Question of Comfort | Page 7

the special section, dropped and rose our three inches--one hell of a
distance--and the tour was over. I kept thinking, insanely, that the
meteor was a perfect conflict touch.
We unsuited silently. Finally, Hazel breathed, "Hallelujah!" It was
summation of success. There now remained but one thing: wait for the
quarry to show.
I estimated the necessary time at four days and nights after opening. It
was hard to wait, hard not to fidget under the watchful--the only
word--eyes of the GG. They were up to something, undoubtedly. But
there was something far more important: I'd narrowed the
2,499,999,999 down to five.
The one I sought was a member of the GG.
* * * * *
Opening night brought Harry and Frank to my office. They tried to be
casual, engaged me in desultory nothings. Frank looked reproachful--I
was there too late.
The following night, Mel ambled in at midnight. He grinned, discussed
a plot, suggested we go out for a beer, changed his mind, left.
The third night, I waited in the dark. Nor was I disappointed: Dex and
Hazel showed.
"What do you want? It's 2 A.M.!"
There was a long regrouping pause; then Hazel said, "Dex has a fine
idea."
"Well?"
"I've been thinking about gravity--"

"About time," I said sarcastically, disliking myself but hoping it would
get rid of them, "we opened three days ago."
He ignored my petulance and grinned. "No, I meant anti-gravity. I think
it's possible. If you had a superconductor in an inductance field--"
"Why tell me?"
"Thought you'd have some ideas."
I shook my head. "That's what I hired you for. My only idea right now
is going to sleep."
Bewildered, they left.
And on the fourth night, no one came. So I headed for the Tour. Now,
having risked everything on my logic, I was a dead pigeon if wrong.
There were only minutes left.
I eased through the back door, heard our automation equipment
humming. Despite darkness, I shortcutted, nearly reaching the door to
the service hallway in back of the planetary rooms. There was a distinct
click, and a flashlight blinded me. I waited, stifling a cry, knowing if it
were he, death was next.
Death never spoke in such quiet, sweet tones. Frank asked, "What are
you doing here?"
Frank, Frank, not you!
Surprise shocked me: the light, her voice, the sudden suspicion. Still,
diversion and counterattack ... "Perhaps you've the explaining to do," I
said nastily. "Why are you here?"
Her wide-eyed ingenuousness making me more suspicious, she
answered, "Waiting to see if you'd appear." Then she stopped being
truthful: "You forget we had a date--"
"We didn't have any damned date," I said flatly, hurting deep within.

"All right, I want to know why you're still driving yourself. It isn't work;
that's finished."
The way she talked made me hopeful. Maybe she wasn't the one ... and
then came fear. Frank, if he's here, you're in danger. The monster
respects nothing we hold dear--law, property, dignity, life.
There was one way to find out: make her leave. I wrenched the
flashlight from her, smashed it on the concrete floor. "I mean this: get
the hell out of here, and stay out!"
She said, distastefully, "I've seen it happen, but never this fast. You've
gone Hollywood, you're a genius, you're tremendous--forgetting other
people who helped. Go ahead with your mysterious deal--and I hope
we never meet again."
I struggled with ambivalence. This might be a trick; if not, Frank now
hated me irreparably.
* * * * *
No time to worry about human emotions, not any more. Nausea
reminded me of the primary purpose. I continued down the dark
hallway, listening for Frank's return, hoping she needn't die.
Light was unnecessary: I knew the right door. Because it started here, it
would end here. Quickly, silently, I slipped inside the Venus room.
With peculiar relief, I realized Frank wasn't it: my nose led me right to
the monster.
In an ecstatic, semistuporous state, smelling strongly of sulfur dioxide,
he couldn't have been aware of me. Couldn't?
"It took you long enough." He didn't bother to turn from the rock he
was huddled against.
"I had to be sure." I felt anything but the calm carried in my voice. "No
wonder the GG got the right answers, with you making initial starts.

Say, were you responsible for the cat that rolled at me?"
"An accident. Obviously, I wanted this room built as much as you."
Harry, now undisguised, languorously turned. "Your little trap didn't
quite come off--a danger in fighting a superior intellect."
"No trap. I had a job to do; it's done."
"Job? Job?" Infuriated, leaping to his feet, he shouted, "Speak the
native tongue, filth!"
"What's the use? Because of you, I'll never again have the