After a bit of coffee, Bob said he was going “to work” and went out the office door. He waved bye to her and the projections. Somehow or other he’d known they were projections all along, and she knew then and there that he must be an experienced criminal. And apparently he’d never been caught.

Jarrett went about her days’ work normally, only thinking about The Game between travelers. Twenty single-manned craft came through that day, and she asked the three questions twenty times; “Have you stolen recently?”, “Have you killed?”, “Is there any criminal reason I might have for detaining you?”

There was no one to arrest this day, and after the last craft left she mused about Bob. He’d said the first two questions he could pass, but on the last one he’d fail. That being said, according to him he hadn’t stolen recently, and he wasn’t a murderer. Obviously he made a life out of crime, but what that law-breaking act was, she couldn’t guess, and according to the rules of The Game she couldn’t ask.

She wondered if he’d even return again. Perhaps it was all just a show to get one night out of her, which she was fine with. She’d tried to date in the past, but her job and position in the Desert made it difficult to carry on for more than a few months.

But he did  return. Again and again. Every night he came back, and every night they played The Game. Oddly enough, they didn’t always make love. Sometimes Bob would come “home” as he called it, get into bed and fall asleep against her, exhausted.

Other times, Bob would bring home a book. Not an electric book, but a tangible book with actual pages from some library in the Gor sector. They would read aloud to each other, laugh when each other’s tongues got tied in the words, talk about the books once they’d finished reading, and sometimes bring them up again later in casual conversation.

Sometimes he would arrive at the office early and they would make dinner together. There was no rule about bringing up things from the past so long as it didn’t reveal the details of their jobs, so often they would talk about their childhoods, school, previous aspirations and the like.

She grew to thoroughly enjoy his company, and she became curious about his mind and motives. What exactly did he do all day that made him so tired and emotionally starved that he’d want to play such a game with a stranger? He certainly wasn’t insane—she could see in his eyes that he was intelligent. Then again, perhaps he was biding his time, waiting to see if he could use her and the Desert once the time was fitting.

But six months passed, and Bob never made a move to use her. She got to know him very well—his mannerisms such as keeping his camel hair coat pressed, his clear, unwavering middle-toned voice, his nighttime whispers, the way he sometimes fumbled when he was carrying too much, how he’d wait until she got out of bed to leave himself, all became very endearing to her. It didn’t bother or worry her that she’d grown to love him—it was all contained in The Game, and she could quit at any time.

Finally, one night, Bob didn’t return. She thumbed their most recent book slowly as she waited for him, curious about the next page and trying not to be worried about the man. When she woke up the next morning without him, the book unread by her side, she felt a lump in her throat and had to bite back tears. Was The Game over? Had something happened to him? She didn’t even know how to contact him; his life outside The Game was too well-kept a secret.

She got out of bed and got ready for the day. As she brushed her teeth, she saw his razor blade and washcloth neatly folded on the counter. He always shaved, and never left a mess. She sighed, the lump rising again in her throat. She turned her attention to brushing her hair and caught her reflection. Still saggy. She opened the mirror and took out the lotion for her rough skin.

After her day of work, when the travelers had come and gone, she waited with the projections on the small porch of the office building, staring out to the stars, hoping to catch a glimpse of his circular craft. But there was none. The Kliig grew restless on her arm, and she retired to bed.

A week passed and she realized just how desolate her life was alone in the Desert, day after day, and she was reminded why she’d opted to play such an odd game with an absolute stranger in the first place. Occasionally she would think of something and for a split second she would be excited to share it with Bob, only to remember he was gone.

Because of the rules, she didn’t have the slightest inkling of what he was like outside The Game, and she wondered if she would be infuriated if she knew the reason he was gone. Was he playing other games with other women? Was his crime that wasn’t stealing or killing far worse than either?

Another half-week passed, and she seriously considered resigning her post. Losing Bob was like losing family, which she’d preferred not to be reminded of again.

Jarrett was sleeping soundly. It had been a difficult day; a busload of people had come through the Desert and she’d had to arrest them all—they were robbers, on the run after having taken money from several Galactic Government welcoming centers. They’d been belligerent, and she’d only just managed to keep them under control with the help of the projections.

Slowly she was roused from sleep by the soft sound of the bed being compressed, and the feeling of a warm arm being draped over her. She rolled over, trying to blink sleep from her eyes. “Oh my God.” She muttered and seized Bob’s face in her hands, kissing him over and over again.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He said between the touching of their lips. “I’m sorry, I was—“ his voice broke off. “I’m sorry.” It was all he could say without breaking the rules of The Game.

She awoke next to him the following morning. Naturally she wondered where he’d been, and she tried to think of a way to ask him without breaking the rules. It seemed even now that if she broke them, The Game would be lost and their relationship, however fake or real would be over.

She waited patiently for him to wake up. Usually he’d awake at the same time she did, but this time was different. He was drained from whatever he’d been through. As she stared at him, she realized how foolish she’d been; worrying how much her skin sagged. He was her age, and she saw the same flaws in his appearance that she saw in herself. She reached over and gently traced the bags under his eyes, the skin at his jaw and chest, and the gray hair at his temples.

Finally his eyes fluttered open. “Good morning, Dearest.” Jarrett said in her morning whisper.

He didn’t say anything, but took her arms and wrapped her about him. Clearly he’d missed her, but something had happened to him. She considered asking him again and again as she lay up against him, but The Game was too precious a thing to break, so she decided to leave whatever it was alone. Still, something else nagged at her.

“Pause.” She said after a minute. “Bob… are you going to disappear for good one day?”

He was thoughtful for a moment. “Yes. I suppose I’ll be caught one day. All criminals get caught—isn’t that what they say?”

She didn’t know how to respond. The thought of The Game ending was almost horrific. She’d spent a week and a half without it, and it had been like living a half-life. “I don’t even have a way to contact you.” She said finally.

“Well… I suppose you’ll know I’ve been caught when I don’t return. And, you can always look me up—you’re a police officer. Just look for my name in the computer. Do you remember my real name?”

She searched her memories. The day they’d met had been nearly six months ago and she hadn’t heard it since. She squeezed him tighter. “Hevel. Hevel something.”

“Hevel Adelman.”

She deliberated asking him if he’d played The Game with other women, as she’d thought he might be before. But now, seeing him in his state of exhaustion she knew he hadn’t. Bob’s life seemed to only consist of only two things; his life-draining work and his time with her. “Un-pause.” She said, still whispering.

Bob rested his chin on her head and stroked her hair. “Tell me something about yourself. Something you’ve never told anyone.” He changed the subject.

Her mind immediately flitted to her daughter. Perhaps confiding in him was the best way to show how much she cared about The Game. “I have a daughter. Or at least… I think I still do. I can’t be sure.”

Bob readjusted himself so that he was looking into her eyes. She waited for him to say something, but he  was waiting for to continue. She breathed in heavily. She’d never told anyone something so personal, especially while being so physically close to them.

“Pause.” She said suddenly. “I know we’re not supposed to talk about the details of work. But, can we talk about the reason  we have the job we have?”

Bob considered. “I think we can allow that.”

“Un-pause.” She took another breath. He hadn’t backed away at all—his face was three inches from her own. She didn’t know if it was comfortable or uncomfortable. “I couldn’t afford most things on the Galactic Government Parental Essentials List, so they took her. They indentured me into servitude so I could afford the items; insurance, shots, approved schooling, regulated check-ups—God, I still remember the list. I told them I could raise her just fine without the list, but it was illegal.”

She was shaking a little. Not with anger, but with emotional fatigue. She’d never told a soul about her daughter; having kept it pent up inside for so long, it felt like she was telling a jury of a thousand people at once. “I was a bad  mother. They made me a police officer so I could afford to be a good mother.”

She felt ashamed and tried to look away from Bob, but he reached out and quietly turned her face back to his.

“Once I could afford the list, I asked for her back. But you know how the GalGov is these days. Crumbling, worthless, disorganized. They…” her voice dropped even further, barely audible. “They couldn’t find her.”

It was so difficult to look at him while saying it—it might ruin his opinion of her. But she continued anyway. “Maybe they put her name in the system wrong, maybe some employee didn’t even enter her name. She’s gone. Hopefully she’s somewhere with someone who loves her. I tried for so long, but the galaxy is too big to track her down. She was only four. She probably doesn’t remember the name I gave her… Pause—just as I couldn’t remember yours. Un-pause.”

He didn’t say anything, but kept her gaze. She didn’t know if she needed to say it but she did anyway; “Pause—“ she said again, “—and then you disappeared for over a week. I know you said I could just look you up if you disappeared, but what if they got your name wrong? What if they changed it? I know that these are things out of our control… but I just wanted you to know… Un-pause.”

He was silent for a moment, then; “Pause— I would offer you to stop playing The Game… but I don’t think either of us want to do that. Un-pause.”

She didn’t feel the need to pause again. Instead, she drew the second blanket up tighter about them against the cold of space and brought herself as close to him as possible.

“You don’t blame yourself do you? About your girl?” Bob queried, as he wrapped his arms about her again.

“No… I don’t think I do. I did for decades, but having described it for the first time just now… No. I think I was a good mother. She told me she loved me every night, whether I said it first or not.” Now that she’d told him so much, she wanted to know more about his  origins. “Dearest, what started you on your career?”

“Same as you. I needed money.”

They were the same: both slaves to the crumbling Galactic Government; Jarrett because she was part of it, and Bob because he couldn’t be part of it. Jarrett was sure this is what they were both thinking, and the reason why their life together had only existed as a game in the Desert at the edge of charted space. “I love you.” She said faintly.

“I love you.” He returned without hesitation.