"But that's so silly," she murmured. "How could I prefer a dumb pimply kid to you?"
In theory, that was quite true, but Len knew women had strange tastes. And possibly "a dumb pimply kid" had more to offer her emotionally and, in reverse, intellectually, than he had. It was not impossible that she was telling the truth, but Mattern could not, of course, believe her. And there was no point in making a further issue of it now. When they reached Burdon, he would fire Raines simply on the basis of the forged papers. No need to bring Lyddy into it at all. So that problem would be easily solved, but what of the others?
He went to play chess with the kqyres. "I trust you have got over your whimsical notion to retire," the xhind said hopefully.
"No," Len told him maliciously, "I've practically made up my mind to quit. There doesn't seem to be any point to it any more."
"The woman has changed! That's the whole trouble, isn't it? Even though it's not apparent, in some way she has changed?"
"No," Len said again, "she hasn't changed at all. In fact, I think that's what the trouble is. She hasn't changed, but I have."
"I never thought of that," the kqyres confessed.
The night of the Jump, Mattern turned in at the kqyres' suggestion. "For once, your men can take care of the ship," the xhind said, "since there will be no trading stop." Lyddy would be drugged, but Mattern would not need drugs, for hyperspace held no more horrors for him. Or so he thought.
But that night he was awakened by the sound of a screaming so hideous that, if he hadn't known voices don't change during the hyperjump, he would be tempted to think it was one result of the law of mutability—so monstrous were these shrill, worse-than-animal cries.