possible.
"You won't always think that," he told her, as they packed a few things.
She looked at him inquiringiy.
"Sooner or later," he told her, "you're going to start thinking for yourself."
She blushed, "That's not fair," she said. She tried to hide it, but she was hurt.
Rog looked at her thoughtfully. When something proved afresh how much he meant to her, he was always a little surprised. He looked for reasons for things, and he could see few reasons for this. If he could once have explained it to himself, it would cease to be a constant puzzle, something he didn't include in his more general calculations because he didn't know what to include.
He held out his arms, and she threw herself into them, passionately. He felt her heart race against his. He always touched her gently, tentatively, as if unsure of his right to touch her at all. She lifted her feet from the floor, her arms still about his neck, and he scarcely had to brace himself to support her weight.
Abruptly he dropped her on the bed and stood gazing at her.
"What's the matter?" she asked anxiously.
He dropped beside her. "I want to do what's right for you, June," he murmured. He found his head in her lap without any clear idea of how it got there. Her hands smoothed his hair.
He wanted to love her, and was afraid to love her. It was giving a hostage to fate, letting a woman mean so much to him. Rog Foley gave no hostages.
He heard the door open and tensed to jump up. Then a certain peace came over him. Let them see. Hostage to fate? Every promise, every plan, every hope was a hostage to fate.
"We're ready," said Alice's voice. It was strangely subdued. He raised his head reluctantly. There was something in Alice's eyes that he had never seen before.
With Rog and June and Alice at the head, the column moved through Lemon, growing.
Jessie Bendall wanted to speak to Rog. He dropped out, waving the others on.
"Tell me," she said. "Is this a demonstration -- or a revolt?"
"Neither, really," he said. "But call it a demonstration if you like. Relax, Mrs. Bendall. There isn't going to be any trouble."
She had been angry, grim. But she was losing her confidence in the face of his unconcern.
"What do you want us to do?" she asked, a harassed woman of fifty-four rather than the President of probably all that was left of the human race.
"Nothing -- do you feel you ought to do something?"
In ten seconds they had reached agreement on the true situation. Rog was in command. The destiny of Lemon was in his hands.
"It was inevitable, I suppose," she murmured. "Is this a final split?"
"No. We'll be back for Council meetings -- for everything. Is that all?"
He moved on. He had been polite, as ever, his manner more pleasant and cordial than his words.
It wasn't a demonstration or a revolt -- it was a coup. The kind of thing which, back on Earth, had come when a group or a party or a nation had gone as far along a track as it could go, and if there couldn't be a change for the better it had to be a change for the worse. The man to stage the coup, had always been there -- comes the hour, comes the man.
Alice gave him a wry smile as Rog caught up with her and June.
"June thinks you're right, anyway," she said.
"It isn't a question of being right," Rog told her. "Perhaps it's a question of being less wrong. I'm not sure."
He began to whistle softly.
"You can afford to whisfie," muttered Alice, rather nastily for her.
Suddenly Rog realized what had been in her eyes when she had burst in on him and June. She had seen what she hadn't previously believed -- that in addition to everything else, Rog had won love, too.
What had been in her eyes was envy.
2
Things worked out well at New Paris. There was plenty to be done, yet not so much urgency about shy of it that work need become toil. Rog kept his followers on the right road without giving any impression of driving them, and delivered justice, where necessary, with wisdom and good humor.
"In fact," Alice
"You won't always think that," he told her, as they packed a few things.
She looked at him inquiringiy.
"Sooner or later," he told her, "you're going to start thinking for yourself."
She blushed, "That's not fair," she said. She tried to hide it, but she was hurt.
Rog looked at her thoughtfully. When something proved afresh how much he meant to her, he was always a little surprised. He looked for reasons for things, and he could see few reasons for this. If he could once have explained it to himself, it would cease to be a constant puzzle, something he didn't include in his more general calculations because he didn't know what to include.
He held out his arms, and she threw herself into them, passionately. He felt her heart race against his. He always touched her gently, tentatively, as if unsure of his right to touch her at all. She lifted her feet from the floor, her arms still about his neck, and he scarcely had to brace himself to support her weight.
Abruptly he dropped her on the bed and stood gazing at her.
"What's the matter?" she asked anxiously.
He dropped beside her. "I want to do what's right for you, June," he murmured. He found his head in her lap without any clear idea of how it got there. Her hands smoothed his hair.
He wanted to love her, and was afraid to love her. It was giving a hostage to fate, letting a woman mean so much to him. Rog Foley gave no hostages.
He heard the door open and tensed to jump up. Then a certain peace came over him. Let them see. Hostage to fate? Every promise, every plan, every hope was a hostage to fate.
"We're ready," said Alice's voice. It was strangely subdued. He raised his head reluctantly. There was something in Alice's eyes that he had never seen before.
With Rog and June and Alice at the head, the column moved through Lemon, growing.
Jessie Bendall wanted to speak to Rog. He dropped out, waving the others on.
"Tell me," she said. "Is this a demonstration -- or a revolt?"
"Neither, really," he said. "But call it a demonstration if you like. Relax, Mrs. Bendall. There isn't going to be any trouble."
She had been angry, grim. But she was losing her confidence in the face of his unconcern.
"What do you want us to do?" she asked, a harassed woman of fifty-four rather than the President of probably all that was left of the human race.
"Nothing -- do you feel you ought to do something?"
In ten seconds they had reached agreement on the true situation. Rog was in command. The destiny of Lemon was in his hands.
"It was inevitable, I suppose," she murmured. "Is this a final split?"
"No. We'll be back for Council meetings -- for everything. Is that all?"
He moved on. He had been polite, as ever, his manner more pleasant and cordial than his words.
It wasn't a demonstration or a revolt -- it was a coup. The kind of thing which, back on Earth, had come when a group or a party or a nation had gone as far along a track as it could go, and if there couldn't be a change for the better it had to be a change for the worse. The man to stage the coup, had always been there -- comes the hour, comes the man.
Alice gave him a wry smile as Rog caught up with her and June.
"June thinks you're right, anyway," she said.
"It isn't a question of being right," Rog told her. "Perhaps it's a question of being less wrong. I'm not sure."
He began to whistle softly.
"You can afford to whisfie," muttered Alice, rather nastily for her.
Suddenly Rog realized what had been in her eyes when she had burst in on him and June. She had seen what she hadn't previously believed -- that in addition to everything else, Rog had won love, too.
What had been in her eyes was envy.
2
Things worked out well at New Paris. There was plenty to be done, yet not so much urgency about shy of it that work need become toil. Rog kept his followers on the right road without giving any impression of driving them, and delivered justice, where necessary, with wisdom and good humor.
"In fact," Alice
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