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"I need help, Rob. I'm confused."
That touched me, and I reached out for her hand. She just let it lay limp in mine, not
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squeezing back and not pulling away. She said: "My psychology professor used to say that was the
first step --no, the second step. The first step when you have a problem is to know you have it.
Well, I've known that for some time. The second step is to make a decision: Do you want to keep
the problem, or do you want to do something about it? I've decided to do something about it."
"Where will you go?" I asked, carefully noncommittal.
"I don't know. The groups don't seem to do much. There's a shrink machine available on the
Corporation master computer. That would be the cheapest way."
"Cheap is cheap," I said. "I spent two years with the shrink machines when I was younger,
after I-- I was kind of messed up."
"And since then you've been operating for twenty years," she said reasonably. "I'd settle
for that. For now, anyway."
I patted her hand. "Any step you take is a good step," I said kindly. "I've had the
feeling all along that you and I could get along better if you could clear some of that old
birthright crap out of your mind. We all do it, I guess, but I'd rather have you angry at me on my
own than because I'm acting as a surrogate for your father or something."
She rolled over and looked at me. Even in the pale Heecheemetal glow I could see surprise
on her face. "What are you talking about?"
"Why, your problem, Klara. I know it took a lot of courage for you to admit to yourself
that you needed help."
"Well, Rob," she said, "it did, only you don't seem to know what the problem is. Getting
along with you isn't the problem. You may be the problem. I just don't know. What I'm worried
about is stalling. Being unable to make decisions. Putting it off so long before I went out again -
- and, no offense, picking a Gemini like you to go out with."
"I hate it when you give me that astrology crap!"
"You do have a mixed-up personality, Rob, you know you do. And I seem to lean on that. I
don't want to live that way."
We were both wide awake again by then, and there seemed to be two ways for things to go.
We could get into a but-you-said-you-loved-me, but-I-can't-stand-this scene, probably ending with
either more sex or a wide-open split; or we could do something to take our minds off it. Klara's
thoughts were clearly moving in the same direction as mine, because she slid out of the hammock
and began pulling on clothes. "Let's go up to the casino," she said brightly. "I feel lucky
tonight."
There werent any ships in, and no tourists. There weren't all that many prospectors,
either, with so many shiploads going out in the past few weeks. Half the tables at the cisino were
closed down, with the green cloth hoods over them. Klara found a seat at the blackjack table,
signed for a stack of hundred-dollar markers, and the dealer let me sit next to her without
playing. "I told you this was my lucky night," she said when, after ten minutes, she was more than
two thousand dollars ahead of the house.
"You're doing fine," I encouraged her, but actually it wasn't that much fun for me. I got
up and roamed around a little bit. Dane Metchnikov was cautiously feeding five-dollar coins into
the slots, but he didn't seem to want to talk to me. Nobody was playing baccarat. I told Klara I
was going to get a cup of coffee at the Blue Hell (five dollars, but in slow times like this they
would keep filling the cup for nothing). She flashed me a quarter-proffle smile without ever
taking her eyes off the cards.
In the Blue Hell Louise Forehand was sipping a rocket-fuel-and-water. . . well, it wasn't
really rocket fuel, just old-fashioned white whisky made out of whatever happened to be growing
well that week in the hydroponics tanks. She looked up with a welcoming smile, and I sat down next
to her.
She had, it suddenly occurred to me, a rather lonely time of it. No reason she had to. She
was -- well, I don't know exactly what there was about her, but she seemed like the only
nonthreatening, nonreproachful, nondemanding person on Gateway. Everybody else either wanted
something I didn't want to give, or refused to take what I was offering. Louise was something
else. She was at least a dozen years older than I, and really very good-looking. Like me, she wore
only the Corporation standard clothes, short coveralls in a choice of three unattractive colors.
But she had remade them for herself, converting the jumpsuit into a two-piece outfit with tight
shorts, bare midriff, and a loose, open sort of top. I discovered that she was watching me take
inventory, and I suddenly felt embarrassed. "You're looking good," I said.
"Thanks, Rob. All original equipment, too," she bragged, and smiled. "I never could afford
anything else."
"You don't need anything you haven't had all along," I told her sincerely, and she changed
the subject. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl ocenkijessi.opx.pl
"I need help, Rob. I'm confused."
That touched me, and I reached out for her hand. She just let it lay limp in mine, not
file:///F|/rah/Frederik%20Pohl/Pohl,%20Frederik%20-%20Heechee%201%20-%20Gateway.txt (68 of 109) [1/15/03 6:31:21 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Frederik%20Pohl/Pohl,%20Frederik%20-%20Heechee%201%20-%20Gateway.txt
squeezing back and not pulling away. She said: "My psychology professor used to say that was the
first step --no, the second step. The first step when you have a problem is to know you have it.
Well, I've known that for some time. The second step is to make a decision: Do you want to keep
the problem, or do you want to do something about it? I've decided to do something about it."
"Where will you go?" I asked, carefully noncommittal.
"I don't know. The groups don't seem to do much. There's a shrink machine available on the
Corporation master computer. That would be the cheapest way."
"Cheap is cheap," I said. "I spent two years with the shrink machines when I was younger,
after I-- I was kind of messed up."
"And since then you've been operating for twenty years," she said reasonably. "I'd settle
for that. For now, anyway."
I patted her hand. "Any step you take is a good step," I said kindly. "I've had the
feeling all along that you and I could get along better if you could clear some of that old
birthright crap out of your mind. We all do it, I guess, but I'd rather have you angry at me on my
own than because I'm acting as a surrogate for your father or something."
She rolled over and looked at me. Even in the pale Heecheemetal glow I could see surprise
on her face. "What are you talking about?"
"Why, your problem, Klara. I know it took a lot of courage for you to admit to yourself
that you needed help."
"Well, Rob," she said, "it did, only you don't seem to know what the problem is. Getting
along with you isn't the problem. You may be the problem. I just don't know. What I'm worried
about is stalling. Being unable to make decisions. Putting it off so long before I went out again -
- and, no offense, picking a Gemini like you to go out with."
"I hate it when you give me that astrology crap!"
"You do have a mixed-up personality, Rob, you know you do. And I seem to lean on that. I
don't want to live that way."
We were both wide awake again by then, and there seemed to be two ways for things to go.
We could get into a but-you-said-you-loved-me, but-I-can't-stand-this scene, probably ending with
either more sex or a wide-open split; or we could do something to take our minds off it. Klara's
thoughts were clearly moving in the same direction as mine, because she slid out of the hammock
and began pulling on clothes. "Let's go up to the casino," she said brightly. "I feel lucky
tonight."
There werent any ships in, and no tourists. There weren't all that many prospectors,
either, with so many shiploads going out in the past few weeks. Half the tables at the cisino were
closed down, with the green cloth hoods over them. Klara found a seat at the blackjack table,
signed for a stack of hundred-dollar markers, and the dealer let me sit next to her without
playing. "I told you this was my lucky night," she said when, after ten minutes, she was more than
two thousand dollars ahead of the house.
"You're doing fine," I encouraged her, but actually it wasn't that much fun for me. I got
up and roamed around a little bit. Dane Metchnikov was cautiously feeding five-dollar coins into
the slots, but he didn't seem to want to talk to me. Nobody was playing baccarat. I told Klara I
was going to get a cup of coffee at the Blue Hell (five dollars, but in slow times like this they
would keep filling the cup for nothing). She flashed me a quarter-proffle smile without ever
taking her eyes off the cards.
In the Blue Hell Louise Forehand was sipping a rocket-fuel-and-water. . . well, it wasn't
really rocket fuel, just old-fashioned white whisky made out of whatever happened to be growing
well that week in the hydroponics tanks. She looked up with a welcoming smile, and I sat down next
to her.
She had, it suddenly occurred to me, a rather lonely time of it. No reason she had to. She
was -- well, I don't know exactly what there was about her, but she seemed like the only
nonthreatening, nonreproachful, nondemanding person on Gateway. Everybody else either wanted
something I didn't want to give, or refused to take what I was offering. Louise was something
else. She was at least a dozen years older than I, and really very good-looking. Like me, she wore
only the Corporation standard clothes, short coveralls in a choice of three unattractive colors.
But she had remade them for herself, converting the jumpsuit into a two-piece outfit with tight
shorts, bare midriff, and a loose, open sort of top. I discovered that she was watching me take
inventory, and I suddenly felt embarrassed. "You're looking good," I said.
"Thanks, Rob. All original equipment, too," she bragged, and smiled. "I never could afford
anything else."
"You don't need anything you haven't had all along," I told her sincerely, and she changed
the subject. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]