“You don’t know what’s good for you,” Wohl reproved from the doorway. “You’re in a new underground hospital—it’s now the Samaritan.”
“Eh?”
“The Samaritan,” Wohl repeated. He leered at the stag.
“Ah!” Graham promptly lay flat, produced a hollow groan. “I feel terrible, Art. Maybe I’m dying. Go fetch me a doctor.”
“Well!” said Wohl. He struck an attitude, protruding his buttocks, and holding an imaginary bow. “Look—Cupid, me!” Then he went out.
She came in presently, sat down, put on her best bedside manner, and inquired, “How’re you feeling now?”
“As usual—with my hands.” Putting out a hand, he took hold of hers.
She dumped it back firmly. “This is no place for that sort of thing.”
“You’ve never given me the chance any place else,” he pointed out.
Saying nothing, she stared at the stag without seeing it.
“Hell of a thing,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“That.” He nodded toward the picture. “Somebody’s sarcasm, I guess. Yours?”
“Mine?” She was patently surprised. “Nonsense. If you don’t like it, I’ll have it moved.”
“Please do. It reminds me too much of me. Too much of everybody, if it comes to that.”
“Indeed? Why?”
“At bay. We’ve been at bay back to the dawn of history. First without knowing it, then with full knowledge. It’s nice to know that’s over. Maybe we’ll now have time for fun. You helped with the one, you can help with the other.”
“I am not aware of having given any valuable assistance,” she said, primly.
“You tipped us about Beach, and therapy cabinets, and Farmiloe. We’d still have been chasing shadows but for you.” He sat up, gazing at her. “I’m not chasing any more shadows. I’ve had enough.”
Making no reply, she turned her head sidewise, looked upward meditatively. He drank in the curve of her cheekbone, the sweep of her lashes, and knew she was conscious of his gaze.
“Up there, Harmony, are the stars,” he continued. “There may be people out that way, people of flesh and blood like us, friendly people who’d have visited us long ago but for a Viton ban. Hans Luther believed they’d been warned to keep off the grass. Forbidden, forbidden, forbidden—that was Earth.” He studied her again. “Every worthwhile thing forbidden, to those folk who’d like to come here, and to us who were imprisoned here. Nothing permitted except that which our masters considered profitable to themselves.”
“But not now,” she murmured.
“No, not now. We can emote for ourselves now, and not for others. At last our excitements are our own. Two are company, three are none—especially when the third’s a Viton. Has it stuck you that in the truest sense we’re now alone?”
“We—?”
Her face turned toward him, her eyebrows arched.
“Maybe this isn’t the place,” he observed, “but at least it’s the opportunity!” He bent her across his lap, pressed his lips on hers.
She pushed at him, but not too hard. After a while, she changed her mind. Her arm slid around his neck.