"Then I cut his throat," Misha finished. The words hurt; they always did. Neither one of them looked at the other. Misha put her tumbler on the table beside the couch. The chiming of ice against glass seemed impossibly loud.
"That must have been a very hard decision."
"Harder than you could believe," Misha answered. "The Nur was-and still is-Allah's prophet. He is my brother. He is the person my husband followed. I love him for Allah, for my family, for my husband. You've never been a woman in my society; you don't know the culture. You can't see the centuries of conditioning. What I did was impossible. I would rather have cut off my hand than allow it to do that."
"Yet you did."
"I don't think so," Misha said softly. "I don't think you believe it, either."
Sara's face was in darkness, haloed by backlit hair. Misha could see only the gleam of her eyes, the shimmer of water on her lips as she raised her glass again. "Kahina's dreams again?" Sara mocked, but Misha could hear the words tremble. " I came to you in Damascus because of Allah's visions."
"I remember."
"Then you remember that in that vision Allah told me you and the senator were lovers. You remember that I saw a knife, and Sayyid struggling to take it from me. You remember that I saw how Hartmann had taken your distrust and transformed it, and how he would take my feelings and use them against me."
"You said lots of things," Sara protested. She huddled back deeper in the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. "It was all symbols and odd images. It could have meant anything."
"The dwarf was in that vision, too," Misha insisted. "You must remember-I told you. The dwarf was Gimli, in Berlin. Hartmann did the same thing there."
Sara's breath was harsh. "Berlin-" she breathed.' Then: "It's all coincidence. Gregg's a compassionate and warm man. I know that, better than you or anyone. I've seen him. I've been with him."
"Is it coincidence? We both know what he is. He is an ace, a hidden one."
"And I tell you that's impossible. There's a blood test. And even if it were true, how does that change things? He's still working for the rights and dignity of all people unlike Barnett or your brother or terrorists like the JJS. You've given me nothing but innuendo against Gregg."
"Allah's dreams-"
"They're not Allah's dreams," Sara interrupted angrily. "It's just the damned wild card. Flashes of precognition. There are half a dozen aces with the same ability. You see glimpses of the possible futures, that's alclass="underline" useless little previews that have nothing to do with any god."
Sara's voice had risen. Misha could see her hand trembling as she took another drink. "What did you think he'd done, Sara?" she asked. "Why did you once hate him?"
Misha had thought that Sara might deny it; she didn't. "I was wrong. I thought… I thought he might have killed my sister. There were coincidences, yes, but I was wrong, Misha."
"Yet I can see that you're frightened because you might have been right, because what I'm saying might be the truth. My dreams tell me-they tell me you've been wondering since Berlin. They tell me you're frightened because you remember one other thing I told you in Damascus: that what he did to me, he would also do to you. Don't you notice how your feelings for him change when he's with you, and doesn't that also make you wonder?"
"Damn you!" Sara shouted. She flung the tumbler aside.
It thudded against the wall as she rose to her feet. "You have no right!"
"I have proof." Misha spoke softly into Sara's rage. She looked calmly upward into the woman's glare.
"Dreams," Sara spat.
"More than dreams. At the mosque, during the fighting, the senator was shot. I have his jacket. I had the blood analyzed. The infection is thereyour wild card virus."
Sara shook her head wildly. "No. That's what you want the tests to show."
"Or Hartmann had his own blood test falsified. That would be easy for him, wouldn't it?" Misha persisted. The wild agony in Sara tore at Misha, yet she persisted. Sara was the key-the visions all said that she was. "And it would mean that perhaps you were right about your sister. It would explain what happened with me. It would explain what happened in Berlin. It would explain everything, all the questions you've had."
"Then go to the press with this proof."
"I am. Right now."
Sara's head swayed back and forth in dogged refusal. "It's not enough."
"Maybe not by itself. We need all that you can tell us. You must know more-other strange incidents, other deaths…" Sara was still shaking her head, but her shoulders slumped and the anger had drained away. She turned from Misha. "I can't trust you," she said. "Please. Just go away."
"Look at me, Sara. We're sisters in this. We've both been hurt, and I want justice for that, as you want justice for your sister. We cry and bleed and there's no healing for us until we know. Sara, I know how we can mix love and hate. We're related in that strange, awful way. We've both allowed love to blind us. I love my brother, but I also hate what he's done. You love Hartmann, and yet here's a darker Hartmann underneath. You can't move against him because to do so would prove that giving yourself was a mistake, because when he's here all you can think about is the Hartmann you love. You'd have to admit that you were wrong. You'd have to admit that you let yourself love someone who was using you. So you wait."
There was no answer. Misha sighed and nodded. She couldn't say any more, not when each word tore a visible wound in Sara. She moved toward the door, touching Sara gently on the back as she passed. Misha could feel Sara's shoulders moving with silent tears. Misha's hand was on the knob when Sara spoke behind her, her voice choked.
"You swear it's his jacket? You have it?"
Misha kept her hand on the knob, not daring to turn, not allowing herself to feel hope. "Yes."
"Do you trust Tachyon?"
"The alien? I don't know him. Gimli doesn't seem to like him. But I will trust him if you do."
"I have to be in New York later this week. Meet me in front of the Jokertown Clinic Thursday evening at six-thirty. Bring the jacket. We'll have Tachyon examine it, and then we'll see. We'll see, that's all. Is it enough?"
Misha almost gasped with the relief. She wanted to laugh, wanted to hug Sara and cry with her. But she only nodded. "I'll be there. I promise you, Sara. I want the truth, that's all."
"And if Tachyon says it proves nothing?"
"Then I'll learn to accept the guilt for what I did myself," Misha started to turn the knob, stopped. "If I'm not there, know that it's because he stopped me. You'll have to decide what to do then."
"Which gives you a convenient out," Sara said derisively. "All you have to do is not show."
"You don't believe that. Do you?" Silence.
Misha turned the knob and went out.
Tuesday, 10:00 P.M.
Chrysalis swung open the door to her office. She paid very little attention to the dwarf who sat in her chair, his bare feet propped up on her desk. She shut the door-the sounds of another busy night at the Crystal Palace dropped to a distant tidal soughing. "Good evening, Gimli."
Gimli was feeling rotten. The lack of surprise in Chrysalis's startling eyes only made him feel worse. " I should learn that you're never caught off guard."
She gave him a tight-lipped smile that floated over a webbing of muscles and tendons. "I've known you were back for weeks. That's old news. So how's your cold?"
289
Gimli sniffed, a long, wet inhalation. Another chill rattled down his spine like a tray of ice cubes. "Shitty. I feel like hell. I've had a fever I haven t been able to kick for two days now. And I've evidently got somebody in my. organization who can't keep his or her mouth shut." He gave her a rueful grimace.
"You wouldn't get colds if you'd wear shoes. You brought me a package, too."
"Fuck," Gimli spat out. He swung his legs down and hopped from the chair with a grimace. The sudden movement made him dizzy, and he steadied himself against the desk with a hand. "I might as well have come in the front door. Why don't we just skip the conversation entirely and you just give me an answer?"