Skylark DuQuesne

“We will.” Se

DuQuesne did not tell the girl how interested he was in the Llurdi; especially in Llanzlan Klazmon the Fifteenth. Instead, “That makes a weird kind of sense, at that,” he said.

“Tell me more about these Llurdi,” and she told him about them all the rest of the way to the dining hall.

They went through an archway, stepped aside, and looked around. Three or four hundred people were in the hall already, and more were streaming in from all sides.

Some were eating, in couples or in groups of various numbers, at tables of various sizes. Dress varied from nothing at all up to several spectaculars as flamboyant as Se

“So, you see, we eight hundred are the very pick of two hundred forty-one planets; which makes this an ideal primary situation. The reason I wanted you to look around carefully is that perhaps I should not be the only Prime Operative.” She paused; it was quite evident that she was not at all in favor of the idea.

“Why not?” DuQuesne wasn’t in favor of it, either; even though he couldn’t begin to understand either her attitude or her behavior. How could any woman possibly be as deeply in love with one man as Se

“Of course not. I just thought maybe you would relish diversity,” Senalloy said.

“You can unthink it. I wouldn’t. There’s no tomcat blood in me — and remember what I said?”

“Do you think I don’t? But you’ve seen some really beautiful women now. Much prettier than I am.”

“You know what they call that technique in English? ‘Fishing’,” gri

“Prettier or not, Milady, you top them all by a country mile.”

“I know about fishing. I was fishing a little, perhaps.” She laughed happily and hugged his arm against her firm breast. “But it did get you to say it again, and it means ever so much more, now that you’ve seen the competition.”

She steered him to a table for two against a wall, where he seated her meticulously — a gesture that, while evidently new to her, was evidently liked.

“You order,” she said, handing him the helmet. “You invited me, you know.”

“But I don’t know what you like to eat.”

“Oh, I like almost everything, really; and if there should be anything I don’t like I won’t eat it. Okay?”

“Okay,” and DuQuesne proceeded to set the table with fine linen and translucent china and sterling silver and sparkling cut glass.

The first course was a thin, clear soup; which Se

“How can you possibly drink such vile stuff as that?” she demanded, and replaced it with a tall glass of fizzy, viscous concoction that looked like eggnog and reeked of something that was halfway between almond and lemon.

After di

After something over an hour of this the crowd broke up; and as the two left the hall Se

Arms tightly around each other, savoring each contact and each motion, they walked slowly and in silence to Se

Three Mallidaxian days later, DuQuesne took his leave. Of Senalloy last, of course. She put her arms around him and rubbed her cheek against his. “Good-by, friend Vance. I have enjoyed our association tremendously. Scarcely ever before has work been such pleasure. So much so that I feel guilty of selfishness.”

“You needn’t, Milady. That was exactly the way I wanted it, remember?”

“I remember with joy; and I have wondered why.”

“Because you are the only one of your class aboard this ship,” DuQuesne said.

“You said that, but still — well, I am the only Allondaxian aboard, which may account for our great compatibility. And there should be, as there has been, something more than the purely physical involved.”

DuQuesne was very glad she had said that; it gave him one last chance to explore.

“Definitely,” he agreed. “Liking, respect, appreciation, admiration — you’re a tremendous lot of woman, Milady Se

“Of course not. I have my love and my work and my planet; you have yours; it would be terrible for either of us or any of ours to be hurt. Our rememberings of each other should be and will be most pleasant. Good-by, friend Vance; may All Powerful Llenderllon guard you and aid you as you Seek.”

15. DUQUESNE’S ASSASSINS

Not even Marc DuQuesne was able — quite! — to put his rather astonishing, and totally pleasurable, experiences with the Jelmi — and with one Jelm in particular! — out of his mind without a second’s hesitation. In another man, his mood as he set a minimum-time course and began to speed back to Earth, might have been called nostalgic… even sentimental.

But as the parsecs fled by his thoughts hardened. And just in time; for some very hard things indeed had to be done.

First and foremost, his deal with Seaton was utterly, irrevocably and permanently off.

He no longer needed it. With the information he had received from the Jelmi, he had no further reason to worry about Seaton’s offensive capabilities.

Of course, there was no reason for Seaton to know that. Or not until it was entirely too late to do Seaton any good. Let Seaton go on dawdling toward this Galaxy DW-427LU.

Seaton would be traveling at only normal max; DuQuesne would have time to make his arrangements, transact his business and act while Seaton was still on the way.

He did not intend to go to Earth, only to within working distance of it. Even so, he had a certain amount of time to spend. He spent it, all of it, in studying and operating the new device, which was called by the Jelm a name which Se

And immediately he ran headlong into trouble.

To DuQuesne’s keen disappointment, the confounded thing was both more and less useful than he had hoped. More: Its range was enormous, much more than he had expected. Less: well, it simply didn’t do any of the normal things that any machine could be made to do. And he could not tell why. He had received too much knowledge too fast; it took time to nail down all the details.