It's obvious that Showalter has let them take over the decision-
making process."
Even in his foggy mental state, Gonzales saw what Traynor
would make of this one. Showalter was the sacrificial corporate
goat, and whoever replaced her would have as first priority
reasserting Earth-normal SenTrax management strategies. To put it
another way, through Traynor, the board was taking back control.
And presumably Traynor would receive appropriate rewards.
"The collective " Gonzales said. "Aleph " He stopped,
simply locking up as he thought of trying to explain to Traynor
how things worked here, how things had to work here, because of
Aleph.
"Easy does it," Traynor said. "The doctors say you had a
rough time in there, and that's what I mean, Mikhaiclass="underline" they don't
have a rational research protocol; they don't take reasonable
precautions. Hell, you're lucky to have gotten off as easily as
you did."
"How did you get here so quickly?" Gonzales asked. He simply
couldn't find the words to explain to Traynor where he was going
wrong.
"I've consulted with Horn from the beginning." Traynor
turned away, as if suddenly fascinated by something on the far
wall. "Standard procedure," he said. "And as soon as Horn let me
know what was going on, I caught a ride on a military shuttle."
Cute as a shithouse rat, Gonzales thought. Not that he was
surprised, thoughTraynor moved his players around without regard
to their wishes. Gonzales asked, "Will Horn replace Showalter?"
Traynor turned back to face him. "On an interim basis,
probably, as soon as I get a course of action okayed by the board.
Later, we'll see."
"What now?"
"Some decisions have to be made. I have let them maintain
Jerry Chapman until now, but as soon as they can solve the problem
of getting Doctor Heywood released from this interface, I intend
to turn control of the project over to Horn and let him take the
appropriate actions."
Gonzales was filled with sadness for reasons that he could
not communicate to this man. He said instead, "Look, Traynor, I'm
really tired."
"Sure, Mikhail. You rest, take it easy. Once you're feeling
better, we'll talk, but I know what I need to at the moment."
Traynor left, and Gonzales lay for some time in the elevated
hospital bed, his mind wheeling without apparent pattern, as the
world around him flashed its cryptic signals and anxiety moved
through him in strong waves.
Fucking asshole, Gonzales thought, Traynor's satisfied smile
looming in his mind's eye. I hate you. And he wondered at the
violence of what he felt.
He lay dozing, then sometime later he opened his eyes, and he
knew he needed to try to function. A sam moved across the floor
toward him and said, "Do you require my assistance?"
"Hang on to me while I get out of bed," Gonzales said. "I'm
not sure how well I'm moving."
The sam moved next to the bed, extended two clusters of
extensors, and said, "Hold on and you can use me as a stepping
place."
Moving very carefully, Gonzales took hold of the claw-like
extensors, swung his legs out of bed, and stepped onto the sam's
back, then to the floor. "Thanks," he said. "I need to wash up."
"You're welcome. The shower is through that door."
#
The sam told Gonzales where he could find Lizzie and Charley.
On shaky legs, Gonzales walked down a flight of steps and turned
into a hallway done in blue-painted lunar dust fiberboard with
aluminum moldings. Halfway down the hall, he came to a door with
a sign that said Primary Control Facilities. A sign on the
door lit with the message, Wait for Verification, then said
Enter, and the door swung open.
Charley sat amid banks of monitor consoles; in front of him,
most of the lights flashed red and amber. Gonzales thought he
looked even sadder and tireder than before. Lizzie stood next to
him, and Gonzales saw her with joy and relief. "Hello," he said,
and Charley said, "Hi." Lizzie waved and smiled briefly, but both
her actions came from somewhere very distant, as if she were
saying goodbye to a cousin from the window of a departing train.
Gonzales's anxiety shifted into overdrive, and he found himself
unable to say a word.
Eric Chow's voice from the console said, "Charley, we've got
a problem."
Charley started to reach for the console, then stopped and
said, "Do you want to watch this?" He looked at both Lizzie and
Gonzales.
"I need to," Lizzie said.
"Me, too," Gonzales said.
Charley waved his hands in the air and said, "Okay," and
flipped a switch. The console's main screen lit with a picture of
the radical care facility where Jerry was being maintained. Half
a dozen people floated around the central bubble; they wore white
neck-to-toe surgical garb and transparent plastic head covers.
Inside the bubble, the creature that had been Jerry spasmed inside
a restraining net. His every body surface seemed to vibrate, and
he made a high keening that Gonzales thought was the worst noise
he'd ever heard.
"Eric, have you got a diagnosis?" Charley asked.
Eric turned to face the room's primary camera.
"Yeah, total neural collapse."
"Prognosis?"
"You're kidding, right?"
"For the record, Eric."
Gonzales noticed with some fascination that Eric had begun to
sweat visibly as he and Charley talked, and now the man's eyes
seemed to grow larger, and he said, "He's deadhe's been dead, he
will be deadand he's worse dead than he was before he'll tear
himself to pieces on the restraints, I supposethat's my
prognosis. This is not a goddamn patient, Charley. This is a
frog leg from biology class, that's all. Man, we need to talk
this thing over with Aleph."
Charley said, "We can't contact Aleph; no one can."
"Fucking shit," Eric said.
Gonzales turned as the door behind him opened, and saw
Showalter and Horn coming in. Showalter's nostrils were flared
she was angry and suspiciouswhile Horn was trying to look poker-
faced, but Gonzales could see through him like he was made of
glassthe motherfucker was happy; things were going the way he
wanted.
"The report I got was half an hour old," Showalter said.
"What's new?"
"Talk to Eric," Charley said.
Lizzie went toward the side door, and Gonzales followed her
out of the room, along the narrow hallway and into the room where
Diana lay under black, webbed restraining straps. Her face was
pale, but her vital signs were strong, and her neural activity was
high-end normal in all modes. The twins sat next to her, making
comments unintelligible to anyone but themselves and intently
watching the monitor screen, where amber and green were the
predominant colors.
A great beefy man walked circles around Diana's couch. He
had thick arms and a pot belly and a low forehead under thick
black hair; and his brow was wrinkled as if he were to puzzling
out the nature of things. As he walked, the words tumbled out of
him. When he saw Lizzie and Gonzales, he said, "Very unusual,
very tricky. Troubling. Troubling but interesting. Very