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been happy spending months-not too many months, maybe-getting her in a corner
where she couldn't say anything but yes. But now there wasn't time to do
things properly. He thought about her all the time and even during the TRLH
operation it had been thinking about her that let him hang on until the end.
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And all during the bombardment he had worried in case...
"I worried about you, too," Murchison broke in softly. "You were all over the
place and every time there was a hit... And you always knew exactly what to do
and. . . and I was afraid you would get yourself killed."
Her face was shadowed, her uniform clung damply. Conway felt his mouth dry.
She said warmly, "You were wonderful that day with the TRLH. It was like
working with a Diagnostician. Seven tapes, O'Mara said. I.. . I asked him to
give me one, earlier, to help you out. But he said no because. . ." She
hesitated, and looked away. ". . . because he said girls are very choosy who
they let take possession of them. Their minds, I mean...
"How choosy?" said Conway thickly. "Does the choice exclude... friends?"
He leaned forward involuntarily as he spoke, letting go his hold on the chair
with his other hand. He drifted heavily up from the table, jarred the canopy
and touched one of the floating globes with his forehead. With the surface
tension broken it collapsed wetly all over his face. Spluttering he brushed it
away, knocking it into a cloud of tiny, glowing marbles. Then he saw it.
It was the only harsh note in this dream world, a pile of unarmed missiles
occupying a dark corner of the room. They were held to the floor by clamps and
further secured with netting in case the clamps were jarred free by an
explosion. There was plenty of slack in the netting. Still holding onto
Murchison, he kicked himself over to it, searched until he found the edge of
the net, and pulled it up from the floor.
"We can't talk properly if we keep floating into the air," he said quietly.
"Come into my parlor. .."
Maybe the netting was too much like a spider's web, or his tone resembled too
closely that of a predatory spider. He felt her hesitate. The hand he was
holding was trembling.
"I. . . I know how you feel," she said quickly, not looking at him. "I
like you, too. Maybe more than that. But this isn't right. I know we don't
have any time, but sneaking down here like this and. . . it's selfish. I keep
thinking about all those men in the corridors, and the other casualties still
to come. I know it sounds stuffy, but we're supposed to think about other
people first. That's why-"
"Thank you," said Conway furiously. "Thank you for reminding me of my duty."
"Oh, please!" she cried, and suddenly she was clinging to him again, her head
against his chest. "I don't want to hurt you, or make you hate me. I didn't
think the war would be so horrible. I'm frightened. I don't want you to be
killed and leave me all alone. Oh, please, hold me tight and. . . and tell me
what to do. .
Her eyes were glittering and it was not until one of the tiny points of light
floated away from them that he realized she was crying silently. He had never
imagined Murchison crying, somehow. He held her tightly for a long time, then
gently pushed her away from him.
Roughly, he said, "I don't hate you, but I don't want you to discuss my exact
feelings at the moment, either. Come on, I'll take you home."
But he didn't take her home. The alarm siren went a few minutes later and when
it stopped a voice on the PA was asking Doctor Conway to come to the intercom.
CHAPTER 23
Once it had been Reception, with three fast-talking Nidians to handle the
sometimes complex problems of getting patients out of their ambulances and
into the hospital. Now it was Command Headquarters and twenty Monitor officers
murmuring tensely into throat mikes, their eyes glued to screens which showed
the enemy at all degrees of magnification from nil to five hundred. Two of the
three main screens showed sections of the enemy fleet, the images partly
obliterated by the ghostly lines and geometrical figures that was a tactical
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