Worlds

11. Leavings

“You’ve got to be sensible.” They were squeezed together in the bed that took up a third of Anderson’s small room.

“I know, I know.” O’Hara sat drawn up tightly, chin on knees, arms wrapped around her legs. Staring at the blank wall.

“You’re overreacting. There was almost no chance.”

“Bureaucrats.” O’Hara had tried to have her trip to Earth delayed six months, until it was nearer time for Anderson to go back. After eight weeks she got her reply: Denied.

“You can’t pass it up. They won’t give you another chance.”

“They might. My record—”

“Your record will show that you were given the opportunity of a lifetime and refused it for the sake of a love affair. Drink?”

“No.” Daniel inchwormed out of bed and squirted some wine into a cup.

“Mind?” He held up his weekly cigarette.

“Go ahead.” The acrid smell filled the room quickly. To O’Hara it was exotic, but it made her want to sneeze. “I guess a lot of people on Earth smoke.”

“Depends on where you go. It’s illegal some places, like the Alexandrian Dominion. California.” He set the cup on the bedstand and slid in next to her, pulling the cover up to his waist. “Try a puff?”

“No. I might like it.” None of the Worlds grew tobacco. She slid herself under the cover, up to her breasts, and dabbed at her eyes with a corner of it.

“I don’t want to see you leave, either.”

“I’m glad you finally said that” There was an awkward silence. “Sorry. Unfair.”

“All’s fair.”

She rested her hand on his thigh, under the cover. “Nothing is, really. First Law of the Universe.”

“Philosophy.” He blew a smoke ring. “How long will it take you to finish that damned thing?”