“But… But that’s mine,” he said in a small bewildered voice. “That’s only for my eyes. I—Gretchen promised she—” Abruptly the confusion vanished and Dr. Blaise Shima spoke in a voice accustomed to command. “Gretchen? Gretchen! What the hell are you doing here? What’s this place? Who are these—Get your hands off her!”
Salem Burne’s karate guess had been correct. Shima shot into action like a battering ram, but the goons were Guff-fighters of vicious experience, and it was a dangerous scene for Shima until the two suddenly exploded air and collapsed, one after the other. He stood, panting and shaking, and looked down at them. They were dead. He looked at Gretchen Nunn. She stood, nearly naked in her ripped shift, the silent laser burner in her hand.
He tried to speak. “I—”
“Thank you, Blaise. Hello, Blaise.”
“Hello, Gret— Darl— I—” He tried to catch his breath. “I d-don’t know where I’m at. I… I’m not used to this.”
“Come sit down.”
“They’re dead, aren’t they?”
“Burned through the back. Sit here with me.”
“This is one hell of a time to relax.”
“Sit!”
“Yes’m. I… Thank you. I… You know, I’ve never seen a Lethal before. It… It isn’t as bad as I imagined.”
“Yes it is. Turn so we can’t see them. We have to be quick, Blaise. You’ve got to be protected.”
“Protected? Am I in trouble?”
“Bad trouble. I’m going to give it to you fast. Can you listen?”
He nodded.
“Then just listen. No questions.” She gave it to him fast, and his bewilderment gave way to shock and dismay. “Now you understand,” she finished. “There can’t be any connection between Mr. Wish and Dr. Shima.”
“But… But there has to be a connection. If I killed any of—”
“No!” she broke in sharply. “I don’t think so. I really don’t think so, Blaise, But I must admit that I really don’t know for sure. I believe it was those two who did the Lethals; you were just the Judas-goat. God knows how they ever started following you. We’ll never know that either, but the Guff is full of unknowables. Now get out of here and go home. I’ve got to call the precinct.”
“Gretchen…”
“No. Go.”
“Why this for me?”
“Because I love you, you dumb son-of-a-bitch, and it was one hell of a way to find out.”
“But you’ll be alone. Blind.”
“Yes, we both have our crosses. You carry yours; I’ll carry mine. Go. I’ll have sight again as soon as Homicide arrives.”
“I—”
“Blaise, if you don’t get out of here, I swear I’ll scream. Take that suicide junk with you. Leave me the burner; I’ll need it for my story to Homicide. Right now I need a few minutes to write the story, so I beg you, go!”
“Tomorrow?”
“If you want to.”
“I want to.”
“Then tomorrow, if I can get us out of this bind.”
“Someday,” he said slowly, “someday I’ll figure out how to thank you. Right now I’m feeling outclassed, and it’s a new sensation. I— You’re wasting your time on me. Be sure to safe the door after me.”
He left, and his immediate grey sight dwindled away from her, but she was able to secure the door and call the precinct. Then she felt her way back to the tufted coach, sat quietly and composed herself, preparing her story. The background noises of the Oasis and the Guff were comforting. The kaleidoscope of extrasensory sight no longer frightened her; it had become interesting. Understanding is half the battle.
“Blaise is right,” she thought. “I’ve never noticed it before because we’re rarely alone in the Guff… There are always enough eyes around for me to see through… But when I’m isolated in a room with one person, then what? They can’t see themselves, so I couldn’t see them. Why didn’t I realize?”
She thought hard. Then: “Reflections, probably. They must have seen themselves and given me flashes… There are mirrors everywhere to multiply light in this energy-starved age. And I think I must have been soundtracking without realizing it… I know when I’ve been in bed with Blaise it’s been that and touchtracking… Fascinating, how we can conjure ourselves into rejecting reality…
“That consultation with Mills Copeland… Yes, I saw him when staff was in the room, through their eyes, but when we were alone together? Remember hard, Gretchen! Hmmm. No, I didn’t really see him… Only flashes when he happened to see a reflection of himself… He was mostly just a voice… I wasn’t aware, I’ve never been aware, because I thought I was concentrating on the problem… This must have happened hundreds of times before, and I never realized… It’s one hell of a handicap, but now that I understand I can handle it and make it work for me…”
The fact that she had left a pheromone trail of self-destruction for Mr. Wish to follow was also something she no longer denied. It was simply another fact. She’d been shattered, and the child in her had tried to escape the child’s way. Run away and end it all. Death is the simplistic solution; the final way out.
“Yes, for children,” she murmured. “Blaise jokes about getting rid of his education. I want to get rid of the child in me, but it’s no joke.” A fresh fear struck. “Will knowing who and what I really am make any difference to him? That ‘outclassed’ remark he made…” Then, after a moment, “But who am I, really? Yes, it has to be love when you stop knowing who you are. At least that question’s answered.”
A clammy chill swept over her. “My God! It’s cold in here, all of a sudden. I should put something on. No, the hommies have got to find me like this if my story’s to stand up.”
The hommies found her like this ten minutes later, in the tatters of her shift, her skin raked, the burner in her hand. She was grateful for the full illumination their eyes gave her. She was grateful for the gentle courtesy of the reputedly formidable precinct Subadar. She wondered whether Mr. Ind’dni’s soft chivalry inspired the awe of the rogues and vagabonds of the Guff. She did know that Ind’dni was short for his full name, which ran to seven impossible syllables.
Physically, Ind’dni was indeed awesome to the rogues and vagabonds of the Guff; tall, spare, ascetic, obviously incorruptible—skin the color of antique amber—trimmed jet-black beard—straight black hair going grey in curious streaks—eyes like lanterns—a voice with the timbre of an oboe. Gretchen was delighted to converse with this remarkable man, even though she knew it would be an ordeal.
“May I sit here, Subadar?”
“Anywhere you so please, madame.”
“I don’t want to look at them.”
“I quite understand.”
“Thank you, Subadar.”
“Only too happy to accommodate most distinguished colleague, madame.” The homicide squad was muttering and exclaiming behind them. Gretchen was too concentrated on the lie she was going to tell to notice that the element of surprise was missing from their exclamations.
“What did happen, madame?”
“Those two goons. They broke in.”
“Please, so careful, madame. It is well known how cautious you are. Broke in? Broke and entered in legal sense? With force and arms? Vi et armis, as Legal would say. How?”
“You’re right, Captain Ind’dni. I must be professional and precise. Not broke and entered in the legal sense. I’m afraid the door had been left unsafed.”
“Most unusual for you, madame. Yes? In your profession. It is permitted to ask how transpired?”
“I’d sent my staff out for the night.”
“Entire staff? Most unusual.”
“And in the excitement the door was forgotten.”