The Lotus Caves Read Free Page B

and study rooms. At least it would be quiet and there might be a chance of being alone. There were three or four people in the library itself and he went through to the rooms beyond. Of the six available, all but one showed the red light outside signifying “Occupied—Don’t Disturb.” He pushed open the door of the sixth and realized there was someone there too. Steve du Cros sat at the table and was busy writing. He looked up, annoyed.
    Marty said: “Sorry. I guess . . . You didn’t put the light on.”
    â€œDidn’t I?” Steve was stocky for a Lunarian, a little shorter than Marty and more powerfully built. His face was broad but sharp-eyed. He had black curly hair and blue eyes, slightly protuberant behind contacts.
    â€œYou want to use the place?” He closed his pad. “That’s O.K. I’m about finished.”
    â€œNo, it’s all right. I wasn’t doing anything really. Were you writing that book review for English? It’s not due till Monday, is it?”
    â€œNo, it’s something of my own.” He paused. “I’m writing a book.”
    Marty was surprised, but the surprise diminished with reflection. Steve always got low marks in English but that was more due to his general awkwardness and lack of discipline than to being weak in the subject. He said some bright things at times.
    â€œWhat about?” he asked, and half expected to be blasted by a sarcastic retort. But Steve said: “Oh, just slush. Pirates in the South Seas—that sort of stuff. It’s crazy, but it passes the time.”
    â€œCan I read it?”
    â€œYou can if you don’t mind being bored to shreds.” He stared at Marty. “You heard from Paul yet?”
    â€œI saw him tonight when he visiphoned home.”
    â€œHow is he?”
    â€œHe seemed all right.”
    Steve said enviously: “He’s lucky.”
    â€œIn a way.” A thought struck Marty. “Being sent down . . . why can’t you go? I mean, you don’t have any folks in the Bubble.”
    Steve lived with foster parents who had a boy of their own, some years younger, with whom he seemed to have less in common even than with other boys. He said: “I don’t have folks down below, either. Or none who wants to go to the ­trouble of making a claim. I’m a ward of the Colony and the Colony says I’m better off here. They ran the medical computer on me and it opted for staying. I don’t get the chance to argue till I’m eighteen.”
    â€œThat’s tough if you want to go.”
    â€œDoesn’t everyone?”
    â€œWell, yes.” He thought of his own decision, but could not bring himself to mention it. “Though it’s not too bad here really.”
    â€œCould be worse,” Steve agreed. “Like a character in my book. He’s been captured by the Spaniards and chained to the wall for ten years in a dungeon on one of the islands of the Spanish Main. It’s right by the sea and every high tide he gets flooded to the knees. He gets bread and water, thin soup twice a week, and he has to fight the rats for it. They’re two feet long, nose to tail, and keep their teeth sharp gnawing through granite. He doesn’t worry either. He’s only got ten years to go and he doesn’t have to pay taxes.”
    Marty laughed. “See what you mean!”
    â€œIf you’re not busy right now . . .”
    â€œI’m not.”
    â€œI thought of going out to the Wall. See if the mountains have moved any. Have a look for a Moon-bird. You want to come along?”
    Marty said: “I don’t mind.”
    â€¢ • •
    Marty’s mother said: “I’m glad to see you’ve found a new friend.”
    Steve had been around to the apartment for the evening. He had brought some tapes to play, of seventeenth-century music. Marty knew very little about classical music and he had