Voyagers I by Ben Bova

boots.
    Her sweater was not loose-fitting, though, and despite himself Markov felt a tiny glow within. He smiled down at Sonya’s round, happy face.
    “Yes, I had quite forgotten about the invitation. Where would I be without you?”
    She laughed. “In bed with one of the other girls. They’re all very jealous of me, you know.”
    “Ah, my angel of mercy,” he said, sliding an arm across her shoulders. “You are too kind to me. After all, I’m a doddering old man…”
    “You are not!”
    “Well, middle-aged, then,” he said as they headed toward the wood-frame building where his room was. “There are so many younger men who are sighing and moaning for a chance to bask in your smile. Yet you concentrate all your energies on me.”
    And come to think of it, he added mentally, there are indeed other women who’ve been kept away from me by this over-developed sex maniac.
    But Sonya would have none of it. She was single-minded in her devotion to Markov. And, sure enough, he ended up making love to her again before he started out for the director’s tea. It came as no surprise to him. As he lay half dozing in her soft, ample breasts, he found himself trying to count how many times he had done it over the past two months.
    I must be close to a world record for a man approaching fifty years of age, he marveled.
    The director’s tea was very private, very quiet, and mercifully brief. Markov chatted amiably about his studies of oriental languages while the rest of the men and women talked about astronomy and electronics. He didn’t understand them and they didn’t understand him. No one spoke about the radio pulses from Jupiter, because they were supposed to be a secret that only a half-dozen people in the entire station knew about. And no one knew who, among the two dozen guests at the tea, might be reporting conversations back to Moscow.
    Markov wasn’t hungry by the time the partygoers bade farewell to their host and headed for their own quarters. He trudged listlessly past the cafeteria building and headed to his room. Sonya would be there, waiting in bed for him.
    Maybe she’ll be asleep, Markov hoped. Then he frowned to himself. A fine state of affairs! You’re actually afraid of her. It’s time you told her that you’re a married man and you can’t carry on with her any longer.
    He thought of the lean, languid blond electronics specialist he had met at the director’s tea. Big, sleepy eyes. She’d be more restful, at least.
    It was a considerable surprise when he opened the door to his room and found his wife sitting in the chair in front of the electric heater.
    “Maria!”
    She looked up at him, the usual scowl on her face.
    Markov glanced at the bed. It was unmade, but empty.
    “What are you doing here?” he asked, closing the door behind him and wondering what had happened to Sonya.
    “I’ve come for a firsthand report on your progress,” she said. “My superiors thought that I would like to see my husband after a two-month absence.”
    Putting on a smile, Markov said, “How thoughtful of them.”
    He pulled off his heavy coat and hung it on the hook behind the door. Maria’s plain black suitcase sat on the floor next to the closet.
    The closet! Could Sonya be hiding in the closet?
    “You must be tired after such a long trip,” he said to his wife. “Would you like some tea? Perhaps dinner?”
    “You look tired yourself. There are dark circles under your eyes.”
    “I’ve been working very hard.”
    “Yes, I know.”
    This must be the way a mouse feels when it’s in the paws of a cat, Markov thought. Or the way a prisoner feels when the police take him in.
    “I’m afraid I haven’t made much progress…”
    “That depends on how you look at it,” Maria said, her voice flat and cold. “The girl who was in your bed seemed quite content with your progress.”
    “Girl?” His voice squeaked, almost. “Oh, her. She…well…” He shrugged and grinned sheepishly.
    “I hope that