He did not leave the girl. She was scarcely pretty in her fear and despair. No one could be. But Arvardan felt disturbed at the sight of her helplessness.
He had taken a step away, and now he turned. "Are you going to stay here?"
She nodded.
"But why?" he demanded.
"Because"-and the tears now overflowed-"I don't know what else to do."
She was just a little, frightened girl, even if she was an Earthie. Arvardan said, in a softer voice, "If you'll tell me what's wrong, I'll try to help."
There was no answer.
The three formed a tableau. Schwartz had sunk to the floor in a squatting posture, too sick at heart to try to follow the conversation, to be curious at the sudden emptiness of the store, to do anything but bury his head in his hands in the last unspoken and unuttered whimper of despair. Pola, weeping, knew only that she was more frightened than she had ever thought it possible for anyone to be. Arvardan, puzzled and waiting, tried clumsily and ineffectually to pat Pola's shoulder in encouraging fashion, and was conscious only of the fact that for the first time he had touched an Earthgirl.
The little man came upon them thus.
9. Conflict At Chica
Lieutenant Marc Claudy of the Chica garrison yawned slowly and gazed into the middle distance with an ineffable boredom. He was completing his second year of duty on Earth and waited yearningly for replacement.
Nowhere in the Galaxy was the problem of maintaining a garrison quite so complicated as it was on this horrible world. On other planets there existed a certain camaraderie between soldier and civilian, particularly female civilian. There was a sense of freedom and openness.
But here the garrison was a prison. There were the radiation-proof barracks and the filtered atmosphere, free of radioactive dust. There was the lead-impregnated clothing, cold and heavy, which could not be removed without grave risk. As a corollary to that, fraternization with the population (assuming that the desperation of loneliness could drive a soldier to the society of an "Earthie" girl) was out of the question.
What was left, then, but short snorts, long naps, and slow madness?
Lieutenant Claudy shook his head in a futile attempt to clear it, yawned again, sat up and began dragging on his shoes. He looked at his watch and decided it was not yet quite time for evening chow.
And then he jumped to his feet, only one shoe on, acutely conscious of his uncombed hair, and saluted.
The colonel looked about him disparagingly but said nothing directly on the subject. Instead he directed crisply, "Lieutenant, there are reports of rioting in the business district. You will take a decontamination squad to the Dunham department store and take charge. You will see to it that all your men are thoroughly protected against infection by Radiation Fever."
"Radiation Fever!" cried the lieutenant. "Pardon me, sir, but-"
"You will be ready to leave in fifteen minutes," said the colonel coldly.
Arvardan saw the little man first, and stiffened as the other made a little gesture of greeting. "Hi, guv'ner. Hi, big fella. Tell the little lady there ain't no call for the waterworks. "
Pola's head had snapped up, her breath sucked in. Automatically she leaned toward the protecting bulk of Arvardan, who, as automatically, put a protective arm about her. It did not occur to him that that was the second time he had touched an Earthgirl.
He said sharply, "What do you want?"
The little man with the sharp eyes stepped diffidently out from behind a counter piled high with packages. He spoke in a manner which managed to be both ingratiating and impudent simultaneously.
"Here's a weird go outside," he said, "but it don't need to bother you, miss. I'll get your man back to the Institute for you."
"What institute?" demanded Pola fearfully.
"Aw, come off it," said the little man. "I'm Natter, fella with the fruit stand right across the street from the Institute for Nuclear Research. I seen you here lots of times."
"See here," said Arvardan abruptly, "what's all this about?"
Natter's little frame shook with merriment. "They think this fella here has Radiation Fever-"
"Radiation Fever?" It came from both Arvardan and Pola at once.
Natter nodded. "That's right. Two cabbies ate with him and that's what they said. News like that kinda spreads, you know."
"The guards outside," demanded Pola, "are just looking for someone with fever?"
"That's right."
"And just why aren't you afraid of the fever?" demanded Arvardan abruptly. "I take it that it was fear of contagion that caused the authorities to empty the store."
"Sure. The authorities are waiting outside, afraid to come in, too. They're waiting for the Outsiders' decontamination squad to get here."
"And you're not afraid of the fever, is that it?"
"Why should I be? This guy don't have no fever. Look at him. Where's the sores on his mouth? He isn't flushed. His eyes are all right. I know what fever looks like. Come on, miss, we'll march out of here, then."
But Pola was frightened again. "No, no. We can't. He's-he's-" She couldn't go on.
Natter said insinuatingly, "I could take him out. No questions asked. No registration card necessary-"
Pola failed to suppress a little cry, and Arvardan said, with considerable distaste, "What makes you so important?"
Natter laughed hoarsely. He flipped his lapel. "Messenger for the Society of Ancients. Nobody'll ask me questions."
"And what's in it for you?"
"Money! You're anxious and I can help you. There ain't no fairer than that. It's worth, say, a hundred credits to you, and it's worth a hundred credits to me. Fifty credits now, fifty on delivery."