Infinity Beach - Jack McDevitt [64]
It went on until she began to ache. Sensing her discomfort, it slowed somewhat, but not enough. Then she was aware that Plymouth’s machine had stopped. He was climbing down, covered with sweat, wiping his head and neck with his towel. “Meet you in the lobby?” he asked.
The device was putting her through a series of knee-bends. It wasn’t conducive to maintaining her dignity, or even at this point to getting out an intelligible answer. So they both laughed, and he glanced at her timer, which still showed six minutes. She nodded. She’d be there as soon as the system shut down and she’d changed.
“That’s good.” He tossed the towel in a bin, offered her a broad smile, and strode out of the room. As soon as he was gone, she hit the STOP button. The duroflex coasted to a halt and released her.
She would have preferred to lie quietly in the mechanism and wait for her back and shoulders to stop hurting. But there was no time for that. She climbed down and limped over to the bin, trying to look casual. The room had emptied somewhat and none of the three or four people rocking back and forth in the devices seemed to be paying any attention to her. She held her towel over the bin, retrieved Plymouth’s, and dropped hers.
Ten minutes later, she handed a container to Solly in the lobby and then turned back to wait for her date.
By evening’s end she felt uncomfortable about taking advantage of Mike Plymouth.
The restaurant he selected was a quaint little bistro called The Wicket. It had a lovely view of a lake and hills. It was all candlelight and soft music and logs on the fire. The food was good, the wine flowed freely, and Mike exhibited a wistfulness that first surprised her and then captured her imagination.
Born on Pacifica, he’d been in the war.
“Their side—” she said.
“Of course.” There was an intersection here: He’d been on board the Hammurabi when Kane’s small squadron blitzed it. He was cast adrift in an escape capsule, and had been rescued after eleven days by a “Greenie” patrol boat. “I never went home,” he explained.
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. I made friends. Liked where I was. Everyone accepted me.” The experience in the capsule, he added, had changed him.
“In what way?” asked Kim.
“I think I got a better idea of what I wanted out of my life. What counts.”
“What does count?”
“Friends.” With a grin: “Beautiful women. And good wine.” His eyes drifted to the candles burning overhead in a wall rack. “The smell of hot wax.”
This was a guy she could really learn to like.
My God, she told herself, he’s a bureaucrat. Worse, he works for the government. He’s an exercise nut. Probably has this basic routine he uses on everybody.
He reached across the table and shyly touched her hand. She caught her breath, felt her pulse begin to pick up, imagined herself swept away by him, carried off to an island somewhere. She pictured them walking on a moonlit beach.
Right. He’d really be interested in a woman who’s playing him for a fool.
She briefly considered abandoning the project. But she couldn’t. No way she could do that. It was too late anyhow. She’d already lied about her name.
Nevertheless she wondered what Solly would say if she didn’t show up tonight at their hotel.
They left The Wicket and strolled for an hour along the lake’s edge. The conversation became intimate in the sense that she saw longing in his eyes, and heard the subtext to his comments about his job at the Archives or the three mixed-breed dogs he owned. “I enjoy sailing,” he said. “I’ve a boat on Lake Winslett.”
“Ever dive?” she asked.
“No. But I’d like to try it. You?”
She nodded. “You seem out of place in a government job.” She realized immediately it was the wrong thing to say and wished she could call it back.
But he shrugged and smiled as