Raised voices from the direction of the stream made him open his eyes. The girl had gotten up; she was looking down at Hart, still spread on his back with his hands under his head, and they were arguing. Or she was arguing—Hart was just lying there, answering in a quiet voice that was no more than a murmur from this distance. Will could only make out a few words from her harangue; no was chief among them, and not enough, repeated several times. What about me? she yelled at one point. And finally, Just wait, my friend, just you wait! This last was delivered with venom, and she scooped up her clothes and turned to leave.
Hart was up in a second, his hand on her arm. He talked for a solid minute, then bent over her shoulder and addressed something to her ear, nibbling on her neck a little as he did so. She giggled. She let herself be coaxed into surrendering her clothing, which Hart threw back on the ground. Then he pulled her out into the stream and they started making love in the water.
Lord, thought Will, I could’ve been back in my quarters by now. I wonder what Lysette is doing?
Hart and his girlfriend were thrashing about in the current. A certain amount of horseplay was only to be expected from any couple that would make love in the middle of Helium Park, and it took Will quite a few irreplaceable seconds to realize that the girl was being drowned.
Hart was efficient; she hadn’t even been given a chance to yell. Will broke from his hiding place and ran into the stream. He grabbed hold of an arm and shoulder and tried to pull her away from Hart. Her arms were still moving weakly. Hart jabbed Will viciously with one hand, using the other to keep her face well under the surface. He wasn’t letting go; Will’s only chance was to attack Hart directly, and he did so. Hart blocked the blows, still onehanded, refusing to let go even to fight back. Seconds passed. Finally, Hart, who was bleeding from the nose, pushed the girl’s body away and dived at Will. They rolled over onto the shore. In a blaze of anger the like of which he had not known since childhood, Will threw a storm of blows at Hart. His lack of success brought with it a heartsick frustration that was reminiscent of other scenes, long ago; through the haze Will saw Hart’s bleeding face and remembered abruptly who and where he was. And what an ass he was being. He pulled away from Hart and started to run downstream.
He was tackled from behind. Of course. Every second of delay was on Hart’s side, that was what the fight was about; Will ignored the red-hot lava that threatened to explode in his brain and twisted coolly aside, kicking Hart on the side of the head to extricate himself. He managed to get to his feet.
And saw, very far downstream now, a naked body on the current. It seemed to hover by the curve of bright water by a stand of birch trees; then it was gone.
There was a very faint sound, almost like a whimper, and he realized that he’d made it. He turned around. Hart had gotten to his knees, and without a pause for thought Will aimed a vicious kick at his kidney.
Hart managed to catch Will’s boot with his hand, not canceling the blow but softening it. He grunted, and when he’d caught his breath he said, “Willie. It was only a couple of seconds, and she was probably already dead.”
He meant that it was only a couple of seconds that Will had wasted in pummeling Hart on the bank when he should have been running downstream. He meant, don’t take this as a personal failure.
Will hated Hart for knowing what he’d been thinking. And he hated him for mentioning those seconds and making concrete the fact that Will had to share responsibility for her death.
He looked down at Hart, his lips twisted in a sour line, and said, “You’re under arrest.”
Hart said, “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, you’re under arrest. Get up.”
Hart got to his feet. He reached for his shirt, and Will jabbed him with a Keith pistol that had suddenly materialized in his hand. “I didn’t think that kick had loosened your brains.”
“Willie. I’m only reaching for an explanation. I have a card case in there. Do you mind?”
He slowly brought out a gold case from his shirt pocket and opened it. He rifled through the calling cards and then from the middle he pulled out a card embossed with the imprimatur of the Ecclesiastical Council. Will took it from him and read: “The bearer of this card is entrusted by the Council with the authority to do as he sees fit to maintain the security of the City. All Opal citizens will render him what assistance he requires.”
Will had heard of these cards. He flipped it into the underbrush. “Too bad you lost it.”
“Whose brains got loosened now?” said Hart. “Willie—”
“I know. You’ve got a hundred more at home. You should’ve remembered to bring one with you—it might have stopped me from turning you over to Diamond Security.”
Hart froze. “ Diamond Security? Jesus Chr—”
Will poked him with the Keith. “Come on.”
Hart said, recovering, “Do you think you ought to leave that card where just anybody can pick it up?”
Will glared at him for a second. Then, still holding the pistol on him as Hart got dressed, Will squatted down and started feeling around on the grass for the card.
They took a long, silent ride on the train. Will didn’t motion for him to get out until the end of the line, on court level, and Hart said, “What’s the idea?”
“I’m going to file a
