The Human Blend - Alan Dean Foster [75]
For a moment she thought she was going to be physically ill.
“Calm down.” By now he was more annoyed than offended. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Next time you ‘try,’ I’ll shoot you. With whatever is at hand.” She was actually shaking. Not violently, but enough to get the point across. “Can’t blame a woman for blowing your fool head off.”
Turning with a sigh, he returned to the far side of the room to once again immerse himself in the entertainment cone. Regaining control of herself Ingrid returned to her work. It took several attempts with her unsettled voice before the vorec recognized and acknowledged her commands and resumed the research she had been pursuing. Occasionally she thought she sensed a presence and would jerk around sharply to look behind her. On each occasion she saw nothing. Insofar as she could tell, the only time her guest stepped out of the entertainment cone was to get something to drink from the refrig.
Gradually she allowed herself to relax enough to slip back into deep study mode. By early evening the cavalier imposition of earlier that afternoon had begun to diminish in memory and importance. Only rarely did it intrude on her concentration or interrupt her train of thought.
Mind-muffin …?
ONE CORNER OF THE LIVING area floor inflated to form a guest bed that was only temporary, but it was worlds away from the assorted platforms on which Whispr usually slept. Long after his host and erstwhile business partner had retired for the night he lay awake on the cushiony surface, unable to fall asleep because of the unaccustomed softness and silence. The nocturnal view from the eighty-fifth floor revealed a whole new world: the glistening spires of Greater Savannah and the electric suburbs that stretched off in all directions. To the west he could make out the vast floating commercial hub of the port and even the pair of thousand-meter-long cargo ships that were moored there, their towering carbon-fiber masts aglitter with running lights.
This was truly another world, he concluded. Another planet. In the bedroom off to his left slept a woman who was not only smarter than him, more attractive, a Natural, and cleaner, but one so determined to find answers to complicated questions that she would invite someone like himself to spend the night in the same habitation as her. An admirable and potentially useful acquaintance was Dr. Ingrid Seastrom. What he had told her earlier when she had so forcefully rejected his clumsy advance was true, but to Whispr such unattainability only enhanced her allure.
As sure as blood flowed through his veins, the door to her bedroom would be locked. She might even have armed herself, though he doubted she owned a deadly weapon. Her type would be much more likely to have a nonlethal protective device. A vomitizer, perhaps, or something that would spew blinding lenscoat.
He smiled to himself. If she thought any kind of internal door lock could keep out someone with his experience, she was only fooling herself. Once in the bedroom, surprising her while she was asleep, he could easily force himself on her. He pictured the many ways she might respond to such an intrusion, knowing as he did so that the various scenarios spinning through his mind were little more than sheer fantasy. More likely, the act of simply entering her sleeping quarters unannounced would put an immediate end to their recently established business connection. It was vital to maintain that relationship—at least for now.
Relationship? Had their association advanced far enough for him to legitimately employ that terminology? Even on a solely commercial basis? It smacked of an intimacy that existed only in his addled imagination.
He wanted her.
Denying the desire that coursed through him would have demanded self-deception. He had made an advance and been harshly rebuffed. More importantly than wanting her physically, he needed her intellectually. One did not have such problems with the box, which was sexless unless programmed to be otherwise.
As