that he was not hungry. Walking to the veranda of the apartment he opened the glass door and stepped outside, into the cold night air.
Luminous night moths fluttered beyond the railing, among the trees and moist branches. Somewhere in the forest small animals crashed about, growled, moved sullenly off. Sounds of breaking twigs, stealthy footpads. Hissing.
"Cats," Loris whispered. "Domestic cats." She had come out, too, to stand beside him in the darkness.
"Gone wild?"
She turned toward him. "You know, Doctor, there is a basic fallacy in their thinking."
"Who do you mean by 'they'?"
Waving her hand vaguely she said, "The government. The whole system, here. The Soul Cube, the Lists. That girl, Icara. The one you saved." Her voice became firm. "She killed herself because she had been disfigured. She knew she'd drag down the tribe when List time came. She knew she'd score badly because of her physical appearance. But such things aren't inherited! " Bitterness swept through her voice. "She sacrificed herself for nothing. Who gained? What good did her death do? She was certain it was for the benefit of the tribe--for the race. I've seen enough of death."
He knew, hearing her, that she was thinking about her father. "Loris," he said. "If you can go back into the past, why didn't you try to change it? Prevent his death?"
"You don't know what we know," she said. "The possibility of changing the past is limited. It's very hard." She sighed. "Don't you suppose we tried?" Her voice rose now. "Don't you think we went back again and again, trying to make it come out differently? And it never did."
"The past is immutable?" he said.
"We don't understand it, quite. Some things can be changed. But not this. Not the thing that matters! There's some kind of central force that eludes us. Some power working . . ."
"You really love him," he said, moved by her emotion.
She nodded faintly. Now he saw her hand lift; she wiped at her eyes. Dimly, he could make out her face, her trembling lips, long lashes, the great black eyes sparkling with tears.
"I'm sorry," Parsons said. "I didn't mean to--"
"It's all right. We've been under so much strain. For so long. You understand, I've never seen him alive. And, to look at him day after day, suspended in there, beyond reach--utterly remote from us. All the time, when I was a child, growing up, I thought of nothing else. To bring him back. To have him again, to possess him. If he could be made to live again--" Her hands opened, reached out, yearning, groping, closing again on nothing. "And now that we do have him back--" Abruptly, she broke off.
"Go on," Parsons prompted.
Loris shook her head and turned away. Parsons touched her soft black hair, moist with the night mist. She did not protest. He drew her close to him; still she did not protest. Her warm breath drifted up in a cloud, rising around him, mixing with the sweet scent of her hair. Against him her body vibrated, intense and burning with suppressed emotion. Her bosom rose and fell, outlined against the starlight, her body trembling under the silk of her robe.
His hand touched her cheek, then her throat. Her full lips were close to his. Her eyes were half-closed, head bent back, breath coming rapidly. "Loris," he said softly.
She shook her head. "No. Please, no."
"Why don't you trust me? Why don't you want to tell me? What is there you can't--"
With a convulsive moan she broke away and ran toward the doorway, robes fluttering after her.
Catching up with her, he put his arms around her, holding her from escaping. "What's the matter?" he said, trying to see her, trying to read the expression on her face. Wanting to make her look at him.
"I--" she began.
The door to the apartment flew open. Helmar, his face distorted, said, "Loris. He--" Seeing Parsons he said, "Doctor. Come."
They ran, the three of them, down the corridor to the stairs, down the stairs; gasping, they reached the room in which Loris' father lay. Attendants ushered
Luminous night moths fluttered beyond the railing, among the trees and moist branches. Somewhere in the forest small animals crashed about, growled, moved sullenly off. Sounds of breaking twigs, stealthy footpads. Hissing.
"Cats," Loris whispered. "Domestic cats." She had come out, too, to stand beside him in the darkness.
"Gone wild?"
She turned toward him. "You know, Doctor, there is a basic fallacy in their thinking."
"Who do you mean by 'they'?"
Waving her hand vaguely she said, "The government. The whole system, here. The Soul Cube, the Lists. That girl, Icara. The one you saved." Her voice became firm. "She killed herself because she had been disfigured. She knew she'd drag down the tribe when List time came. She knew she'd score badly because of her physical appearance. But such things aren't inherited! " Bitterness swept through her voice. "She sacrificed herself for nothing. Who gained? What good did her death do? She was certain it was for the benefit of the tribe--for the race. I've seen enough of death."
He knew, hearing her, that she was thinking about her father. "Loris," he said. "If you can go back into the past, why didn't you try to change it? Prevent his death?"
"You don't know what we know," she said. "The possibility of changing the past is limited. It's very hard." She sighed. "Don't you suppose we tried?" Her voice rose now. "Don't you think we went back again and again, trying to make it come out differently? And it never did."
"The past is immutable?" he said.
"We don't understand it, quite. Some things can be changed. But not this. Not the thing that matters! There's some kind of central force that eludes us. Some power working . . ."
"You really love him," he said, moved by her emotion.
She nodded faintly. Now he saw her hand lift; she wiped at her eyes. Dimly, he could make out her face, her trembling lips, long lashes, the great black eyes sparkling with tears.
"I'm sorry," Parsons said. "I didn't mean to--"
"It's all right. We've been under so much strain. For so long. You understand, I've never seen him alive. And, to look at him day after day, suspended in there, beyond reach--utterly remote from us. All the time, when I was a child, growing up, I thought of nothing else. To bring him back. To have him again, to possess him. If he could be made to live again--" Her hands opened, reached out, yearning, groping, closing again on nothing. "And now that we do have him back--" Abruptly, she broke off.
"Go on," Parsons prompted.
Loris shook her head and turned away. Parsons touched her soft black hair, moist with the night mist. She did not protest. He drew her close to him; still she did not protest. Her warm breath drifted up in a cloud, rising around him, mixing with the sweet scent of her hair. Against him her body vibrated, intense and burning with suppressed emotion. Her bosom rose and fell, outlined against the starlight, her body trembling under the silk of her robe.
His hand touched her cheek, then her throat. Her full lips were close to his. Her eyes were half-closed, head bent back, breath coming rapidly. "Loris," he said softly.
She shook her head. "No. Please, no."
"Why don't you trust me? Why don't you want to tell me? What is there you can't--"
With a convulsive moan she broke away and ran toward the doorway, robes fluttering after her.
Catching up with her, he put his arms around her, holding her from escaping. "What's the matter?" he said, trying to see her, trying to read the expression on her face. Wanting to make her look at him.
"I--" she began.
The door to the apartment flew open. Helmar, his face distorted, said, "Loris. He--" Seeing Parsons he said, "Doctor. Come."
They ran, the three of them, down the corridor to the stairs, down the stairs; gasping, they reached the room in which Loris' father lay. Attendants ushered
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