Part 4 (1/2)
”Our gla.s.ses are nearly empty, Your Honor. A round was part of the bet.”
Sirocco was about to reply, then put his gla.s.s down quickly, grabbed his cap from the table, and stood up. ”Time I wasn't here,” he muttered. ”I'll be up in Rockefeller's if anyone wants to join me there.” With that he weaved away between the tables and disappeared through the back room to exit via the pa.s.sage outside the rest rooms.
”What in h.e.l.l's come over him?” Hanlon asked, nonplussed. ”Aren't they paying captains well these days?”
”SD's,” Swyley murmured, without moving his mouth. His eyeb.a.l.l.s s.h.i.+fted sideways and back again a few times to indicate the direction over his right shoulder. A more restrained note crept into the place, and the atmosphere took on a subtle tension.
Over his gla.s.s, Colman watched as three Special Duty troopers made their way to the bar. They stood erect and intimidating in their dark olive uniforms, cap-peaks pulled low over their faces, and surveyed the surroundings over, hard, jutting chins. n.o.body met their stares for long before looking away. One of them murmured an order to the bartender, who nodded and quickly set up gla.s.ses, then grabbed bottles from the shelf behind. The SD's were the elite of the regular corps, handpicked for being the meanest b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in the Army and utterly without humor. They reminded Colman of the commando units he had seen in the Transvaal. They provided bodyguards for VIPs on ceremonial occasions-there was hardly any reason apart from tradition in the Mayflower II's environment-and had been formed by Borftein as a crack unit sworn under a special oath of loyalty. Their commanding officer was a general named Stormbel. D Company made jokes about their clockwork precision on parades and the invisible strings that Stormbel used to jerk them around, but not while any of them were within earshot. They called the SD's the Stromboli Division.
”I guess we buy our own drinks,” Hanlon said, draining the last of his beer and setting his gla.s.s down on the table. ”Looks like it,” Stanislau agreed.
”I got the last one,” Colman reminded them. Somehow the enthusiasm had gone out of the party.
”Ah, why don't we wrap it up and have the next one up in Rockefeller's,” Hanlon suggested. ”That was where Sirocco said he was going.”
”Great idea,” Colman said and stood up. Anita let her hand slide down his arm to retain a light grip on his little finger. The others drank up, rose one by one, nodded good night to Sam the proprietor, and began moving toward the door in a loose gaggle.
Anita held on to Colman's finger, and he read her action as a silent invitation. He had slept with her a few times, many months ago now, and enjoyed it. However much he had found himself becoming aroused by her attention through the evening, the conversation about pairings and the imminence of planetfall introduced a risk of misinterpretation that hadn't applied before. Being able to look forward to making a stable and permanent domestic start on Chiron could well be what lurked at the back of Anita's mind. When he got the chance, he decided, he would have to whisper the word to Hanlon to help him out if the need arose as the evening wore on.
The precinct outside was full of people wasting the evening while trying to figure out what to do with it, when Colman and Anita emerged from the Bowry and turned to follow the others, who were already some distance ahead. Anita stopped to fish for something in her pocketbook, and Colman slowed to a halt to wait. The touch of her hand resting on his arm in the bar had been stimulating, and the faint whiff of perfume he had caught when she leaned forward to pick up her gla.s.s, tantalizing. What the h.e.l.l? he thought. She's not a kid. A guy needed a break now and again after twenty years of being cooped up in a s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p; He turned back to find her holding a phial of capsules. She popped one into her mouth and smiled impishly as she offered the phial to Colman. ”It's Sat.u.r.day, why not live it up a little?” He scowled and shook his head. Anita pouted. ”They're good. Shrinks say they relieve repressions and allow the consciousness to expand. We should get to know ourselves.”
”I've talked to shrinks. They're all crazy. How do they know whether I know me or not? Do you know how your head works inside?” Anita shook it in a way that said she didn't care all that much either.
Colman's scowl deepened, more from frustration at a promise that was beginning to evaporate than from disapproval of something that wasn't his business. ”Then how do you expect a pill to figure it out?”
”You should try to find yourself, Steve. It's healthy.”
”I never lost myself.”
”Zangreni needs stimulants to catalyze her psychic currents. That's how she make predictions.”
”For Christ's sake, that's TV fiction. She doesn't exist.
It's not real life. There isn't anything like that in real life.”
”Who cares? It's more fun. Why be a drag?”
Colman looked away in exasperation. She could have been a unique, thinking person. Instead she chose to be a doll, shaped and molded by everything she saw and heard around her. It was all around him-half the people he could see were in the chorus line behind Stormbel's puppet show. They could be told what to think because they didn't want to think. Suddenly he remembered all the reasons why he had cooled things with Anita months ago, when he had been toying seriously with the idea of making their relations.h.i.+p contractual and settling down as Hanlon had. He had tried to tune into her wavelength and found nothing but static. But what had infuriated him more was that her att.i.tude had been necessary-she had a head but wouldn't use it.
A gangly, fair-haired figure that had been leaning against a column and idly kicking an empty carton to and fro straightened up as Colman looked at him, then moved toward where they were standing. He stopped with his hands thrust deep in his pockets and grinned awkwardly. Colman stared at the boy in surprise. It was Jay Fallows. ”What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?”
”Oh, I figured you'd be around here somewhere.”
”Is this the guy who makes trains?” Anita asked. ”Yeah. This is Jay. He's okay...and smart.”
”Smart...brains.” A faraway look was coming into Anita's eyes. ”Brains and trains. I like it. It's lyrical.
Don't you think it's lyrical?” She smiled at Jay and winked saucily. ”Hi, Jay.” The pill was mixing with the drinks and getting to her already. Jay grinned but looked uncomfortable.
”Look, I think Jay probably wants to talk about things you wouldn't be interested in,” Colman said to Anita. ”Why don't you go on after the others. I'll catch up later.” You don't want me around?”
Colman sighed. ”It's not anything like that. It's just-” Anita waved a hand in front of her face. ”It's okay. You don't want me around...you don't want me around. It's okay.” Her voice was staging to rise and fall singsong fas.h.i.+on. ”Who says I need anybody to have a good time, anyhow? I'm fine, see. It's okay...You and Jay can go talk about brains and trains.” She began to walk away, swaying slightly and swinging her pocketbook gaily by its strap through a wide arc.
”Look, I-I didn't mean to bust into anything,” Jay stammered. ”I mean, if you and her are...”
Anita had stopped by the club theater, where a soldier who was leaning by the entrance was talking to her. She slipped an arm through his and laughed something in reply. ”About as much as that.” Colman said, nodding his head. ”Forget it. Maybe you did me a favor.” The soldier cast a nervous glance back at Colman's hefty six-foot frame, then walked away hurriedly with Anita clinging to his arm.
Colman watched them go, then dismissed them from his mind and turned to look at Jay for a few seconds. ”Can't figure life Out, huh?” he said gruffly. It saved a lot of pointless questions.
Jay appeared more rea.s.sured, and his eyes brightened a fraction with the relief of having been spared long explanations. ”It's all screwed up,” he replied simply.
”Would you feel better if I said I haven't figured it out yet either?”
Jay shook his head. ”It'd just mean we've got the same problem. It wouldn't solve anything.”
”I didn't think it would, so I won't say it.”
”So does that mean you've got it figured?” Jay Eked.
”Would it make any difference to your problem if I had?”
”No. It'd be your solution, not mine.”
”Then that's the answer.” Jay nodded, straightened his arms into his pockets with his shoulders bunched high near his ears, held the posture for a few seconds, and then relaxed abruptly with a sigh. ”Can I ask you something?” he said, looking up.
”Do I have to answer it?”
”Not if you don't want to, I guess.”
”Go ahead.”
”Why is it the way it is? How does what you and I do in Jersey have anything to do with my dad's job?
It doesn't make any sense.”
”Did you ask him about it?”
”Uh-huh.”
”And?” Jay squinted into the distance and scratched his head. ”Pretty much what I expected. Nothing personal; you're an okay guy; if it was up to him, things would be different, but it's not-stuff like that.
But he was only saying that so as not to sound mean-I could tell. It goes deeper than that. It's not a case of it being up to him or not. He really believes in it. How do people get like that?”
Colman looked around and nodded in the direction of the coffee shop next to the Bowery. ”Let's not stand around here all night,” he said. ”Come on inside. Could you use a coffee?”
”Sure...thanks.” They began walking toward the door.
”And-thanks for the valves,” Jay said. ”They fit perfectly.”
”How's it coming along?”