believe that intimacy with an Eternal will enable a mortal woman (as they think of themselves) to live forever!"
Harlan swayed. He could hear Noys's voice again so clearly: If I were made an Eternal ...
And then her kisses.
Finge went on. "The existence of such a superstition was hard to believe, Harlan. It was unprecedented. It lay within the region of random error so that a search through the Computations for the previous Change yielded no information respecting it one way or the other. The Allwhen Council wanted firm evidence, direct substantiation. I chose Miss Lambent as a good example of her class. I chose you as the other subject--"
Harlan struggled to his feet. "You chose me? As a subject?"
"I'm sorry," said Finge stiffly, "but it was necessary. You made a very good subject."
Harlan stared at him.
Finge had the grace to squirm a bit under that wordless stare. He said, "Don't you see? No, you still don't. Look, Harlan, you're a coldfish product of Eternity. You won't look at a woman. You consider women and all that concerns t.hem unethical. No, there's a better word. You consider them sinful. That attitude shows all over you, and to any woman you'd have all the sex appeal of a month-dead mackerel. Yet here we have a woman, a beautiful pampered product of a hedonistic culture, who ardently seduces you on your first evening together, virtually begging for your embrace. Don't you understand that that is ridiculous, impossible, unless-well, unless it is the confirmation we were looking for."
Harlan struggled for words. "You say she sold herself--"
"Why that expression? There is no shame attached to sex in this Century. The only strange thing is that she chose you as partner, and that she did for the sake of eternal life. It's plain."
And Harlan, arms raised, hands claw-bent, with no rational thought in his mind, or any irrational one other than to choke and throttle Finge, sprang forward.
Finge stepped back hastily. He brought out a blaster with a quick, trembling gesture. "Don't touch me! Back!"
Harlan had just enough sanity to halt his rush. His hair was matted. His shirt was stained with perspiration. His breath whistled through pinched white nostrils.
Finge said shakily, "I know you very well, you see, and I thought your reaction might be violent. Now I'll shoot if I have to."
Harlan said, "Get out."
"I will. But first you'll listen. For attacking a Computer, you can be declassified, but we'll let that go. You will understand, however, that I did not lie. The Noys Lambent of the new Reality, whatever else may be or not be, will lack this superstition. The whole purpose of the Change will be to wipe out the superstition. And without it, Harlan"- his voice was almost a snarl-"how could a woman like Noys want a man like you?"
The pudgy Computer backed toward the door of Harlan's personal quarters, blaster still leveled.
He paused to say, with a sort of grim gaiety, "Of course, if you had her now, Harlan, if you had her now, you could enjoy her. You could keep your liaison and make it formal. That is, if you had her now. But the Change will come soon, Harlan, and after that, you will not have her. What a pity, the now does not last, even in Eternity, eh, Harlan?"
Harlan no longer looked at him. Finge had won after all and was leaving in clear and leering possession of the field. Harlan stared unseeingly at his own toes, and when he looked up Finge was gone- whether five seconds earlier or fifteen minutes Harlan could not have said.
Hours had passed nightmarishly and Harlan felt trapped in the prison of his mind. All that Finge had said was so true, so transparently true. Harlan's Observer mind could look back upon the relationship of himself and Noys, that short, unusual relationship, and it took on a different texture.
It wasn't a case of instant infatuation. How could he have believed it was? Infatuation for a man like himself?
Of course not. Tears stung his eyes and he felt ashamed. How obvious it was that the affair was a case of cool calculation. The girl had certain undeniable physical assets and no ethical principles to keep her from using them. So she used them and that had nothing to do with Andrew Harlan as a person. He simply represented her distorted view of Eternity and what it meant.
Automatically Harlan's long fingers caressed the volumes in his small bookshelf. He took one out and,