To The Stars

“You are a very greedy person,” Dvora answered. “For most men this would be enough.”

She kicked the covering sheet from her and stretched the brown length of her naked body in the morning sunlight that streamed through the window. Jan ran his fingertips down her side and across the tight rise of her stomach. She shivered at his touch.

“I’m so glad that I’m alive,” she said. “Being dead must be very gray and boring. This is so much more fun.”

Jan smiled and reached for her, but she pulled away and stood up, a splendid, warm-fleshed sculpture as she arched her back and ran her fingers through her hair. Then reached for a dressing gown.

“You’re the one who mentioned food, not me,” she said. “But now that you have raised the subject I realize that I’m starving. Come along and I’ll fix us some breakfast.”

“I better get to my own room first.”

She laughed at this, pulling the comb through her knotted hair. “Why? We’re not children here. We’re adults. We come and go as we please, do as we please. What sort of a world do you come from?”

“Not that kind. Not now at least. Though in London — God, it seems like centuries ago — I suppose I was very much my own person. Until I got in the way of the authorities. Since then I have been living in a social nightmare. I can’t begin to tell you the ugliness and restrictions of life on Halvmork — nor do I intend to try. Breakfast is a far better idea.”

The plumbing was functional, instead of ultra-luxurious like the Waldorf-Astoria. He approved of it this way he realized, as the pipes gurgled and clanked and finally produced hot water. It worked — and he was sure that everyone in the country had one that was just as good. A concept of democracy he had not considered before. Equality of physical comfort as well as equality of opportunity. A growl of hunger in his midriff drove all philosophical thoughts away; he quickly washed and dressed. Then followed his nose to a large, open kitchen, where a young man and a woman sat at a long trestle table. They nodded as he came in and Dvora handed him a steaming mug of coffee.

“Food first, introductions later,” she said. “How do you like your eggs?”

“On a plate.”

“Intelligent decision. There’s some matzoh brei here which will introduce you to good heavy kosher cooking if you have not had that pleasure before.”

The young couple waved and slipped away without being introduced. Jan realized then that few names would be exchanged here in the heart of the secret service. Dvora served them both at the same time and sat down across from him. She ate with as good an appetite as he did, while they chatted lightly about totally unimportant things. They were just finishing up when the other girl returned, bursting into the room. Her smile was gone now.

“Ben-Haim wants you both right away. It’s trouble, big trouble.

The atmosphere was thick with it. Ben-Haim sat slumped wearily in the same chair where they had left him the night before, might very well have been there the entire time. He was sucking on a pipe long dead and seemed completely unaware of it.

“It appears that Thurgood-Smythe is putting on some pressure. I should have realized that he would not simply ask for a favor from us. That’s not his way.

“What happened?” Dvora asked.

“Raids. Right around the world in every country. Reports are still coming in. Protective custody, they say. Because of the emergency. Our people, all of them. Business representatives and trade missions, even secret operatives we thought were still secret. He’s got them, all of them, arrested. Two thousand, maybe more.”

“Pressure,” Jan said. “He’s tightening the screw. Have you considered what else he might do?”

“What else can he do? The few thousand of our citizens that he has taken into custody are the only ones who, legally or illegally, are outside Israel and the adjoining countries. He has them all.”

“I’m sure that he is up to something. I know Thurgood-Smythe’s manner of operation by now — and this is just the first step.”

Jan was unhappily proved right within the hour. All of the television programs, on every one of the hundred and twelve channels, were interrupted with news of an important announcement. It would be carried on every channel and would be presented by Doctor Bal Ram Mahant, the President of the United Nations. The position was an honorary one, and the Doctor’s activities were usually confined to opening and closing UN sessions. However he did make the occasional important announcement such as this one. A military brass band played patriotic marches while the world watched — and waited. The band’s image faded and Doctor Mahant appeared. He nodded his head at the unseen audience and began to speak in his familiar, high-pitched voice.