Flatlander - Larry Niven [116]
She studied the map. “On foot for four hours. Well, what was she doing for four hours?”
“It’s like this,” I said. “If Naomi wasn’t out there shooting at Chris Penzler, then someone else was. We’d both like to find him, right? Because we’re cops. But you’re a cop, so I can’t tell you what I think Naomi was doing.”
She sat down stiffly on the edge of the bed. “Say she met someone. Maybe a man who works at the air works. Married. Would she protect him?”
I had to laugh. Naomi? With her life? “No. Anyway, what kind of assignation is that? As soon as they take off their clothes, poof! Explosive decompression. Laura, how do I go about relaxing you?”
She smiled flickeringly. “Talk to me. This is unusual for “You can change your mind at any second. Just say the word. The word is halogens.”
“Thanks.”
“Then you have to list them.”
A short silence which I had to break. “If she wasn’t out there, it makes her useless as a witness, doesn’t it? What she swore she didn’t see doesn’t count. And Chris said there could have been an army out there hiding in the shadows. He wasn’t even sure he saw a human being.”
She turned to look at me. “That leaves your testimony.”
In my mind I flexed my imaginary hand, remembering the feel of miniature moonscape. “There wasn’t anyone out there by the time I looked. Laura, what about mirrors? The laser could have been somewhere else, and the killer, too.”
“But there wasn’t any mirror, either.”
“I wasn’t looking for one.”
“We’d have found it.”
It was impossible. I scowled at the map. I wanted to ignore the facts and just start toting up suspects according to motive. What stopped me was my first suspect: any lunie angry enough about our meddling in lunar affairs and clever enough to have worked some kind of trickery.
Laura picked up her case and went into the water closet.
I was having trouble keeping my priorities straight. First: I hadn’t touched a woman in several days. Second: I didn’t want Laura hurt, damaged or embarrassed. Third: my own part in the conference could be endangered. Fourth: I wanted Laura Drury in my bed, and that was part lust, part spirit of adventure. How to reconcile all that? Hold it down to talk for now? Let her list her own priorities on her own time?
She came out wearing a garment the likes of which I’d never seen before. It was sexy and strange: floor length, shoulderless, and not quite opaque. The thin, cream-colored fabric hugged her body by static electricity. It could almost have been a dress, but it looked too fragile—there was a lot of lace—and much too thin to hold heat.
“What is it?”
She laughed. “It’s a nightgown!” Quite suddenly she came into my arms. I found myself standing fully upright and nuzzling her throat. The garment was nicely tactile: silky smooth over warm skin. I felt her goose bumps through it.
“What’s it for?”
“It’s to sleep in. For now, I guess it’s to take off.”
“Carefully? Or do I rip it off?”
“Jesus! Carefully, Gil; it’s expensive.”
Lunie customs. Sooner or later they’d get me. A sensible man wouldn’t have invited a lunie to his room. I knew it and didn’t care.
9. THE TRADING POST
It was amazing how good we felt on a couple of hours’ sleep. Laura was glowing. She kept picking me up in her arms, Rhett Butler style. She’d jump when I goosed her, then steady herself with a hand on my head and let me lift her one-handed. I played tricks with my imaginary arm.
We went formal and cautious when it came time to leave. I left first. Desiree Porter and Tom Reinecke were coming down the hall. They hailed me and swept me up and tried to pump me for news on the conference.
I sidestepped. “What have you two been doing all this time, just waiting for one of us to crack?”
Tom said, “There was Penzler. There was the trial. We’ve been interviewing lunies, too. You know, a lot of them aren’t going to be happy no matter what you do.”
“And we screw a lot,” Desiree said.
“That I kind of assumed. Hey, did you two