He looked at Frances closely, searching for some deep, full reaction to his bravery. He got a warm soft smile and damp eyes that shone darkly. He leaned a little against her shoulder as he got to his feet. He walked to the exit panel and turned slowly.
“I can recall conditioned directions now pretty well. Any last briefings?”
Frances shook her head, and a healthy cloud of black hair reflected the steady glow of the flueros. “You know about the electronic set up. The originators didn’t bother to shield the vital parts of World Brain on the logical premise that if anyone could get that far, it was inevitable, only a matter of time, before they could wreck it anyway. Wreck the grids, Rolly, the pipes of the electrons. Wreck the big vacuum brains in which our little wild electrons play. They’ve been free too long. Imprison them again in the air. It’s exciting, isn’t it, Rolly?”
His eyes, his brain were filled only with her image, her vivid loveliness. He hesitated, thinking Frances might get up and come to him. She only smiled, her eyes wet and glistening with pride. Roland turned and left the room. There was promise in those eyes. And he would be back.
He was walking toward the levitation shaft at the end of the corridor when he met the Martian in the hall.
Somehow, he had an idea that unless it wanted it that way, no one could see it there. It seemed less grotesque now, standing there against the wall looking at him. He stood tautly, watching it. And suddenly he knew why it didn’t seem so grotesque. Why its formless, limbless, upright length of almost translucent stuff swaying like an underwater plant seemed less a peril now. It was afraid. It was not an attacker or even a pursuer. It was frightened, and, telepathically, in sharp bursting impressions, it pleaded with Roland. No! Oh, no! You do not understand. Wait! Wait and you can know of the countless facets of re—
Something like pain shot through his skull. The Martian trembled, vibrated, and then—disappeared. Roland spun around. Frances stood there. She was smiling, but there had been another expression. He couldn’t—
She was close to him now. He felt her animal warmth. “We sensed it out here,” she said softly, “and came to your rescue, Rolly. He was a weaker one, and we got him. We must work fast. Go, dear Rolly. This—this is for good luck.”
He leaned against the wall. She was gone. The kiss ... he had been waiting for that. None of the other things made any difference now. But now she was gone and the wall felt cold. He wanted warmth. He wanted Fran’s warmth. He wanted it more than anything. He—