Pagan Passions Part 5

He pulled the girl to him, feeling the surprisingly cool touch of her flesh against his. Under the blouse and skirt, he was discovering, she wore very little, and that was just as well; nagging thoughts about the doubtful privacy of his office were beginning to a.s.sail him.

Nevertheless, he persevered. Maya was as eager as he had ever dreamed of being, and their embrace reached a height of pa.s.sion and began to climb and climb to hitherto unknown peaks of sensation.

Forrester was busy for some time discovering things he had never known, and a lot of things he had known before, but never so well. Every motion was met with a reaction that was more than equal and opposite, every sensation unlocked the doors to whole galleries of new sensations.

Higher and higher went his emotional thermometer, higher and higher and higher and higher and ...

Very suddenly, he discovered how to breathe again, and it was over.

"My goodness," Maya said after a brief resting spell. "I suppose I _must_ love you for sure. My _good_ness!"

"Sure," Forrester said. "And now--if you'll pardon the indelicacy and hand me my pants--" he found he was still puffing a little and paused until he could go on--"I've got an appointment I simply can't afford to miss."

"Oh, all right," Maya said. "But Mr. Forrester--"

He rolled over and looked at her while he began dressing. "I suppose it would be all right if you called me Bill," he said carefully.

"In cla.s.s, too?"

Forrester shook his head. "No," he said. "Not in cla.s.s."

"But what I wanted to ask--"

"Yes?" Forrester said.

"Mr.--Bill--do you think I'll pa.s.s Introductory World History?"

Forrester considered that question. There was certainly a wide variety of answers he could construct. When he had finished b.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt he had decided on one.

"I don't see why not," he said, "so long as you complete your a.s.signments regularly."

Nearly two hours later, feeling somewhat light-headed but otherwise in perfectly magnificent fettle, Forrester found himself on the downtown subway. He'd showered and changed and he was whistling a gay little tune as he checked his watch.

The time was five minutes to five. He had just over an hour before he was due to appear at the Tower of Zeus All-Father, but it was better to be a few minutes early than even a single second late.

The train ride was a little b.u.mpy, but Forrester didn't really mind. He was pretty well past being irritated by anything. Nevertheless, he was speculating with just a faint unease as to what the Pontifex Maximus wanted with him. What was in store for him at the strange appointment?

And why all the secrecy?

His brooding was interrupted right away. At 100th Street, a bearded old man got on and sat down next to him. He nudged Forrester in the ribs and muttered: "Look at that now, Daddy-O. Look at that."

"What?" Forrester said, constrained into conversation.

"d.a.m.n subways, that's what," the old man said. "Worse every year.

b.u.mpier and slower and worse. Just look around, Daddy-O. Look around."

"I wouldn't quite say--" Forrester began, but the old man gave him another dig in the ribs and cut in:

"Wouldn't say, wouldn't say," he muttered. "Listen, man, there ain't been an improvement in years. You realize that?"

"Well, I--"

"No progress, man, not in more than half a century. Listen, when I was a teen king--War Councilor for the Boppers, I was, and let me tell you that was big time, Daddy-O--when I was a teen king, we were going places. Going places for real. Mars. Venus. We were going to have s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps, man."

Forrester smiled spasmically at the old man. "I'm sure you--"

"But what happened?" the old man interrupted. "Tell you what happened, man. We never got to Mars and Venus. Mars and Venus came to us instead.

Right along with Jupiter and Neptune and Pluto and all the rest of the G.o.ds. And we had no progress ever since that day, Daddy-O, no progress at all and you can believe it."

He dug Forrester in the ribs one final time and sat back with melancholy satisfaction.

"Well," Forrester said mildly, "what good is progress?" The old man, he a.s.sured himself after a moment's reflection, wasn't actually saying anything blasphemous. After all, the G.o.ds didn't expect their wors.h.i.+ppers to be mindless slaves.

Somehow the notion made him feel happier. He'd have hated reporting the old man. Something in the outdated slang made him feel--almost patriotic. The old man was a part of America, a respected and important part.

The respected part of America made itself felt again in Forrester's ribs. "Progress?" the old man said. "What good's progress? Listen, Daddy-O--how can the human race get anywhere without progress? Answer me that, will you, man? Because it's for-sure real we're not going any place now. No place at all."

"Now look," Forrester said patiently, "progress is an outmoded idea.

We've got to be in step with the times. We've got to ask ourselves what progress ever did for us. How did we stand when the G.o.ds returned?" For a brief flash he was back in his history cla.s.s, but he went on: "Half the world ready to fight the other half with weapons that would have wiped both halves out. You ought to be grateful the G.o.ds returned when they did."

"But we're getting into Nowheresville, man," the old man complained.

"We're not in orbit. We can't progress."

Forrester sighed. Why was he talking to the old man, anyway? The answer came to him as soon as he'd asked the question. He wanted to keep his mind off the Tower of Zeus and his own unknown fate there. It was an unpleasant answer; Forrester blanked it out.

"Now, friend," he said. "What have you got? Just what mankind's been looking for all these centuries. Security. You've got security. n.o.body's going to blow you to pieces tomorrow. Your job isn't going to vanish overnight. I mean, if you--"

"I got a job," the old man said.

"Really?" Forrester said politely. "What is it?"

"Retired. And it's a tough job, too."

"Oh," Forrester said.

"And anyhow," the old man went on, "what's all this got to do with progress?"

Forrester thought. "Well--"

"Well, nothing," the old man said. "Listen to me, man. I say nothing against the G.o.ds--right? Nothing at all. Wouldn't want to do anything like that. But at the same time, it looks to me like we ought to be able to--reap the fruits of our labors. I read that some place."

"But--"

"In the three thousand years the G.o.ds were gone, we weren't a total loss, man. Not anything like. We discovered a lot. About nature and science and like that. We invented science all by ourselves. So how come the G.o.ds don't let us use it?" The old man dug his elbow once more into Forrester's rib. "How come?"

"The G.o.ds haven't taken anything away from us," Forrester said.

"Haven't they?" the old man demanded. "How about television? Want to answer that one, Daddy-O? Years ago, everybody had a television set.