They were in Renford's living quarters. A desk almost as large and ornate as the one in his office sat in the middle of the room, and against the far wall sat the largest bed she had ever seen. Several holo-phones filled the wall to her left. On the right wall hung more paintings like the ones that hung in the Admiral's office, all of which she knew were authentic.
Renford went to the closet on the far side of the room and it opened. Hanging in it were more clothes than Susan could have possibly imagined. He took out a black jumpsuit, then turned and held it out to Susan.
"This should fit fairly well," he said.
It was a Base Security uniform-the sword and shield insignia stood out over its breast. She looked at him questioningly.
"Sometimes it's necessary for me to be out in public without being recognized," he said. "And sometimes I have to go places and do things only Security can go and do."
Susan nodded and took the jumpsuit, and Renford turned back to the closet. He took a Base Security cap from the top shelf, and a holstered blaster pistol, then turned and gave both to her.
"Put the uniform on," he said. "I'll be waiting in my office." He turned and walked to the door. It irised open and he turned back to her. "Remember, make yourself look as different as possible," he said. Then he again turned to the door and stepped through. It irised closed behind him.
In spite of everything, she couldn't help but smile as she stripped out of her soiled, burned and torn Fleet jumpsuit. Renford was certainly a citizen of Luna. He had been stationed here so long, its provincialism had become ingrained into his personality. She knew exactly what he had meant when he said to try to make herself look as different as possible. He had meant she should bind her breasts. But he'd been unable to say it.
She removed the soiled wrappings on her hands and arms, then stepped to the mirror beside the closet. She stood for a few seconds, observing her nude body. There was certainly no doubt that Renford had been right. The more she could look like a man, the better off she would be.
She went to the closet and found a long silk scarf in among the items of clothing. Tucking one end under her right arm, she brought it tightly across her breasts, flattening them against her chest, then tucked it under the other arm. Leaning to one side, she caught the loose end and tightened it around her back, then again stretched it across her breasts. There was enough scarf to go around her once more before she tucked the end in beneath her left arm.
Again she stood before the mirror. Not the best job, but it would have to do. Concealed beneath the jumpsuit, she might just pass for a man.
She got quickly into the jumpsuit and fastened it up the front. After strapping on the holster, she put the cap on her head and again looked at her reflection in the mirror. It was no good. Although her breasts would no longer betray her, her hair hung long and shining from beneath the cap. And her prosthetic hands-the plastic synthetic skin burned off-would give her away, as well.
Turning from the mirror, she scanned the room. The drawers set into the wall beside the bed had to hold a pair of scissors. She went to the drawers and searched. Within seconds she found them.
She went back to the mirror and took off the cap. Taking a deep breath, she hacked at her hair with the scissors. After less than a minute, she was finished. It wasn't a very good job, but it would have to do.
As she placed the soiled bandages back on her hands, she asked herself, What next? And suddenly, she knew. She didn't know how she knew; she simply knew.
Chapter Thirty-two
She stood in a deserted corridor, before a closed conventional door, the snowflake pattern blossoming in her mind and the mantra on her lips. Although the door was unmarked, she knew that beyond it was an operating room. She was again in a hospital.
But this hospital was Earth-side; the gravity was Earth's. She was ten years in her own past.
The headache burned behind her eyes, considerably more intense than it had before this jump. She couldn't concentrate. Yet she knew she had to concentrate with all her mind; she had much to do.
In her right hand she carried a blaster pistol, while the one Renford had given her only a few minutes before was still holstered at her hip. She had stolen the weapon she held after she'd made the jump to this time. For what she must do, she needed a functional blaster.
Reaching out, she turned the door handle. It twisted beneath her grip and she pushed the door open and walked through; she was in the operating room.
It was empty. The surgeons and technicians who would soon fill the room had not yet arrived, and her own past self had not yet been wheeled in, unconscious, on a gurney. Still, all the equipment was laid out, ready to go.
She went to a wheeled tray beside the operating table and scanned the instruments. The laser scalpel, forceps, and various other surgical instruments were positioned neatly and precisely on one side of the tray. On the other side was a pair of prosthetic arms and hands, covered with flesh-colored plasti-alloy. Beside them, still in its mold, lay the metal skull plate that would be inserted in her past self's head.
Carefully, she pried the plate from its mold, and it popped out with little effort. She tossed the skull plate into the corner of the room beneath a low equipment bench, then lifted one of the pendants from around her neck, parted a link of its silver chain, and detached it. She threw the chain beneath the equipment bench with the skull plate.
Positioning the lump of dull gray metal in the center of the mold, she made certain the blaster was on a low-power setting.
She trained the weapon on the lump of metal at short range and pulled the trigger. The pendant melted instantly, precisely filling the mold. It would cool quickly, and by the time the surgeons were ready to implant it, it would be at room temperature.
She tossed the blaster under the equipment bench as well, then stepped away from the tray. That part was done. But there was still more she had to accomplish before she was finished-before she could jump to Photon.
Turning, she stepped to the door, opened it, and produced another jump as she stepped out into the corridor.
She was in another corridor. No longer on Earth; the gravity was Luna's. The crowd was huge, and shop fronts lined the corridor on either side. This was the exchange area, on Fleet Base.
To her left, fifty feet down a side corridor, stood the curio shop she had visited less than a week ago. Within, she knew she would find the old man.
But it was not him she was interested in. Not yet. It was the only other occupant of that shop for whom she had come.
She eased back into the crowd, into a small dark space between two shops. Lifting one of the two remaining pendants from around her neck, she placed it out of sight, in the pouch at her waist. Then she drew the blaster pistol Renford had given her and waited. The blaster would not function in this time: she knew that. But to accomplish what it must, it didn't have to.
She didn't have long to wait. In less than a minute she spotted her other self emerging from the branch corridor. And in that instant that other self spotted her.
A look of pure horror washed over the other's features as Susan brought the blaster pistol up, centering it on her other self through a gap in the crowd. Then the other disappeared.
Just as Susan knew she would.
Quickly, she holstered her weapon; she didn't want the rest of the crowd to see it. She couldn't afford to cause a panic like she had in Times Square so many years ago.