“Do you have far to go?”
“Me?” Nick Lopez stared at Auden. “I don’t have to go anywhere. I live here. I have a big apartment — on the second floor, fortunately, since we don’t have elevators now. But it’s you I’m thinking about.”
“You don’t have to worry. It’s only a few blocks.”
“It’s a good half mile. A five-minute taxi ride to the White House — except that now there are no cabs anymore. Auden, you can’t possibly walk in this weather, in the middle of the night.”
“I’ll be safe enough.”
“Don’t bet on it. It’s a zoo out there. But even if you don’t get mugged, you’ll freeze to death. And it’s so unnecessary. You can stay at my place.”
“I need to be at my job in the morning.”
“And so do I. But you told me yourself, the President has gone off someplace downriver. He won’t be at the White House in the morning. There’s not a reason in the world why you have to be there before, say, nine o’clock.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I do.” Lopez closed the door firmly. “I’d be pleased and honored if you accept my hospitality for the night. And I’ll be mortified if you refuse.”
Auden hesitated. He had heard Nick Lopez’s explanation, that everyone in Washington had a bad reputation and that he was no exception. Auden knew this to be at least partially true — he had heard scurrilous stories about almost everybody, from the President to eighty-seven-year-old Lucas Munce.
But inside every story there was likely to be a kernel of truth. Auden had heard wildly conflicting reports about Senator Nick Lopez. He was the finest man in Washington. He was a slave to his own sexual urges. He was a loyal friend who offered his friendship for life. He took young men, made them crazy about him, and dropped them without a second thought.
Auden should not stay overnight in Nick’s apartment. Not because there was the stigma of illegality to the relationship — the brave gay men who stormed the barricades fifty years ago had forced those changes. But legality was insufficient to remove all stigma. Not every part of America was urban and cosmopolitan. Plenty of small-minded and small-town religious bigots would express open outrage if they learned that an aide close to the President was not heterosexual. One published word, and both Auden and the President could suffer. That was why since joining the White House staff Auden had been celibate for so long.
But tonight it was more than so long. It was too long. Auden felt wonderful, relaxed and giddy and amorous all at the same time. Your loyalty does you credit, Nick had said. Meanwhile, you are left here, to work and work and work. What time do you stop?
It seemed like he never stopped. But if Senator Lopez — Nick — felt free to take things easy for a few hours, why should Auden be any different?
“Well?” Nick Lopez was smiling, patiently waiting. “I’m telling you, I’ll be heartbroken if you say no.”
“If you put it that way . . .”
“I certainly do.” Lopez put his arm around Auden’s shoulder and steered him toward the staircase. “We’ll go upstairs, have a drink and talk. We need to get to know each other — you were so popular tonight, I couldn’t get near you. And there’s one other thing.”
“What’s that, Nick?” Travis shivered slightly at the pressure of Lopez’s arm, but he did not draw away.
“It’s what we were talking about this afternoon, before we came here. My ’reputation,’ as you put it.”
“Oh, that.” Auden laughed. He was no longer nervous. “I’m not worried about that anymore, now that I’ve seen how you are with your friends. I’m not worried about anything.”
“Good. But I want to say one thing more. I value our friendship highly, for what it is now and what I hope it will become. So you have my promise: nothing will happen tonight that you don’t absolutely want to happen.”
“I know that, Nick. You don’t have to make me any promises. I’m an adult.” Auden nestled a little closer. He wasn’t merely a career, he was a man, too, with his own needs. “I think I knew how things would turn out with us even before we set out for the party.”
17
Art woke rested and curiously at peace. He had slept through the whole night, rare for him in the past few years. It took a few moments to realize that he had been awakened by the disappearance of the warm body next to his.
It was already full day. He turned his head, opened his eyes, and stared blearily at the dark shape outlined against the window.
“You’re a blanket hog, d’you know that?” Dana sounded as lively as he felt comatose. “I had to fight for my share half a dozen times.”
“Sorry.” Art’s throat and mouth felt dry, and his voice was gravelly.
“I bet. But there are worse bedtime sins.”
“Like what?”
“We’ll talk about it some other time. You can stay put for a while if you want, I’m going to boil water.”
“What’s it doing outside?”
“The snow has tapered off, but it’s deep on the ground. It looks cold — colder than it should be this late in the year. I thought the supernova was supposed to make the world hotter?”
“On average. But mainly it screws up the weather.” Art sat up, and felt the well-being that comes with a good night’s sleep. “Instead of west-east patterns the winds seem to be running north-south.”
“Straight from the North Pole.” Dana was fully dressed. “I’ll see you downstairs. We won’t let the weather stop us.”
As she went out Art pushed back the bedclothes and stood up. His knee gave hardly a twinge when he put his weight on it. There was the real answer to arthritis: find a beautiful woman and use her as your warming pad.
He and Dana hadn’t said a word since last night about Oliver Guest, but her comment as she left confirmed his own thoughts. They were going to take the risk. They would try to reach the Facility for Extended Syncope and wake up a multiple murderer — who also happened to be a telomod expert.
When and how would they go, and what would they do if they got there? Those were separate questions, to be answered later.
Seth Parsigian was already working the little stove when Art arrived downstairs. He must have been down to the basement and recharged it from the propane tanks. He was astonishingly grubby, but very alert. Maybe Dana was right, the man never slept. Today, though, Seth seemed preoccupied. He nodded to Art and said gruffly, “Buenos días, hombre. We got problems. We need ideas.”
“How to find Oliver Guest?” Art accepted coffee from Dana and brought the cup to his face so that the steam could warm his nose. The room, like the whole building, was icy cold.
“Not how to find him.” Seth was already dressed in outdoor clothes. “I know where Guest was iced down, it was in the syncope facility south of Washington at Maryland Point. Forty to fifty miles from here. Unless somebody moved him, and I don’t see why anyone would, he’s there still. Trouble is, we got no way to reach him. Roads are deep snow. Even our tractor wouldn’t make it.”
So much for Art’s idea that he had the tractor well hidden. And notice how it had become “our” tractor. Dana, squatting on her heels next to Art, shook her head. “Even if the tractor would go through the snow, it wouldn’t make sense to try. It’s nearly April, the weather has to warm up soon. We can sit here and wait for a few days, then we can travel easily.”
“We might, except for one thing.” Seth gestured at one of the room’s electrical outlets. “No power, no water, no services of any kind.”
“We don’t need them. We have food and warmth and shelter right here. We can manage.”
“I’m not worryin’ about us, sweetie. We’re snug. I’m worried about good old Ollie. If we got no services here, I’ll bet some old-style folding money they got none down at Maryland Point. What happens to somebody in judicial sleep when the power goes off? I assume they just snooze on for a while. But if the intravenous feeds quit, and the drugs and nutrients don’t go in, what happens?”