A Matter For Men Part 29

"Let go of me! I don't need a sermon!"

"You're right! You don't! You need a year in a rubber room!"

She broke free of my grip, her eyes wild. "Don't say that!" she shrieked. Her hands were like claws.

"Why? Because it might be true? You said you were terrified of being weird, that you might be one of those ladies with the fried eggs on their foreheads, but n.o.body would tell you. Well, I'm telling you. If you run away from me now, that's the first step toward the fried egg."

She looked as if I'd slapped her, blinking at me in the glow of the street lights. Her expression seemed to dissolve as the meaning of the words sank in. I could almost see them penetrating, layer after layer. "I've been there," she said. "I don't want to go back."

"So don't. You don't have to. It's all this running from stuff that keeps you crazy. You think you're the only one who's crazy? The rest of us are just as wacko! All you have to do is look. The only difference is we don't let it stop us." I added, "Too much."

"But it hurts!"

"So what? Let it hurt! At least that way you get it over with! What you're doing now sure isn't producing results, is it?"

She nodded and gulped, and then her eyes welled up and she clutched my s.h.i.+rt and she grabbed me and started bawling. I pulled her close and held onto her, as if I could s.h.i.+eld her from the pain-only it wasn't pain from the outside anymore, it was pain that bubbled up from the inside and burst out through her eyes and nose and mouth. "It isn't fair! It isn't fair! Why does there have to be so much dying?!! I want my dog!! Oh, Rangle, Rangle! I want my Rangle back!" She sobbed and screamed into my jacket. She gulped for air and sobbed again. The tears were streaming down her cheeks now. "It isn't fair! Everything I've ever loved-I don't want to love anything anymore! I'm tired of losing! It hurts too much to care! I want an end to it! I want my dog!"

I thought about the men who'd captured Rangle and thought about what I'd like to do to them. Marcie was right-it wasn't fair. They killed the dog, but I had to deal with the guilt and the grief! Why did I have to clean up their mess?! All of their messes?!! I could feel my fists tightening against Marcie's back. Her shoulders heaved. She began coughing and I unclenched my fists and started thumping her gently. "It's all right, baby," I said. "It's all right. Let it out, that's the way, it's good to cry. It shows how much you cared. Just scream it out, that's the girl-" I just kept babbling, trying to comfort her and slowly ease her back. It was amazing how much she cared about that dog. She just kept on crying-or was she crying for more than just the dog right now? I held her and let her weep. Two soldiers walked past us without stopping. They took us for granted. Such scenes were common nowadays.

Marcie sniffed and looked up at me. "Jim?"

"Huh?"

"I'm all right now. You can let go."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"No. Don't. Thank you."

"Come on. I'll walk you back to your room."

"Okay."

We walked in silence. She had a small apartment in the second building past the commissary, one of the co-ops we'd seen on the way in. It was austere, but homey.

Once inside, she put her arms around me again and held me close. "Thank you," she said. I put my arms around her and we stood that way for a while.

"Jim," she said softly, "will you make love to me?"

I could smell the perfume in her hair; it made me dizzy. I didn't speak; I just nodded, then brought my face around to hers. Her eyes were wide-she looked like a frightened little girl, afraid I'd say yes.

I said, "Yes," and her eyes closed gently. She laid her head against my chest and I could feel her body beginning to relax. She was all right. At last she knew she was all right. Because I was all right, and I said so.

I stroked her hair with my hand. She was ... so tiny, so pale, so thin. So fragile. So warm.

There were a thousand things to say.

I didn't say any of them.

After a while, we moved to the bed. "Turn off the light?" I said.

"I'd rather leave it on."

"Oh. Well ... okay."

THIRTY.

I FLOATED in the land of Afterward, drifting toward the land of Nod-until suddenly, I jerked awake and sat up in a cold sweat. "Holy buffalo s.h.i.+t!"

Next to me, Marcie rolled over, alarmed. "Huh? What is it?"

"I have to go-I have to be back at the hotel! What time is it? Oh, sweet Jesus-it's almost midnight! They're gonna hang me for sure!"

"Jim, are you all right?"

"No-I'm not!" I was already pulling on my pants. "Where are my shoes?"

"Don't go-"

"I have to!" And then I saw the look on her face-that hurt, used expression-and I sat down next to her and pulled her into my arms. "Marcie, I'm sorry. I wish I could stay here with you, but I can't. I-I'm under orders. I know this looks like I'm running out on you, but I'm not. Please believe me."

"I believe you," she said, but I could feel her stiffening in my arms. She rubbed at her eyes. "I'm not angry. I'm used to it." I tilted her face toward mine and kissed her. "I'm not like that, Marcie."

"Yeah, I know. n.o.body's like anybody else anymore-only everybody's still running from everybody else."

I started searching for my s.h.i.+rt. "I'm not running from, I'm running to. If you knew-"

"Uh huh. You've even got a secret mission. Like everybody else." She threw herself back in the bed, rolling up in the blankets, pulling a pillow over her head. "Just go away, Jim-quietly! Okay?"

I sat down on the bed next to her while I pulled on my shoes. "Listen, I'll come back, all right? If it's not too late. I want to."

"Don't bother," she mmfled from under the pillow.

"Marcie, please don't be angry with me. I wish I could tell you, but I can't." I bent to kiss her, but she wouldn't let me pull the pillow away from her head. "All right, have it your own way." I drove back to the hotel, feeling like something that had crawled out from under a rock and not knowing why. Dammitthe harder I tried to be honorable the worse I felt. Why couldn't I just be a s.h.i.+t like Ted and have everybody falling all over me? The only answer I could think of to that was that I didn't know how to be a s.h.i.+t. I was doomed to go through life always trying to be nice. Always trying to rationalize. Always trying to understand. I switched on the auto-terminal angrily, and punched for channel fifteen. It was a replay of one of the Free Forum sessions at the conference, but listening to it only made me angrier. Why were they broadcasting this bulls.h.i.+t anyway? If these people wanted to be stupid, that was their business-but how many innocent people were going to be endangered because they believed what they heard on the network? I was almost trembling with anger when I finally pulled into the hotel's underground parking.

I circled down into the concrete bowels of the building. There was a ramp marked SERVICE and I pulled into that. The robot guard scanned my card, looked at my face and cleared me without question. The elevator also checked my ident.i.ty before delivering me to the thirteenth floor.

There were no armed guards waiting for me when the elevator doors slid open. I let out the breath I had been holding all the way up.

I went back to the room they had a.s.signed me and checked in at the terminal. "Request instructions."

The screen cleared, then flashed: "Please wait at this location until further notice."

What did that mean?

I sat in front of the terminal and waited, staring at the screen. How long?

Had Wallachstein and the others already met and decided my fate? While I hadn't been there to speak for myself?

I went into the kitchen and got myself some tomato juice, then I came back to the keyboard and sat down again. Still nothing. I thought of Marcie. I could still smell the honey-warmth of her hair. It made me feel warm and toasty inside-until I remembered the bitterness of my abrupt exit. I wondered if she'd forgive me.

Well, maybe I could do something while I waited. I cleared the screen and punched for Library Service. The screen flashed: "Sorry. This terminal is locked."

Huh?

I tried again. Same answer.

I pulled my card out of the reader-slot and went to the door. It wouldn't open. "Invalid code."

I came back into the room, stood in the center of it and looked around for another way out. The balcony?

I opened the sliding door and stepped out, leaning out over the railing to see how high I was. Too high. Thirteen stories. It wasn't the fall that was dangerous, it was the abrupt stop at the end.

What about climbing over the railing to an adjacent balcony? Not possible. The balconies were isolated for privacy. Another service of your security-conscious Marriott.

I looked down again, then went back into the room and took inventory. Two sheets, king size. Two blankets, king size. Not enough. Even with the drapes, I'd probably be four stories short.

I sat down in front of the terminal again and began to drink my tomato juice. It was tart. It made the salivary glands at the back of my mouth hurt. Did I have any other options?

I couldn't think of any.

Why did I want to escape anyway? Because they had locked me in. And why had they locked me in? Because they were afraid I might try to escape.

And what did that imply? That they had made a decision? That they had something planned for me that I might not like? And I had rushed from Marcie's bed to come here? No wonder so many people thought me a fool.

I downed the rest of the juice in a few quick swallows, then sank back in the chair and glowered at the implacable screen of the terminal.

It was totally disconnected. Before it would respond again, it would have to be cleared by someone with a priority code.

I thought about Marcie and my promise to call her. I wouldn't even be able to do that.

I thought about Wallachstein and his barely veiled threats. Had I failed the psychiatric examination?

What if they did decide to make me disappear? Wasn't I ent.i.tled to a fair trial--or had I already had it? How would they do it? Would I get any warning? How did they make people disappear anyway?

I realized I was sweating. I couldn't sit still. I got up and searched the room again, the balcony, the door- The door beeped.

I started to call, "Who is it?" and then stopped. What if it were a firing squad? Would they do it here in the room? Or would they take me somewhere else to do it?

I stood there, debating whether to holler for help or try to hide. Before I could make up my mind, the door slid open. "May I come in?"

"Huh? Who-?" And then I placed him. Fromkin. The man who ate strawberries and lox while talking about global starvation. The pompous a.s.shole.

"I said, 'May I come in?' I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Uh, no-I-uh, how did you open the door?"

He held up a card with a gold stripe on it for me to see. "Oh," I said.

I made room, he stepped inside and the door slid closed. I looked at it, wanting to see if it would open for me now, but I resisted. I followed him into the room and we sat down. He sank into his chair with easy grace. How old was he, I wondered?

He studied me for a moment with sharp dark eyes, then he said, "I'm here because a mutual friend of ours suggested that I talk to you. Do you understand?"

"No names, huh?"

"That's right." He repeated, "Do you understand?" Wallachstein had asked the same question several times. A phrase floated into my mind: the comprehension of the defendant. It was an important legal consideration. There had been a Supreme Court decision about it once. I wondered, was this part of my trial too?

"Is this official?" I asked.

He looked annoyed. "Unless you answer my question, I have to leave. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said quickly. "I do. I understand. Now answer my question. Is this an official visit, or what?"

"If you want to look at it that way, yes. Our mutual friend thought we ought to have a little chat. It's to your benefit."

"Is it? Really?"

Fromkin looked annoyed, but otherwise he ignored the question. He said, "In case you're wondering, yes, I did see your performance this morning-and yes, I also remember you from last night. For someone who only got in town yesterday, you've certainly let people know you're here." I must have looked embarra.s.sed, for he added, "To be fair, it's not all your doing. This city is just another small town these days. The number-two indoor sport is gossiping about the number-one indoor sport-and who's playing which position. You and your boyfriend just got caught in the middle, that's all."

"We're not boyfriends. The middle of what?"

Fromkin scratched his head. "Uh, let me explain it this way. There's a certain group of people; rumor has it that they're very important. Although n.o.body knows who's in the group, or even who does what, or even what the group is supposed to be doing, everybody suspects that anybody who knows anything must be in that group. It just so happens that some of those suspicions are very accurate. So when one of those supposed-to-be-important individuals is suddenly called away from her-ah, personal affairs-to bring in a Very Important Delivery, well, then, naturally there's going to be a great deal of interest in that delivery."

It took me a moment to translate that, and then it took another moment for it to sink in. Right. It was worse than I thought. I said, "Ted and I are not boyfriends. Or any other kind of friends. And I don't know how important our delivery was or wasn't-we were told it wasn't."

"I don't know about that." Fromkin spread his hands wide in a gesture of innocence. "That's not what I want to talk about anyway. Do you mind if I record this?" He held up his unit. I shook my head and he switched it on. "Did you see any of the playbacks of the conference sessions?"

"Only a little. I heard some of it while I was driving back here this evening."

"What did you hear?"

"A lot of uproar. About how to deal with the worms. Apparently there's a faction that wants to try to establish peaceful contact."

"Do you believe that's possible?"

"No."

"Why not?"

I blinked. "Uh, you don't know much about the Chtorrans, do you?"