ample space inside. Do you think that the staff doctors and engineers could have . . . friends living with them?”
It was Achron’s turn to hesitate. “You could be right, Brasidus. There are so many rules telling us that we must not stray away from our wards. Now that you raise the point, I can see that there has always been an atmosphere of . . . of secrecy . . .”
“And have you ever seen or heard anything?”
“No.”
“And do the staff doctors and engineers have any friends among the nurses?”
“They wouldn’t look as us.” Resentment was all too evident in Achron’s voice. “They’re too high and mighty. Keep themselves to themselves, that’s what they do. And their own accommodation, I’ve heard, the King himself might envy. They’ve a heated swimming pool, even. I’ve never seen it, but I’ve heard about it. And I’ve seen the food and the wine that come in. Oh, they do themselves well—far better than us, who do all the work.”
“There might be inquiries being made,” said Brasidus cautiously.
“There are always inquiries being made. That Captain Diomedes wanted me to work for him. But he’s not . . . he’s not a gentleman. We didn’t get on. Why should I help him?”
“Would you help me?”
“And how can I, Brasidus?”
“Just look and listen. Let me know of anything out of the ordinary in the créche.”
“But the doctors can do no wrong,” said Achron. “And even if they did, they couldn’t. You know what I mean.”
“In your eyes, you mean?”
“In my eyes,” admitted the nurse. “But for you, and only for you, I’ll . . . I’ll look and listen. Does it mean promotion for you?”
“It does,” said Brasidus.
“Are you coming in?” asked Achron as they reached the entrance to the créche.
“No. I shall have a long and wearing day tomorrow.”
“You . . . you don’t give me much inducement to help you, do you? If I do, will things be the same between us again?”
“Yes,” lied Brasidus.