The Broken Cycle Part 10

"All right," he agreed, without reluctance.

So he stayed with her, in his own shelter. But after a few seconds she decided, firmly, that the only safe way to sleep was spoon fas.h.i.+on, with his back to her belly.

It could have been worse.

It could have been very much better.

But at least his back was warm.

Chapter 22.

The rain stopped in the small hours of the morning, and with sunrise the sky was dear again. The world was newly washed and sparkling. The herds of six-legged herbivores came out from their shelter under the bushes to resume their grazing. The birds flew, and sang and whistled and squawked. Insects chirruped. Everything in the garden was lovely.

Even Grimes was feeling surprisingly cheerful, glad to be alive. He took it as a good omen that he had slept again with Una, even though nothing had happened. There must be methods whereby they could continue to enjoy themselves without running the risk of conception. Now, perhaps, after he had exhibited his power of self restraint, the girl would be willing to discuss the matter without any emotionalism, would be prepared to consider ways and means. Grimes dreaded parenthood almost as much as she did-but he was not cut out to be a monk, any more than she was to be a nun.

Meanwhile, the hot sunlight was good on his skin and physical activity in the open air was more refres.h.i.+ng than tiring. He sang as he worked on the roofs of the humpies.

"Oh, I was a bachelor and lived by myself, And worked at the thatcher's trade..."

"Must you make that vile noise?" demanded Una, who was not so cheerful. you make that vile noise?" demanded Una, who was not so cheerful.

"Music while you work, my dear," he replied. "Nothing like it." He carried on trying to make a watertight roof, then burst into song again.

"She cried, she sighed, she d.a.m.n' near died...

Ah me, what could I do?

So I took her into bed, and covered up her head To save her from the foggy, foggy dew..."

"Foggy dew be b.u.g.g.e.red! That was no dew; it was a b.l.o.o.d.y downpour. I hope you're making a good job of those roofs. Last night's effort was just asking for trouble."

"You came to me," he pointed out. "And, in any case, nothing happened." came to me," he pointed out. "And, in any case, nothing happened."

"It could have done, Buster, very easily. Far too easily. If you'd turned around in your sleep..."

"Look, Una, I've been thinking. We still could make love, you know, quite safely. We shall just have to be very very careful." careful."

She snapped, "I don't want to talk about it." She picked up her bicycle. It seemed to have come to no harm from having been out in the rain all night. "I'm off to make a tour of the estate." She mounted gracefully, rode off.

Grimes, his initial cheerfulness having evaporated, worked sullenly until midday, then went to the lake to get clean and to cool off. While he was munching a lunch of fruit and nuts she returned. She dismounted from her machine, let it fall with a subdued clatter, dropped to the gra.s.s beside him, their bodies almost touching.

She waved away the offer of one of what they had come to call apples. She said, "While I was away I was noticing things...."

"Such as?"

"I rather think quite a few of those imitation sheep are in the family way. And the birds have started building nests in the trees and bushes."

"Oh?"

"Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the Earth," she quoted. "It looks as though the process is under way. Too, I think that the borders of this oasis are beginning to expand. There are tendrils of a sort of creeping gra.s.s extending out into the desert. And-I can't be sure, without binoculars-there seems to be a sizeable patch of green near the horizon, out to the west. I suppose that Panzen-or even that marvelous Zephalon-will be checking up on progress at any moment now." She laughed shortly. "Everything's being fruitful but us."

"And," said Grimes, "without a resident obstetrician on the premises we shan't be."

"You can say that again, Buster." She pulled a stem of gra.s.s, nibbled it between her strong, white teeth.

"If we are, somehow, being watched," said Grimes, "it might be as well to-er-go through the motions now and again."

She said, her voice pleading, "Don't tempt me, John. Please don't tempt me. I've been thinking on the same lines as you have-but the risk is far too great. It's a risk I wouldn't want to take even if there were a fully equipped and staffed maternity hospital here. Do you you want me to take that risk, to bear a child in these primitive conditions with only you to b.u.mble around uselessly, trying to help and only making things worse?" want me to take that risk, to bear a child in these primitive conditions with only you to b.u.mble around uselessly, trying to help and only making things worse?"

Grimes shuddered away from a vision of a future that might be. In his mind's eye he saw Una sprawled on her rough bed of dried gra.s.ses, writhing in agony, her belly grossly distended. He envisaged, with frightening clarity, the whole b.l.o.o.d.y business of parturition, without anesthesia, without a.n.a.lgesics, without instruments, without even a supply of boiling water.... He had read, somewhere, that certain primitive peoples use their teeth to cut the umbilical cord. A spasm of nausea tightened his throat.

And what if Una should die, leaving him literally holding the baby?

To h.e.l.l with that, he told himself roughly. Stop he told himself roughly. Stop thinking about yourself. Think about her for a change. What if she dies? There'd be a very good chance, too good a chance, of that. thinking about yourself. Think about her for a change. What if she dies? There'd be a very good chance, too good a chance, of that.

She said, "We have to think of some way of getting back to our own Universe, John. If that Zephalon is as b.l.o.o.d.y marvelous as Panzen tries to make out he should be able to arrange it. I doubt if Panzen'd be much help. He's strictly from Nongsville. Tell Zephalon that we have no intention of multiplying, that he'll have to find somebody else for the Adam and Eve act."

"How do we get in touch with him?" murmured Grimes, more to himself than to her. He added, half facetiously, "Smoke signals?"

She laughed. "You still haven't gotten around to making a fire." She got gracefully to her feet. "Come on, get off your fat a.r.s.e! There's work to do."

For the remainder of the day she helped Grimes with his primitive thatching.

Chapter 23.

It rained again that night, but Grimes and Una stayed each in his own humpy.

It rained the following night, but the newly thatched roofs were practically watertight.

The third night there was hail instead of rain, driven by a bitter wind, but Grimes had added sod walls to the shelters and reduced the size of the doorways, so that body heat kept the interiors quite warm.

On the fourth night it did not rain, and the only precipitation was of a most unusual kind. Grimes was awakened from a crudely erotic dream by what sounded like the whirring of wings, a noise that was definitely mechanical. When he opened his eyes he thought at first that it was already morning; light was streaming through his low, narrow doorway. He realized then that it was not sunlight but some sort of harsh, artificial illumination. He got up from his bed, crawled cautiously to the entrance, poked his head outside. Somebody-or something-had switched on the headlamps of the two bicycles, had moved the machines so that the beams fell directly on to a small, gleaming object on the gra.s.s.

It was a prosaic enough article-but here, in these circ.u.mstances, it was a not so minor miracle. It was an artifact. It was a bottle.

Grimes emerged from his humpy, walking slowly and carefully. He looked down at the almost cylindrical flask. Gla.s.s! Gla.s.s! he wondered. If it were gla.s.s it could be broken, and the shards would make cutting tools. He would be able to fas.h.i.+on firesticks, and once he had fire to play with, to work with, he would be able to make life in the garden so much more comfortable for Una and himself. Cooking would be possible. He thought of baked fish, of roast mutton.... he wondered. If it were gla.s.s it could be broken, and the shards would make cutting tools. He would be able to fas.h.i.+on firesticks, and once he had fire to play with, to work with, he would be able to make life in the garden so much more comfortable for Una and himself. Cooking would be possible. He thought of baked fish, of roast mutton....

Gla.s.s, or plastic?

No matter. Even a plastic bottle would have its uses. This one looked to be transparent. Perhaps it could be used to focus the sun's rays. There are more ways of making a fire than rubbing two sticks together.

Una came out to join him, her body luminous in the lamplight. She asked, "What is it?"

"We've had a visit from Santa Claus," he told her. "But I didn't notice you hanging your stockings up last night..."

"Don't be funny. What is is it?" it?"

"A bottle."

"I can see that. But what's in it?"

"There's no label," said Grimes stupidly.

"Then there's only one way to find out," she said.

Grimes stooped and picked it up. Its weight told him that it must be full. He held it in the beam of one of the lights. It was, as he had thought, transparent and its contents were colorless. He turned it over and over in his hands. It had the feel of gla.s.s rather than of plastic. It had a screw stopper. This turned easily enough once he realized that the thread was left-handed. He removed the cap. He sniffed cautiously at the open neck. Whiskey...? Brandy...? Rum...? Gin...? No, he decided, it was nothing with which he was familiar, but the aroma was definitely alcoholic.

Where-and what-was the catch?

She practically s.n.a.t.c.hed the bottle from him. "Let me have a smell! Oh, goody, goody! After all these weeks with nothing but water!"

"Don't!" he cried, putting out a restraining hand.

She danced back and away from him. "Just try to stop me, Buster!" She lifted the bottle to her mouth, tilted it. Its contents gurgled cheerfully as they went down. She sighed happily, pa.s.sed the container to him, saying, "Here. It's your turn, lover boy. But leave some for me."

He asked coldly, "Was that wise, Una?"

"Don't be so stuffy. Who'd want to poison us? Go on, it's good. good. It won't kill you." It won't kill you."

Suddenly she was pressing against him, wrestling with him, trying to force the neck of the bottle to his lips. Her skin was smooth and hot, her body soft and pliant. He was wanting her badly, very badly, and she was there for the taking. .The musky, animal scent of her was overpoweringly strong in the still night air.

She was there for the taking-but he knew that he must not take her. Again there flashed through his mind that horrible picture of childbirth without skilled aid, in appallingly primitive conditions. She was wanting him as much as he was wanting her, but he had to protect her against herself.

Her mouth was on his, warm and moist and open, her tongue trying to insert itself between his lips. Her breath was fragrant with the liquor she had taken. Her mouth was on his, and her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s, with their proudly erect nipples, were pressing against his chest. He was acutely conscious of the roughness of her pubic hair against his erect organ as she ground her pelvis against his. She was trying to trap and to hold him with her strong thighs, was desperately squirming in her endeavor to draw him into her.

In spite of his firm resolve the animal part of his mind was all for surrender, was urging, Let nature take its course. Let nature take its course. But a small, cold voice from the back of his brain was stubbornly reiterating, But a small, cold voice from the back of his brain was stubbornly reiterating, No. You must not. No. You must not. He knew that the liquor must be or must contain a powerfully effective aphrodisiac, and that if he had taken his share of it they would both, now, be sprawled on the gra.s.s in a frenzy of l.u.s.t. And if he had sampled it first, and if she had abstained, she would surely have been raped. He knew that the liquor must be or must contain a powerfully effective aphrodisiac, and that if he had taken his share of it they would both, now, be sprawled on the gra.s.s in a frenzy of l.u.s.t. And if he had sampled it first, and if she had abstained, she would surely have been raped.

It was his pride that was their salvation-simple pride rather than his almost forgotten, by now, n.o.ble intentions. He was a man, he told himself. He was a man, and he would not allow himself to be bred like a domestic animal to further the ambitions of a mere machine.

He managed to break away from her just as she almost succeeded in effecting his entry. He staggered back, and his heels caught on something hard and cold. He fell with a clatter. It was one of the bicycles which had tripped him. The thing seemed to be s.h.i.+fting and twisting under him, trying to entangle him in its frame, but he got clear of it just as Una swung herself down on to the spot where he had been.

He rolled over, scrambled to his feet. The lake... The lake...he thought Cold water... Cold water... He began to run, making good time down the slight declivity. "Stop, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Una was screaming. "Stop! Stop!" He knew that she would not be able to catch him before he got to the beach; doing their deliberately tiring exercise periods they had often run foot races and he had always beaten her. He began to run, making good time down the slight declivity. "Stop, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Una was screaming. "Stop! Stop!" He knew that she would not be able to catch him before he got to the beach; doing their deliberately tiring exercise periods they had often run foot races and he had always beaten her.

Something flashed past him, swerved across his path, fell in a tangle of metal frame and still-spinning wire-spoked wheels. He jumped, just clearing it, continued his rush toward the dark water without checking his stride. He reached the beach, slowed slightly as the sand clogged his running feet. He thought that he could hear Una pounding along not far behind him-or was it the thumping of his own heart? And then he was dealt a violent blow in the small of the back that sent him sprawling, and the handlebars of the second bicycle seemed to clutch at his ankles. But his right hand, on its outstretched arm, was already in the water and, winded as he was by his fall, he crawled the few remaining feet, gasping as the coldness of the lake rose about his heated body, covering his skin.

He began to swim, arms and legs thres.h.i.+ng. A hand gripped his right ankle but he kicked viciously, shook it off. Then Una threw her arms about his neck, stopping him. His feet found sandy bottom. He could stand with his head well clear of the surface. his head well clear of the surface.

She faced him (she was a tall girl) and glared at him. Even in the dim starlight he could read her avid expression. "Out of this, d.a.m.n you!" she snarled. "On to dry land! You've got some heavy f.u.c.king to do!"

He tried to break away but she held on to him tightly. There was only one desperate measure left for him to adopt. She grinned wolfishly in antic.i.p.ation as he moved his right thigh against hers, around hers. And then his foot was behind her heels, suddenly hooking them from under her.

She went down in a noisy flurry. He got his hands on to her smooth, wet shoulders and pushed, hard. Her long hair floated on the surface of the water but the rest of her head was under. She fought, striving to break surface, but he was too strong for her. He could see her pale face just below the disturbed surface. He saw her mouth open...

That should do it... he thought at last. he thought at last. I I don't want to drown the b.i.t.c.h. don't want to drown the b.i.t.c.h.

He dragged her ash.o.r.e, let her collapse on the sand. She moaned, her limbs stirring feebly. She managed to get up on to her hands and knees, her head hanging down. She retched violently, then vomited, her whole body shaking.

He went to her then, holding her cold, s.h.i.+vering form against his. There was nothing s.e.xual in the embrace; it was a huddling together against the cold, the dark, the unknown. She clung to him like a frightened child.

At last she raised her head to look at him. All the wildness had gone from her face. She muttered, "That drink.... That b.l.o.o.d.y, b.l.o.o.d.y drink... I realize, now, what was in it. John, I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," he told her gruffly. "It was just lucky that both of us didn't have a go at that bottle." He laughed shakily. "But you went a bit too far sending those blasted bicycles chasing downhill after me!"

She stiffened in his arms. "But I never touched the bicycles. If I'd been in my right mind I'd have ridden one, and caught you easily."

"You never touched them? You're You're sure sure you didn't?" you didn't?"

"Of course I'm sure!"

"So our Eden has its guardian angels..." whispered Grimes slowly. Then, "I never did like uppity machines. I still don't."

Chapter 24.

Grimes did not like uppity machines.

During his tour of duty as captain of the little, fast courier Adder Adder he had known many odd pa.s.sengers, and one of the oddest of them had been the humanoid robot called Mr. Adam, still thought of by Grimes as the Tin Messiah. This Mr. Adam was traveling on Interstellar Federation business-as were all civilian pa.s.sengers carried in Survey Service vessels-but, Grimes discovered, he was also traveling on business of his own, the business of revolution. His intention was to stir up a revolt of the quite sizeable robot population of the planet to which he had known many odd pa.s.sengers, and one of the oddest of them had been the humanoid robot called Mr. Adam, still thought of by Grimes as the Tin Messiah. This Mr. Adam was traveling on Interstellar Federation business-as were all civilian pa.s.sengers carried in Survey Service vessels-but, Grimes discovered, he was also traveling on business of his own, the business of revolution. His intention was to stir up a revolt of the quite sizeable robot population of the planet to which Adder Adder was bound. was bound.

He had a vastly inflated idea of his own importance, this Mr. Adam, and was burning with missionary zeal. He actually tried to make converts of Adder's Adder's human personnel. He did make one convert-the s.h.i.+p's engineering officer. Like far too many engineers this young man had the idea that men should serve machines, rather than the other way around. human personnel. He did make one convert-the s.h.i.+p's engineering officer. Like far too many engineers this young man had the idea that men should serve machines, rather than the other way around.

Matters came to a head-and Mr. Adam was...stopped? destroyed? Or, as Grimes preferred to think, killed. And it was not Grimes himself who killed the overly ambitious automaton-although he tried hard enough to do so. It was the s.h.i.+p herself that, through some malfunction, launched the lethal bolt of electricity that burned out the robot's intricate-and fantastically expensive-brains. Or was it a malfunction? Was the s.h.i.+p-which had her own brain, a fairly complex computer-loyal to her rightful master instead of to the firebrand who would "liberate" her? Grimes liked to think so.

The episode did him no good in his service career. He had disposed of a dangerous mutineer-but, at the same time, he had irreparably wrecked one of the few robots which could be cla.s.sed as really intelligent-and such robots cost a not so small fortune. "Surely you could have overpowered it-or him him," he was told. "Surely you could have brought him back to Base, for reprogramming.... He was worth more than your precious s.h.i.+p, he was told. "Surely you could have brought him back to Base, for reprogramming.... He was worth more than your precious s.h.i.+p, and and her crew, come to that." her crew, come to that."

He told Una the story as they walked slowly back to their huts. The sun was up now, and they were glad of its warmth on their chilled bodies. Even so, she was attacked by frequent fits of s.h.i.+vering.

Outside his own humpy Grimes found what he wanted-a straight, thick branch from a tree. It was about four feet in length. He had picked it up some days previously, thinking that it would be, should the need ever arise, a useful weapon. Now the need had arisen. Carrying his club, he turned to go back to the lake. His attention was caught by something that glittered brightly in the sunlight. It was the bottle, empty now. He stooped to lift it in his left hand. It was quite weighty. It would make a good cosh.

Una asked, "What... What are you going to do, John?"

"I'm going to do for those tin b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" he told her. "All the time, they've been spying on us. I don't like being spied on."