Thus, tau was no static multiplying factor. It was dynamic. Its work on mass, space, and time could be observed as a fundamental thing, creating a forever new relationship between men and the universe through which they fared.

* * *

In a shipboard hour that the calendar said was in April and the clock said was in morning, Reymont awoke. He didn’t stir, blink, yawn, and stretch like most men. He sat up, immediately alert.

Chi-Yuen Ai-Ling had ended sleep earlier. His suddenness caught her kneeling in Asian fashion at the foot of the bed, regarding him with a seriousness altogether unlike her playful mood of the night before.

“Is anything wrong?” he demanded.

She had only shown startlement in a widening of eyes. After a moment, her smile came to slow life. “I knew a tame hawk once,” she remarked. “That is, it wasn’t tame in dog fashion, but it hunted with its man and deigned to sit on his wrist. You come awake the same way.”

“Mph,” he said. “I meant that worried look of yours.”

“Not worried, Charles. Thoughtful.”

He admired the sight of her. Unclad, she could never be called boyish. The curves of breast and flank were subtler than ordinary, but they were integral with the rest of her— not stuccoed on, as with too many women— and when she moved, they flowed. So did the light along her skin, which had the hue of the hills around San Francisco Bay in their summer, and the light in her hair, which had the smell of every summer day that ever was on Earth.

They were in his crew-level cabin half, screened off from his partner Foxe-Jameson. It made too drab a setting for her. Her own quarters were filled with beauty.

“What about?” he inquired.

“You. Us.”

“It was a gorgeous night.” He reached out to stroke her beneath the chin. She made purring noises. “More?”

Her gravity returned. ‘ ”That’s what I was wondering.” He cocked his brows. “An understanding between us. We’ve had our flings. At least, you have had, in the past few months.” His face darkened. She went doggedly on: “To myself, it wasn’t that important; an occasional thing. I don’t want to continue with it, really. If nothing else, those hints and attempts, the whole courtship rite, over and over… they intefere with my work. I’m developing some ideas about planetary cores. They need concentration. A lasting liaison would help.”

“I don’t want to make any contracts,” he said grimly.

She caught his shoulders. “I realize that. I’m not asking for one. Nor offering it. I have simply come to like you better each time we have talked, or danced, or spent a night. You are a quiet man, mostly; strong; courteous, to me at any rate. I could live happily with you— nothing exclusive on either side, only an alliance, for the whole ship to see— as long as we both want to.”

“Done!” he exclaimed, and kissed her.