Part 12 (1/2)

Alaric pouted some more. ”Let me think about it.”

”Fair enough, but I'll want your answer tomorrow. Meanwhile, you are not to leave the house.”

Alaric agreed verbally, but took the first opportunity which presented itself--that very night--to sneak out the servants' door, go downtown, and get stewed to the gills.

At two in the morning he was picked up by the police for disorderly conduct (it had happened before) after losing a fistfight to a much poorer, much meaner drunk in a downtown bar. They questioned Alaric at the police station, examined his belongings, went through his wallet, notified his home.

Fuming, Alaric Sr. rushed to the police station to get his son. He was met by the desk sergeant, a fat, balding man who wore his uniform in a slovenly fas.h.i.+on.

”Mr. Arkalion?” demanded the sergeant, picking at his teeth with a toothpick.

”Yes. I have come for Alaric, my son.”

”Sure. Sure. But your son's in trouble, Mr. Arkalion. Serious trouble.”

”What are you talking about? If there are any damages, I'll pay. He didn't--hurt anyone, did he?”

The sergeant broke the toothpick between his teeth, laughed. ”Him?

Naw. He got the h.e.l.l beat out of him by a drunk half his size. It ain't that kind of trouble, Mr. Arkalion. You know what an 1182 card is, mister?”

Arkalion's face drained white. ”Why--yes.”

”Alaric's got one.”

”Naturally.”

”According to the card, he should have s.h.i.+pped out on the Nowhere Journey, mister. He didn't. He's in serious trouble.”

”I'll see the district attorney.”

”More'n likely, you'll see the attorney general. Serious trouble.”

CHAPTER V

The trouble with the Stalintrek, Sophia thought, was that it took months to get absolutely nowhere. There had been the painful pressure, the loss of consciousness, the confinement in this tight little world of dormitories and gleaming metal walls, the uncanny feeling of no weight, the ability--boring after a while, but interesting at first--to float about in air almost at will.

Then, how many months of sameness? Sophia had lost all track of time through _ennui_. But for the first brief period of adjustment on the part of her fellows to the fact that although she was a woman and shared their man's life she was still to be inviolate, the routine had been anything but exciting. The period of adjustment had had its adventures, its uncertainties, its challenge, and to Sophia it had been stimulating. Why was it, she wondered, that the men who carried their s.e.x with strength and dignity, the hard-muscled men who could have their way with her if they resorted to force were the men who did not violate her privacy, while the weaklings, the softer, smaller men, or the average men whom Sophia considered her physical equals were the ones who gave her trouble?

She had always accepted her beauty, the obvious attraction men found in her, with an objective unconcern. She had been endowed with s.e.x appeal; there was not much room in her life to exploit it, even had she wanted to. Now, now when she wanted anything but that, it gave her trouble.

Her room was shared, of necessity, with three men. Tall, gangling Boris gave her no trouble, turned his back when she undressed for the evening, even though she was careful to slip under the covers first.

Ivan, the second man, was short, thin, stooped. Often she found him looking at her with what might have been more than a healthy interest, but aside from that he kept his peace. Besides, Ivan had spent two years in secondary school (as much as Sophia) and she enjoyed conversing with him.

The third man, Georgi, was the troublemaker. Georgi was one of those plump young men with red cheeks, big, eager eyes, a voice somewhat too high. He was an avid talker, a boaster and a boor. In the beginning he showered attentions on Sophia. He insisted on drawing her wash-basin at night, escorted her to breakfast every morning, told her in confidence of the conquests he had made over beautiful women (but not as beautiful as you, Sophia). He soon began to take liberties. He would sit--timorously at first, but with growing boldness--on the corner of her bed, talking with her at night after the others had retired, Ivan with his snores, Boris with his strong, deep breathing.

And night after night, plump Georgi grew bolder.

He would reach out and touch Sophia, he would insist on tucking her in at night (let me be your big brother), he would awaken her in the morning with his hand heavy on her shoulder. Finally, one night at bedtime, she heard him conversing in low whispers with Ivan and Boris.