Part 23 (1/2)

She turned toward the door as he pushed up from the bed, but his arm caught her wrist, dragging her back. She whimpered once, then shrieked faintly as his hand caught the b.u.t.tons on the dress, jerking them off.

Then suddenly she was a writhing, biting, scratching fury. He tightened his hand and lifted her to the bed, dropping a knee onto her throat and beginning to squeeze, while he jerked the dress and thin slip off.

She sat up as he released his knee, her hoa.r.s.e voice squeezed from between her writhing lips. ”Are you satisfied now, you mechanical beast!

Do you still think I have it on me?”

He grinned, twisting the corners of his mouth. ”You don't. Don't you know a _wife_ shouldn't keep secrets from her _husband_? A warm-blooded, affectionate husband, to boot.” He bent down, knocking aside her flailing arms, and pulled her closer to him. ”Better tell your husband where the book is, Cuddles!”

She cursed and he drew her closer. He bent down, forcing her head back and setting his lips on hers.

From somewhere, wetness touched his cheek; he lifted his head and looked down. The wetness came from tears that spilled out of her eyes and ran off onto the mattress. She was making no sound, and there was no resistance, but the tears ran out, one drop seeming to trip over another.

”All right, Sheila,” he said. His voice was cracked in his ears.

”Another week of being a failure on this planet of failures, and I might. Go ahead and tell me I'm the same as your first husband. If I can't even keep my word to you, I can at least get out and stay out.” He shook his head, waiting for her denunciation. ”For your amus.e.m.e.nt, I'm going to miss having you around!”

He stood up. Something touched his hand, and he looked down to see her fingers.

”Bruce,” she said faintly, ”you meant it! You don't hate me any more.”

She rubbed her wrist across her eyes, and the ghost of a smile touched her lips. ”I don't think you're a failure. And maybe--maybe I'm not.

Maybe I don't have to be a failure as a woman--a wife, Bruce. I don't want you to go!”

Two worlds. One huddled under its dome, forever afraid of losing that protection and having to face the life the other led; and yet driven to work together or to perish together. The sacred dome!

And suddenly he was shaking her. ”The dome! It has to be the answer!

Cuddles, you broke the chain enough for me to think again! We've been blind--the whole d.a.m.ned planet has been blind.”

She blinked and then frowned. ”Bruce--”

”I'm all right! I'm just half sane instead of all insane for a change.”

He got up, pacing the floor as he talked.

”Look, most of the people here are Martians. They've left Earth behind, and they're meeting this planet on its own terms. And they're adapting.

Third-generation children--not all, but a lot of them--are breathing the air we'd die on, and they're doing fine at it. Probably second-generation ones can keep going after we'd pa.s.s out. It's just as true out here as it is on the frontier. But Marsport has that sacred dome over it. It's still trying to be Earth. And it can't do it. It's never had a chance to adjust here, and it's afraid to try.”

”Maybe,” she agreed doubtfully. ”But what about this part of Marsport?”

”Obvious. Here, they grow up under the shadow of it. They live in a half-world, and they have to live on the crumbs the dome tosses them.

Sheila, if something happened to that dome--”

”We'd be killed,” she said. ”How do we do it?”

He frowned, and then grinned slowly. ”Maybe not!”

They spent the rest of the night discussing it. Sometime during the discussion, she made coffee, and first Randolph, then the Kid came in for briefing. Randolph was a natural addition, and the Kid had been alternately following Gordon and Sheila around since he'd first heard they were fighting against the men who'd robbed him of his right to speak. In the end, as the night spread into day, there were more people than they felt safe with, and less than they needed.

But later, as he stood beside the dome when night had fallen again, Gordon wasn't so sure. It was huge. The fabric of it was thin, and even the webbing straps that gave it added strength were frail things. But it was strong enough to hold up the pressure of over ten pounds per square inch, and the webbing was anch.o.r.ed in a metal sleeve that went too high for cutting. They could rip it, but not ruin it completely; and it had to be done so that no repair could ever be made.