Free Counter-Clock World by Philip K. Dick Page A

appeared, wearing a much too large wintery coat, eyes dark with concern; glancing about, she made her way hesitantly into the palace, not seeing him, afraid he wasn’t really there, etc. So he rose, waved to her.
    “I brought a pen and paper to write it down.” She seated herself breathlessly across from him, so pleased to find him . . . as if it was a miracle, some special dispensation of fate, that they had contrived to appear at the same place at roughly the same time.
    “Do you know why I wanted to meet you here?” he said. “And be with you? Because,” he said, “I’m falling in love with you.”
    “Oh God,” she said. “Then I have to go to the Library after all.” She leaped up, picked up her pen and paper and purse.
    Also standing, he assured her, “That doesn’t mean I don’t have the info on Ray Roberts or won’t give it to you. Sit down. Be calm; it’s all right. I just thought I should tell you.”
    “How can you be in love with me?” she said, reseating herself. “I’m so awful. And anyhow I’m married.”
    “You’re not awful,” he said. “And marriages are made
and
broken; they’re a civil contract, like a partnership. They begin; they end. I’m married, too.”
    “I know,” Lotta said. “Whenever we run across you you’re always talking about how mean she is. But I love Seb; he’s my whole life. He’s so responsible.” She gazed at him attentively. “Are you really in love with me? Honestly? That’s sort of flattering.” It seemed, somehow to make her more at ease; plainly it reassured her. “Well, let’s have all the data on that creepy Ray Roberts. Is he really as bad as the ’papes say? You know why Sebastian wants the info on him, don’t you? I guess it won’t hurt to tell you; you already know the one secret thing I wasn’t supposed to say. He wants the info on Roberts because—”
    “I know why,” Tinbane said, reaching out and touching her hand; she drew it away instantly. “I mean,” he said, “we all want to know Roberts’ reaction to Peak’s rebirth. But it’s a police matter; as soon as Peak is old-born it’s automatically our responsibility to protect him. If my superiors knew your vitarium had located Peak’s body they’d send in their own team to dig him right up.” He paused. “If that happened, your husband would take a great loss. I haven’t told Gore. George Gore is my superior in this. I probably should.” He waited, studying her.
    “Thank you,” Lotta said. “For not telling Mr. Gore.”
    He said, “But I may have to.”
    “At the Library you said it was as if I hadn’t told you; you said, ‘Don’t even tell me,’ meaning that officially as a policeman you hadn’t heard me. If you tell Mr. Gore—” She blinked rapidly. “Sebastian will figure out how you found out; he knows how dumb I am; I’m always the one; it’s always me.”
    “Don’t say that. You’re just not constituted for deceit; you say what’s on your mind, which is normal and natural. You’re an admirable person and very lovely. I admire your honesty. But it is true. Your husband would be sore as hell.”
    “He’ll probably divorce me. Then you can divorce your wife and marry me.”
    He started; was she joking? He couldn’t tell. Lotta Hermes was a deep river, unfathomable. “Stranger things,” he said cautiously, “have happened.”
    “Than what?”
    “What you said! Our eventually getting married!”
    “But,” Lotta said earnestly, “if you don’t tell Mr. Gore then we won’t have to get married.”
    Baffled, he said, “True.” In a sense it was logical.
    “Don’t tell him, please.” Her tone was imploring, but with overtones of exasperation; after all, as she pointed out, he had made it clear that he hadn’t—officially—heard. “I don’t think,” she went on, “that you and I are suited; I need someone older who I can cling to; I’m very clinging. I’m not really grown up any more, and that damn Hobart Phase is making