Free Duel by Richard Matheson Page B

without telling me?”
    â€œIs it surprising that I don’t want you frightened?” he said. “Especially now, with the baby coming?”
    â€œBut Robert,” she said, “you have to tell me about a thing like that.”
    â€œCome on,” he said, “let’s go over to that bench.”
    They started across the green, arms around each other.
    â€œYou said you wouldn’t go,” she reminded him.
    â€œDarling, it’s my job.”
    They reached the bench and sat down. He put his arm around her.
    â€œI’ll be home for supper,” he said. “It’s just an afternoon’s work.”
    She looked terrified.
    â€œTo go five hundred years into the future!” she cried. “Is that just an afternoon’s work?”
    â€œMary,” he said, “you know John Randall has traveled five years and I’ve traveled a hundred. Why do you start worrying now?”
    She closed her eyes. “I’m not just starting,” she murmured. “I’ve been in agony ever since you men invented that— that thing. ”
    Her shoulders twitched and she began to cry again. He gave her his handkerchief with a helpless look on his face.

    â€œListen,” he said, “do you think John would let me go if there was any danger? Do you think Doctor Phillips would?”
    â€œBut why you?” she asked. “Why not a student?”
    â€œWe have no right to send a student, Mary.”
    She looked out at the campus, plucking at the handkerchief.
    â€œI knew it would be no use talking,” she said.
    He had no reply.
    â€œOh, I know it’s your job,” she said. “I have no right to complain. It’s just that—” She turned to him. “Robert, don’t lie to me. Will you be in danger? Is there any chance at all that you … won’t come back?”
    He smiled reassuringly. “My dear, there’s no more risk than there was the other time. After all it’s—” He stopped as she pressed herself against him.
    â€œThere’d be no life for me without you,” she said. “You know that. I’d die.”
    â€œShhh,” he said. “No talk of dying. Remember there are two lives in you now. You’ve lost your right to private despair.” He raised her chin with his hand. “Smile?” he said. “For me? There. That’s better. You’re much too pretty to cry.”
    She caressed his hand.
    â€œWho told you?” he asked.
    â€œI’m not snitching,” she said with a smile. “Anyway, the one who told me assumed that I already knew.”
    â€œWell, now you know,” he said. “I’ll be back for supper. Simple as that.” He started to knock the ashes out of his pipe. “Any errand you’d like me to perform in the twenty-fifth century?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lean mouth.
    â€œSay hello to Buck Rogers,” she said, as he pulled out his watch. Her face grew worried again, and she whispered, “How soon?”
    â€œAbout forty minutes.”
    â€œForty min—” She grasped his hand and pressed it against her cheek. “You’ll come back to me?” she said, looking into his eyes.

    â€œI’ll be back,” he said, patting her cheek fondly. Then he put on a face of mock severity.
    â€œUnless,” he said, “you have something for supper I don’t like.”
    Â 
    He was thinking about her as he strapped himself into a sitting position in the dim time-chamber.
    The large, gleaming sphere rested on a base of thick conductors. The air crackled with the operation of giant dynamos.
    Through the tall, single-paned windows, sunlight streamed across the rubberized floors like outflung bolts of gold cloth. Students and instructors hurried in and out among the shadows, checking and preparing Transposition T-3. On the wall a buzzer sounded ominously.
    Everyone on the floor