To the Five, the situation was not too serious. Kinnison would probably come through unhurt. The Eddorians could take him, of course. But whether or not they could do anything to him after they got him would depend no little on what the Kinnison kids would be doing in the meantime—and that would be plenty. They couldn't delay Dad's entry into the tube very much without making a smell, but they could and would hurry Arisia up. And even if, as seemed probable, Dad was already in the tube when Arisia was ready for the big business with Eddore, a lot could be done at the other end. Those amoeboid monstrosities would be fighting for their own precious lives, this time, not for the lives of slaves; and the Five promised each other grimly that the Eddorians would have too much else to worry about to waste any time on Kimball Kinnison.
Clarrissa Kinnison, however, fought the hardest and bitterest battle of her life. She loved Kim with a depth and a fervor which very few women, anywhere, have ever been able to feel. She knew with a sick, cold certainty, knew with every fiber of her mind and with every cell of her brain, that if he went into that trap he would die in it. Nevertheless, she would have to let him go in. More, and worse, she would have to send him in—to his death—with a smile. She could not ask him not to go in. She could not even suggest again that there was any possibility that he need not go in. He had to go in. He had to.
And if Lensman's Load was heavy on him, on her it was almost unbearable. His part was vastly the easier. He would only have to die; she would have to live. She would have to keep on living—without Kim—living a lifetime of deaths, one after another. And she would have to hold her block and smile, not only with her face, but with her whole mind. She could be scared, of course, apprehensive, as he himself was; she could wish with all her strength for his safe return: but if he suspected the thousandth part of what she really felt it would break his heart. Nor would it do a bit of good. However brokenhearted at her rebellion against the inflexible Code of the Lens, he would still go in. Being Kimball Kinnison, he could not do anything else.
As soon as she could, Clarrissa went to a distant room and turned on a full-coverage block. She lay down, buried her face in the pillow, clenched her fists, and fought.
Was there any way—any possible way—that she could die instead? None. It was not that simple.
She would have to let him go.
Not gladly, but proudly and willingly—for the good of the Patrol.
Clarrissa Kinnison gritted her teeth and writhed.
She would simply have to let him go into that ghastly trap—go to his absolutely sure and certain death—without showing one white feather, either to her husband or to her children. Her husband, her KIM, would have to die ... and she—would—have—to—live.