to the bath and returned the Spranepak to its place in the medical : dispenser. When she returned Winston was sound asleep.
She dropped to the floor beside the couch and lay her head on his shoulder. Miracles, she decided, still happened. And here was another golden moment for the treasury.
Winston sat bolt upright and tried to make his eyes focus on his wristwatch. The couch had been cantilevered out into a circular bed; the ceiling television viewer was activated. Becky McCoy lay beside him, wearing a lace bedjacket and, he presumed, nothing else, She had obviously been watching the television. She rolled toward him on an elbow, smiling, and asked, "Do you always awaken like King Kong?"
He told her, "My watch is dead. What time is it?"
"Almost ten," she replied.
"I have to get out of here, Becky," he muttered.
"You've hardly arrived," she told him.
"A war game is scheduled to start on the West Coast at midnight. I have to get out there."
"I didn't know you played at war," she said cooly.
"Well this one may not be a play. I've got to . . . uh . ,. say, the ankle's feeling fine. You're a good doctor."
"Awhile ago I was Mather McCoy," she reminded him.
He was up and hobbling about the small room, rounding up his things. He told her, "You know I appreciate the breather, Becky."
"Drop in any time," she said. "Any time you need first aid."
Something in her tone pierced his mental turmoil and turned him around. He looked at her through a long moment of silence, then grinned and told her, "I'm a hell of a guy. Becky, you're a woman in a million. Thanks. I mean it, thanks."
She said, "You're welcome, and I mean that. You're welcome to anything you can find around here, Mike Winston."
He said, "Becky . . . something wild is going on. I can't tell you about it, but believe me, it's wild. And it's about to
eat me, maybe all of us. I have to get out to California. Will you give me a raincheck?"
"For what?" she asked quietly.
"For whatever I can find around here."
She dropped her eyes. "You've had one for three years. You know that."
He sighed. "Yes, I've known it. Becky ... I really must get to California."
"The next commuter doesn't leave until midnight," she informed him.
"Is that right?"
"That's right."
He sat down and pulled his feet onto the bed. "Well, I can't think of a nicer place to wait for midnight."
Her eyes thanked him. She said, "I'm too old for pride, Mike. I'm dying of loneliness."
He told her, "You're too much woman for that. You're not built for solo."
She sighed and said, "Amen, and I am open to suggestions."
"I think I'd like a drink," he told her.
Her face brightened. "Me too." She flipped about to all fours and crawled to the wall-headboard, slid open a cabinet, and started punching buttons. "The last time we drank together," she reminded him, "you had whiskey, lemon, and water."
She pressed a frosted plastic tumbler into his hand and toasted him silently with her eyes. Winston tasted his drink, winked at her, and took a mansized pull at it. "You know, that stuff does help," he commented.
He stared at her for a thoughtful moment and allowed his eyes to roam the luxurious figure beneath the lace. Then he soberly asked her, "Do you feel in the mood for a bit of sexplay, Becky?"
A tear squeezed beyond control and rolled down the smooth plane of her cheek. She gave her head a dainty toss and admitted, "I'm half-dead for lack of some. But I don't want it as a gift, Michael."
He smiled soberly and told her, "It's the nicest gift one human can pass to another, Becky."
"I'm in love with you," she said.
He said, "Your drink is getting flat."
"Story of my life." She smiled brightly and swiped angrily at another tear. "I've been in love with you for three years."
He threw his glass across the room and swept her into j his arms. The lace fell away, and one hell of a lot of ! woman came alive in his embrace. He whispered, "This is no gift, Becky."
"Yes, yes it is," she gasped. "It's the gift
She dropped to the floor beside the couch and lay her head on his shoulder. Miracles, she decided, still happened. And here was another golden moment for the treasury.
Winston sat bolt upright and tried to make his eyes focus on his wristwatch. The couch had been cantilevered out into a circular bed; the ceiling television viewer was activated. Becky McCoy lay beside him, wearing a lace bedjacket and, he presumed, nothing else, She had obviously been watching the television. She rolled toward him on an elbow, smiling, and asked, "Do you always awaken like King Kong?"
He told her, "My watch is dead. What time is it?"
"Almost ten," she replied.
"I have to get out of here, Becky," he muttered.
"You've hardly arrived," she told him.
"A war game is scheduled to start on the West Coast at midnight. I have to get out there."
"I didn't know you played at war," she said cooly.
"Well this one may not be a play. I've got to . . . uh . ,. say, the ankle's feeling fine. You're a good doctor."
"Awhile ago I was Mather McCoy," she reminded him.
He was up and hobbling about the small room, rounding up his things. He told her, "You know I appreciate the breather, Becky."
"Drop in any time," she said. "Any time you need first aid."
Something in her tone pierced his mental turmoil and turned him around. He looked at her through a long moment of silence, then grinned and told her, "I'm a hell of a guy. Becky, you're a woman in a million. Thanks. I mean it, thanks."
She said, "You're welcome, and I mean that. You're welcome to anything you can find around here, Mike Winston."
He said, "Becky . . . something wild is going on. I can't tell you about it, but believe me, it's wild. And it's about to
eat me, maybe all of us. I have to get out to California. Will you give me a raincheck?"
"For what?" she asked quietly.
"For whatever I can find around here."
She dropped her eyes. "You've had one for three years. You know that."
He sighed. "Yes, I've known it. Becky ... I really must get to California."
"The next commuter doesn't leave until midnight," she informed him.
"Is that right?"
"That's right."
He sat down and pulled his feet onto the bed. "Well, I can't think of a nicer place to wait for midnight."
Her eyes thanked him. She said, "I'm too old for pride, Mike. I'm dying of loneliness."
He told her, "You're too much woman for that. You're not built for solo."
She sighed and said, "Amen, and I am open to suggestions."
"I think I'd like a drink," he told her.
Her face brightened. "Me too." She flipped about to all fours and crawled to the wall-headboard, slid open a cabinet, and started punching buttons. "The last time we drank together," she reminded him, "you had whiskey, lemon, and water."
She pressed a frosted plastic tumbler into his hand and toasted him silently with her eyes. Winston tasted his drink, winked at her, and took a mansized pull at it. "You know, that stuff does help," he commented.
He stared at her for a thoughtful moment and allowed his eyes to roam the luxurious figure beneath the lace. Then he soberly asked her, "Do you feel in the mood for a bit of sexplay, Becky?"
A tear squeezed beyond control and rolled down the smooth plane of her cheek. She gave her head a dainty toss and admitted, "I'm half-dead for lack of some. But I don't want it as a gift, Michael."
He smiled soberly and told her, "It's the nicest gift one human can pass to another, Becky."
"I'm in love with you," she said.
He said, "Your drink is getting flat."
"Story of my life." She smiled brightly and swiped angrily at another tear. "I've been in love with you for three years."
He threw his glass across the room and swept her into j his arms. The lace fell away, and one hell of a lot of ! woman came alive in his embrace. He whispered, "This is no gift, Becky."
"Yes, yes it is," she gasped. "It's the gift
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