No one confronted him when he emerged from the tube chute and walked the last block to Lisa’s building. Nor was there anyone waiting to accost him in the lobby. Once again he was grateful for the electronic doorman, whose memory would encompass only residents and regular visitors. There was no fear in him as he approached the flat, glowing wall and its stereoscopic eyes.
“Can I help you, sir?” The voice was as pleasant and polite as it had been on his previous visit.
He struggled to conceal his nervousness. “Lisa Tambor, please.”
“Who shall I say is calling?”
“Eric Abbott.”
The machine processed, since it evidently and expectedly had not stored his identity in its file. “If you’ll wait one moment, please, sir.”
He turned to stare at the glass entrance to the building. Any second now he expected Tarragon to rush in, accompanied by a coterie of muscular, heavily armed, blank-faced men, to escort him forcibly to the airport. His concern was reinforced by the delay. It seemed the machine was taking much longer than necessary, though the delay was likely only in his mind. Since he’d left the museum the world had slowed down. Every step was taken through wet concrete, every word slowed down by half.
Off in the distance he heard the doorman’s voice. “I’m sorry, sir. Ms. Tambor does not wish to be disturbed.”
“Did she say that?” he asked bluntly, all thoughts of diplomacy fled. It would be wasted on the machine anyhow.
“Yes sir, she did.”
“Try again, please. That’s Lisa Tam-bor.” He supplied the codo number.
A brief pause, then, “I’m sorry, sir, she does not wish to be disturbed.”
“Tell her that I’m not leaving until I see her.”
“As you wish, sir.” Another, longer wait, and the reply, “She requests that you leave, sir. I am not equipped to compel you, but I am to add that she asks this out of concern for your own safety and well-being.”
“Tell her it’s her safety that concerns me right now, not mine. I’m not leaving until she sees me.” Were those shapes milling about just outside the main entrance watching him covertly now, or were they just passersby lingering in the shelter of the drive-up, staying clear of the light drizzle that had begun to fall? He kept his eyes on the doorway.
“She asks me one more time to request that you leave, sir.”
“I will not.”
“Then I am instructed to allow you up.”
“Allow me, then.”
“Very well, sir. The elevators are—”
“I know where they are.”
The decorative grillework parted to admit him. As he waited for the lift, he kept his attention on the entrance. He stepped into the cab without any sign of pursuit, however.
I’ve gotten this far, he told himself tightly. This far. Let me see her again, let me touch her one more time, and nothing, nothing, will put us apart!
What peculiar thoughts for a sober, stable design engineer. He tried to make the cab rise faster, found himself leaning against the doors as it slowed. He peeked out cautiously into the circular lobby chamber, found it deserted. No one was waiting for him.
The doors started to close and he darted out, walked quickly across the thick carpet to touch the chimebell outside Lisa’s home. Again the minutes stretched interminably; again he feared he’d gained this much only to be denied sight of her at the final moment.
He need not have worried. The lock went snick and the door moved aside. He stepped in fast, fearful that even then a hand would reach out to grab his collar and yank him away. The door closed softly behind him.
Immediately he saw the evidence of a profound internal struggle on her exquisite face. She looked drawn, tired, but not angry. Obviously his presence was hard on her. She’d tried very hard to send him away.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” she told him, confirming all his thoughts. “Eric, you shouldn’t have come back.”
Eric, he thought with a surge of pleasure. Still Eric, not Mr. Abbott. Never again, Mr. Abbott.
He followed her into the living room. Through the broad window the far side of the East River was ablaze with light.
“There was no way I could not come back, Lisa.” He reached out to pull her to him. She moved away, agitated, anxious. He forced himself to hold his emotions in check.
He was totally unprepared for the violence of her outburst.
“It’s all wrong! You can’t be in love with me!”
“We’ve been through that before,” he replied quietly. “I am in love with you. And I think you’re in love with me.”
“No! I’m not in love with you! I’m not. It’s not possible. It’s not allowed.”
“It is possible!” he yelled back. “And as far as this business of it’s being ‘allowed’ is concerned, that’s bullshit. There are no slaves anymore. Are you talking,” he said with sudden insight, “about some kind of formal contract?”
“Something like that,” she murmured, lowering her voice and not looking at him.
“Well, if that’s all that’s bothering you, I’ll buy it up. Whatever the amount is, don’t worry. I have a lot of ready credit and an excellent rating. I don’t give a damn how much is involved. We’ll burn it together and scatter the ashes.”
She shook her head sadly. “You don’t have that much money.”
“You’d be surprised at my resources.”
“No, Eric, you don’t have that much money. No one has that much money.”
Her sudden calm resignation unsettled him. “There are other ways. Contracts can be broken in court. Especially if it can be demonstrated that they were signed under duress.”
“But there was no duress involved.”
“Maybe not,” he said reluctantly, refusing to concede the possibility, “but you’re sure living under duress now. Aren’t you?”
“Please don’t quiz me, Eric.” She fell limply onto the couch. “I’m so tired. All this has been very hard on me. I’m so confused. I don’t know what to think anymore. Nothing is making sense, and it always has.”
“Good!” He sat down next to her, took her hands in his. This time she didn’t try to pull away. “You’re tired, confused, don’t know what to do next. You know what that sounds like to me?”
“What?”
“It sounds to me like someone in love.”
“You are impossible. You just won’t listen. I’m trying, to save you and you won’t listen. I suppose you can’t help yourself. But the others always listened to reason. It took longer with some than with others, but never this long.”
He ignored the implications. “I don’t want to help myself. Lisa, I don’t know how well you’ve been sheltered or isolated or protected or what, but it’s pretty clear to me what’s happening here. You’re being manipulated as well as intimidated. You’re entitled to run your own life, and no piece of paper or file can take that away from you. You can do anything you damn well please, and that includes falling in love. No contract can prevent that.”
“You don’t know,” she said with great earnestness. “You can’t see it’s not possible. You don’t have all the relevant facts, Eric.”
“Then give me the facts. Facts I can deal with calmly.”
“I wonder,” she murmured. For the first time since he arrived, he thought he detected a hint of a smile. “If you could, you wouldn’t be here now.”
“Love isn’t sensible, Lisa. Tell me one thing and never mind all the rest. Do you love me?”
“I … can’t.” She didn’t look at him. “It’s not allowed.”
“To hell with whether it’s ‘allowed’! His grip tightened on her wrists. “Do … you … love … me?” When she didn’t reply, he phrased it differently. “Tell me that you can’t love me.”
“Eric, I can’t. I can’t! But I think … I think I must.” Her voice was breaking, full of wonder and amazement at the unexpected confession. “I think I do.”
He moved a little closer to her. “That’s all that matters, Lisa. That’s all I want to know. Forget about your past, your present. I don’t care what you’ve done, or where you’ve been, or what you’ve signed your name to. If you love me, everything’s going to work out all right.”
“It won’t, Eric,” she whispered. “It’s not enough.” She was clearly frightened now, and not just for him. Now she seemed afraid for herself.
“It is enough. Believe it. Believe in me, in us.” He pulled her to him. When their lips touched this time, she let herself melt into him. There was no restraint, no testing now. No holding back. She’d committed herself.
“How very touching.”
They turned sharply to stare across the room. Tarragon stood in an arched doorway.
“Touching and foolish.” He’d been leaning against the jamb. Now he stood straight.
Eric wasn’t really surprised to see him. Tarragon walked into the living room. As he did so several other large men filed in behind him. Two moved to stand in front of the main door while their counterparts hurried to block the balcony. They took up their assigned positions confidently and waited for additional directions from their boss.
“So it was you all along,” Eric said. “So you’re the one who’s keeping …”
Tarragon shook his head. “No, I’m only an employee, Mr. Abbott. As is Ms. Tambor. I am sorry. I thought it wouldn’t come to this, but you insist on sticking your nose into business that doesn’t concern you. Business you have no business knowing anything about. I don’t know what’s to be done with you. What would you suggest?” He quickly raised a hand when Eric seemed ready to reply.
“No, too good a straight-line.” His eyes narrowed as they moved to the woman curled tightly now against Eric. “Go to your bedroom, Ms. Tambor.”
She stood up, said meekly, “Yes sir.”
Mouth agape, Eric tried to hold her back. “No, Lisa. You don’t have to.”
Her expression was as mournful as a wounded manatee. “I do have to, Eric. I tried to tell you. Oh, how I tried to tell you!” She sounded hurt for both of them. “But you wouldn’t listen to me.”
“Lisa!” he shouted. She didn’t look back but dashed across the floor and slammed the bedroom door behind her. Internal hydraulics prevented any loud noise.
Every man in the room had watched her go. Now they turned less admiring stares on Eric. He sat frozen on the couch, staring at the silent door. There were no words to describe the pain inside him.
Hadn’t she just confessed her love for him? Well, almost, anyway. Hadn’t he just held her in his arms? She’d responded to him, physically and emotionally. It wasn’t impossible!
What kind of hold did Tarragon and those he worked for have over her? His pain turned to anger. Drugs? Maybe they had her hooked on some powerful narcotic and she feared losing her only assured source of supply. Or perhaps it was some subtle kind of hypnosis. There were ways of controlling a human being that were not talked about on the opto meditext.
He stood up, his fingers clenching and unclenching. “How do you do it?” he whispered tightly. “How do you come off ordering her around like that? What have you people done to her?”
Tarragon ignored all the questions. He was not as polite as he’d been in the restaurant.
“Are you quite happy now, Mr. Abbott? Did you have your little rendezvous? Did you enjoy it? I hope so. It’s going to cost you. How much and in what way, I don’t know. That’s not my decision. But something’s going to have to be done to rectify the damage you’ve done.”
“Look, if it’s a matter of money …”
Tarragon grinned mirthlessly. “Money. Why does the average citizen always think in terms of money? Reductio ad absurdum. It’s not a question of money. Never was. No, you’ve caused problems for people who prefer things to go smoothly. The worst part of it is you’ve managed to confuse and upset that young woman.” He gestured toward the tightly shut bedroom door. “That’s going to trouble a great many people. I’d like to know how you managed it. They’re going to want to know.”
“You’ve been watching,” Eric said quietly. “You’ve been watching since I got here.”
“Yes, I’ve been watching. D’you think I’m no good at my work?”
“Did you enjoy it?” Eric asked nastily.
“Not a bit. Nor did I dislike it. It’s all part of my job. I wish you’d understand that. I’m not paid to make value judgments, Mr. Abbott. Just to carry out directions. Like my subordinates.” The four men who’d followed him into the living room shifted their stances slightly, commenting without words.
“These are not a couple of ignorant thugs, Mr. Abbott, like the two you encountered in Phoenix. I don’t think you can make much trouble for them. For your own sake and good health I’d advise you not to try.”
Eric listened but didn’t hear. No way was he leaving Lisa in the company of these people without putting up a fight, however desperate, however futile. He thought of making a run for the bedroom door. Would Lisa let him in? Would she help him? From the manner in which she’d reacted to Tarragon’s command, he doubted it.
She said he’d confused her. Tarragon had just finished saying the same thing. Did she love him or not? Or had she simply mouthed the words, perhaps for Tarragon’s benefit? His triumph of moments earlier had been dumped indifferently at his feet. He almost looked forward to the coming, pointless fight. It would be a pleasure to incur some pain that might drown out the pain he was feeling now.
“You’re an interesting man, Eric Abbott,” Tarragon was saying, “but not interesting enough to occupy me further. I have other business that needs taking care of. I should have pegged you for a fanatic earlier and had you picked up outside the restaurant.”
“You wouldn’t have done that,” Eric told him. “Too many witnesses.”
“Perhaps. You learn fast, Mr. Abbott. Not that it’s going to do you any good. I offered you safe passage out of this, practically begged you to leave. You wouldn’t listen to me.”
“And what now?” Eric asked him. “Do I end up like Polikartos?”
“I don’t know. I hope not. There will be a lot of questions first. After … I don’t know. What happens from now on is out of my hands. I take no responsibility for it. You’re responsible for whatever happens. You had several chances to climb out of the hole you’ve dug for yourself, and you’ve persisted in digging it deeper. Whether grave or metaphor, I don’t know.”
“Lisa,” Eric called toward the door. “Lisa, come out.”
“You’re a professional man,” Tarragon was murmuring. “You understand my position.”
“Lisa, come on out!” Suddenly it occurred to him there might be others in the bedroom. They might have clamped a gag on her, might be holding her back. There was no way to tell. There was only the blank door and Tarragon’s four men moving toward him, spreading out to take him from four sides. He stepped up onto the couch, trying to watch all of them at once.
Tarragon looked disappointed; his subordinates, unconcerned. Eric abruptly decided one of two things would now happen: either he would somehow make his escape and get to the bottom of all this, or else these four would beat the crap out of him.
“C’mon then,” he said encouragingly, teasingly, making a rude gesture with one hand.
“We’re coming,” said one of the men in a flat, unpleasant voice.
“Will you come along nice and quiet, Mr. Abbott?” asked another. “This is your last chance. We don’t want to hurt you.”
“But I want you to hurt me,” Eric told him with a grin. “Come on, try to hurt me. Maybe I can hurt one or two of you before you take me out.”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Abbott.” The speaker looked to Tarragon for instructions, commented, “This guy’s nuts, you know?”
“I think not, Jerome, but as I’ve told him, analysis isn’t our department. Try to keep him as intact as possible, okay?”
“If you say so, sir.” The one named Jerome was now the nearest to Eric. He stepped forward quickly and reached for Eric’s right leg. The others moved an instant after, the well-trained team rapidly tightening the circle.
“Don’t make this hard on yourself, Mr. Abbott,” Jerome said as he touched Eric’s leg.
Eric swung an arm downward, intending to knock the other man’s arm aside. There was a muffled snap, thoroughly sickening for so slight a sound. To his credit, Jerome didn’t scream. His face contorted and he clutched at his shattered right wrist. At the same time the other three jumped on their quarry.
Eric found himself going backward over the couch. Two thick arms locked around his neck while the other pair fought to get his arms and legs under control.
He kicked out blindly. One of the men went flying, slammed into the ceiling. He hung spread-eagled and imbedded in the fiberfill insulation like a fly in amber, staring blankly at the floor. Either the ceilings here were thinner than those in old buildings in Phoenix or else he’d kicked harder. Eric didn’t know. He didn’t know a damn thing, except that he had to get away from this place and these men so he could save Lisa.
His head jerked backward as the man who had him around the neck yanked hard. Convulsively he tried to pull against the pressure. His neck snapped forward and the man who’d been trying to cut off his wind flew over him, over the couch, spinning and tumbling like a rag doll. There was a tremendous crash as he went through the safety glass of the balcony doors. Splinters flew everywhere and for a few seconds the white room was full of flying diamonds mixed with blood. Eric felt as if he were drifting inside a kaleidoscope, full of bright, colorful destruction. Around him people were yelling softly. It was carnival time and he was with Charlie and Gabriella.
They were on a ride called Moons of Saturn, in a little plastic car that simulated zero-gee. As it went every which way at once, they could look out through the transparent acrylic and see the lights of the state fair mesh with the sky. Machines and kids and hawkers and carnies filled the air with an undisciplined tintinnabulation while in the distance the white was as bright in his eyes as in his ears.
The man who’d gone through the balcony doors vanished. He might have screamed once as he fell eighty floors toward the East River.
The one remaining thug hung on to Eric desperately now while Jerome raised his good hand. The heel of his palm moved in a straight thrust toward Eric’s nose, intent on shattering bone and sending the fragments into his brain.
Off in the white distance Eric thought he could hear Tarragon shout, “Don’t kill him!,” but Jerome wasn’t listening to his boss anymore. All sense of civility and dark humor was gone now, destroyed as thoroughly as the glass doors and two other men.
The palm made contact. It certainly should have killed him. Instead Eric felt only mild discomfort near the center of his face. His nose did not break, did not even bend.
Jerome pulled back, voiceless now. Eric found he was sickened by the carnage around him. Blood dripped onto the white carpet from the man still imbedded in the ceiling. He reached up and pulled the last man off his back, threw him into the retreating Jerome. The impact sent them tumbling into the crystal bar. Glasses jumped off shelves and bottles fell over, spilling golden fluid. The wine dispenser jammed in the OPEN position, and claret poured in a steady stream across the floor, less viscous than the blood it mixed with.
Something stung him in the left buttock. He jerked around to see a now transformed Tarragon standing behind him. As he stumbled clear Eric reached down and yanked out the hypodermic. A pressure syringe: no needle. It looked like a toy. He pinched it to see if it was real. It broke beneath his fingers. That was funny, because it was high-impact plastic. Can’t trust any manufacturers these days, he thought hysterically.
Tarragon was watching him closely. As Eric continued to stand on the couch and smile back, Tarragon’s expression of uncertainty was replaced by one of utter terror. His composure was gone.
“I’m going now,” Eric told him quietly. “I’m not taking Lisa, because I’m confused and I don’t know what I’m going to do next, and I don’t want to chance her getting hurt. But you can’t keep us apart. You can’t keep us apart.”
“You should be on the floor,” Tarragon was mumbling. “You should be half-dead and unconscious. There was enough TLC in that syringe to put a hundred men down. Why the hell aren’t you unconscious?” He made it sound like an accusation. Eric almost felt like apologizing.
The dream-state persisted as he stepped down off the cushions. Reality was something fondly remembered. “I’m going now,” he said again. The door was locked from the outside. “That’s a neat trick,” he told Tarragon, who was staring at him wide-eyed. “How’d you do it?”
A thin trickle of spittle clung to a corner of Tarragon’s mouth. He didn’t look very confident or sophisticated just then.
“You should be unconscious,” he said still again.
Eric had no answer for the recycled comment. He put a hand on the door handle and gave an experimental tug. Something inside moaned. The handle was welded in place and so were the security hinges. It was the lock that finally gave, with an explosive ping.
A startled curse sounded in the lobby as the lock burst from the door and shot across the chamber to ricochet off the far wall. Now the door opened normally, Eric thought as he stepped out.
There were three more men waiting for him. They looked surprised to see him unescorted. From behind Eric, Tarragon suddenly started shouting.
“No hands! Don’t try to touch him! Shoot him, shoot him!”
At this the men backed off warily and drew small pistols. Eric walked blithely past them and thumbed the elevator call, not caring much what happened now. Nothing could happen or it already would have, wouldn’t it? Couldn’t it? A giggle rose in his throat, and he rushed to smother it. Behind him the three men eyed him confusedly as he waited for the elevator.
Tiny pins pricked his back and legs and a muscle twitched once in his neck. He ignored this as he stepped into the elevator. More curses sounded behind him. As he turned in the cab he had a last glimpse of three startled faces. There was a whirr as the doors closed and the descent commenced.
He used the time to pick the hypo darts out of his back, thinking crazily that the minute holes might not show up on his new suit. As he held one of the tiny syringes up to the elevator light he could see a residual smear of blue liquid still left inside. Idly, he wondered what it was. A narcoleptic similar to the stuff Tarragon had injected into his backside? It didn’t matter, because it had no effect on him either.
Far above, Lisa Tambor lay motionless on her bed. During the sound of fighting in the living room she’d held herself and cried.
Then the unexpected: silence. More unexpected still, Eric’s voice in the silence, saying calmly, “I’m going now.” That’s when the tears had stopped, to be replaced with first confusion and then a desperate, rising hope.
Maybe it was at that moment she realized she really did love him, impossible as it seemed. The realization struck in the face of everything she knew and went against everything she stood for, everything she was. But there it was.
“I did love you, Eric.” She said it because she wanted to hear herself say it and because she knew with equal certainty she’d never see Eric Abbott again.
They could order her to go to her room and stay there, but they couldn’t keep her from thinking, and they couldn’t keep her from feeling. At least she could take that wonderful feeling, that forbidden, impossible love, with her wherever she went. It would be nice to have that, even if she couldn’t have him.
It was as impossible as she’d told him it was.
Then she’d heard Tarragon screaming and yelling. He sounded worried, and that gave her pleasure. She’d never liked Tarragon much, though he’d never been anything other than deferential and polite to her. She didn’t like any of the people she worked for, even if that was silly and counterproductive, as the psychs told her. Actually it was indifference more than active dislike. There was no reason to hate them. No reason at all.
There were only two waiting for him in the lobby. Tarragon must have finally gathered enough of his wits about him to call downstairs.
Interesting that they think this necessary, Eric mused. Three lines of defense, just in case. Tarragon wasn’t taking any chances.
The decorative grille which divided the elevator bay from the outer lobby was closed, locking him in. He didn’t know if the two who confronted him were male or female, because he couldn’t see their faces. All riot-control suits were built with one-way glass in the helmets.
They turned toward him immediately. Yes, they’d been informed of his escape. The suits were silver, striped and marked in red. They whined as they trundled toward him, the tiny servo motors in the armatures and leg joints responding instantly to the muscular movements of the bodies within. Metal fingers reached out for him.
Eric watched the news and had seen such suits in action. One man in a riot suit could disperse or otherwise incapacitate a crowd by himself. The operator inside the suit was protected from weapons advanced as well as primitive, while the servomotors gave him enough strength to manhandle vehicles as easily as people.
When Eric tried to dart past the first, the second reachcd out to grab him around the waist. A steel cable emerged from beneath the right arm to whip several times around his midsection.
Reaching out and back he grabbed hold of the cable and pulled. Even in his dream-state it required a conscious effort. Riot suit and operator rose off the ground. It was so easy to use it like a flail to hammer away at the other. There were no screams from inside the soundproofed suits, so he battered at the first until the metal split at several joints and the armatures were jammed.
As he let the second suit fall to the ground, it reached metal fingers toward his face. He grabbed it with his free hand, pulled, and twisted. Servos squealed and oil spurted across the immaculate marble floor of the lobby. Then the joint exploded. When he let it fall, it hung limp and useless, dripping lubricants.
The other arm was now digging into his shoulder, motors humming under the overload. His bones should have snapped. Instead, he felt only a light pressure. Idly he reached up and banged away at the metal with his bare hand until it fell away.
Lifting the suit and operator inside by the cable, he spun it over his head. It picked up speed like a rock on a string, until the lobby was filled with a roar like helicopter blades. He planned to throw it through the sealed grille. Suddenly the street beyond the entrance was full of flashing blue and red lights and he could see additional riot police hurrying toward the building. Some were clad in suits like the two he’d just disabled while others carried very large weapons.
So instead of heaving the riot suit at the grille, he made a half turn and threw it toward the two-story high glass wall that delineated the far end of the elevator bay. Traveling at tremendous speed, the heavy suit snapped free of the restraining cable and smashed through the thick glass, the panels making a deafening racket as they came crashing down to the unyielding floor.
Now he could hear shouts and yells behind him as he ran for the gap. There were buzzes and pops as guns were fired in his direction. Something stung his right side once, twice. He ignored it and jumped through the opening.
How far the jump carried him he couldn’t tell. Twenty feet outward, thirty, a hundred or more; he couldn’t have said as he soared through the darkness, arms flapping, legs kicking. As he described a long arc, he discovered that someone had stolen the earth. Instead of grass or decorative stonework or gravel there was only another second or two of falling.
Then he fell through a sheet of undulating black ice and disappeared.
The chill of the East River acted like a tonic on his system. Fear and wonder gave way to fresh determination. He kicked hard, gasping, and sucked air as he broke the surface.
Across the river the towering walls of light blinked uncaringly down at him, advance guard of the electronic Stonehenge that was Queens. As he turned a slow circle in the water, he caught sight of the building he’d escaped. He’d landed well out in the river.
Tilting his head back, he saw that the lights were on in maybe half the high-rise homes. Somewhere up there, Lisa. Next time he would have to plan their rendezvous with much greater caution, think it out in more depth. He had a lot to think about.
Voices, loud and upset, drew his attention to the bank above. Drifting and thinking, he decided, could be dangerous to his health. The pursuit had followed him through the hole he’d made in the glass wall, fanned out to inspect the landscaped garden he’d jumped over. Powerful lights probed the well-manicured bushes and trees, crawled up the side of the building. None sought shapes in the water yet. That would come soon.
Taking a deep breath and arcing his back like a dolphin, he went under the surface and started swimming upriver. The water was clean and cool around his body, soothing and unthreatening. He’d always been a good swimmer and he pushed on until his lungs threatened to burst.
When he stuck his head out into the night air the next time, coughing and spitting out river, there was no sign of pursuit. In fact, the residential tower itself lay out of sight downriver. He’d covered far more distance underwater than he’d estimated.
He repeated the dip and swim several times until he was convinced he was near mid-uptown, then swam for shore. There were no docks or industrial buildings here. Manhattan was all residential or office blocks. No one saw him climb the boulders that formed the breakwater.
He sat sharing his seat with curious rock crabs as he caught his breath. A different, evaporative chill replaced the cold of the river. It was vital to get out of his wet clothes, and fast.
A pedestrian park bordered the river where he exited, neat parkland dominated by maples and hybrid elms. He guessed he was close to 102nd Street. Couples holding hands passed by as he ducked into the bushes. Once a police car slid softly past, its electric engine rumbling with stored power. The occupants did not look grim or anxious. No general alarm had been sounded, then. The more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed.
Whoever Tarragon took orders from didn’t want publicity, he remembered. The lower police ranks might not even be notified of this evening’s events.
Then he noticed the drunk sprawled on the grass behind the park bench. The inebriate was neither bum nor plutocrat, just an overindulgent citizen too long away from hearth and home. He was a little taller than Eric. As Eric approached, the man mumbled something about his goddamn boss. A middle-managerial type, Eric decided. Selvem was full of such gray personalities.
He hesitated, the thought of what he was about to do disturbing him much more than the havoc he’d wreaked back in the tower. This man didn’t intend him any harm. But Tarragon and the police hadn’t left him with much choice.
So he walked over to the drunk and said gently, “Excuse me, but I have to do this.” The man stared up at the soaking-wet apparition and gaped. Probably he thought he was looking at a fellow celebrant. Certainly Eric didn’t look like a mugger.
The man said nothing as Eric put an index finger in the hollow of the drunk’s throat and pushed carefully. The man started to kick and fight. Moving behind him, Eric kept up the pressure while holding the man immobile for another minute. That was all it took for him to slump heavily in Eric’s arms.
Letting him fall to the grass, Eric began with the coat, moved on to pants and underwear. Personal belongings he stacked neatly nearby. He was about to do likewise with the man’s wallet, thought better of it, and removed the loose cash, shoving the bills into his own still damp wallet. The more he made his actions resemble an ordinary robbery, the less likely anyone was to connect it to his extraordinary activities. He left the credit cards alone. They were useless to an ordinary thief.
The suit was a little large and hung loosely on his lankier frame, but not enough to attract undue attention, he thought. He tucked the sleeves and cuffs under and it looked better. At night the difference shouldn’t be too noticeable.
As soon as the stores opened he’d find himself a new set of clothes that fit properly. He still had his credit card, though whether it was safe to use it anymore he didn’t know. Tarragon had already amply displayed his ability to access information.
One thing he knew for certain: he couldn’t go back to his hotel. That would be as closely watched now as would Lisa’s codo.
He made a bundle out of his old clothes, leaving his unwilling benefactor snoring and snuffling naked on the grass behind him. There was a public dispos-all situated near the rest rooms half a block away. A few teens gamboled loudly around the water fountain, outrageous in their swapped attire; boys in dresses, girls in suits, unisex makeup plastered on every face. They offered up a few juvenile obscenities but otherwise ignored him. The fountain was brightly lit and close to the street, and they weren’t really in the mood to slice any citizens. He was grateful for the inattention. More trouble he didn’t need.
He stuffed his old clothing into the safety chute and pressed the switch. There was a muffled whoosh as the tube below sucked up the damning evidence, sending it on its way along with several million tons of additional refuse toward the power-plant burners.
From now on he’d have to be exceedingly careful of his movements. Tarragon would be less than polite the next time their paths crossed. If he didn’t try to see Lisa again, he might be able to slip out of the city and pick up a few threads of his former life. Former life. His future, like his mouth, was set. He was going after Lisa, and Tarragon probably knew that as well as he did himself.
How long would Tarragon’s desire to avoid unwelcome publicity keep him from notifying national authorities? Eric could plan better if he knew. Of course, he was a murderer now. Or was he? It had all been in self-defense (or was it resisting arrest?). The past hour was a muddle of screams and rapid movements and confused thoughts. It might be that he hadn’t killed anyone. But he’d certainly damaged many.
He stumbled out of the park, following the beacon of the moving traffic lights on busy First Avenue.
Staring down at his hands, he slowly turned his right hand palm-downward to stare at the knuckles. There was no sign of damage. Even his fingernails were unbroken. He clenched his fingers, slowly let them unclench. An ordinary hand, surely. His hand, smooth and uncallused. The same hand he’d grown up with.
He was suddenly dizzy. Another drinking fountain stood nearby. The edges were smooth, green plastic, the copper spigot dull bronze in the evening streetlight.
Experimentally, he grasped the spigot and pulled hard. Nothing happened. The spigot did not move. Frowning, he took a deep breath and pulled with both hands. Nothing.
There was no threat, be decided. Nothing to make the adrenaline rush to his muscles (though there was no denying any more that something considerably more potent than adrenaline was involved).
After him. They were after him! He had to defend himself, had to save himself and Lisa. They were going to get him, put him away, do something terrible to him, and worse to her!
He pulled again. There was a crunch as cement crumbled and the spigot emerged from its socket, trailing copper pipe behind it. The pipe cut through the thin cement and plastic like a piano wire through flesh. Water began to dribble, then to spurt from strained sections of pipe.
He let it fall aside, stumbled away up the street.
What’s happening to me, he thought wildly? What’s happening to me? It was all crazy. He shouldn’t be able to do things like that. Memory conjured up an image of himself whirling a heavy riot suit and its operator over his head like a cowboy twirling a lariat. Impossible, impossible! Had they really happened, those impossibles, or had he dreamed them?
Methodically, he tried to reconstruct the past hour of his shattered life. He’d gone to see Lisa. Tarragon had confronted them. He’d fled, breaking away from everyone who’d tried to restrain him. No man should have been capable of engineering such an escape.
He wanted to scream for help then, sink to his knees there on the street and scream for the sky to help him, but he dared not risk the attention. Instead he kept walking, lifting his head and regulating his stride in an attempt to melt into the night crowds as he blended into the walkway that bordered the First Avenue corridor.
It was impossible. Therefore it hadn’t taken place. That was simple enough. He forced recent events to the back of his mind. He was reasonably confident of his sanity. Not mad, he told himself reassuringly. Just in love. A new hotel room, new clothes, some food and he’d feel much better. He pulled the opposing lapels tighter across his chest.
It was counterproductive to dwell on the implausible, not to mention the impossible. For the moment, therefore, he would assume they had not happened. Right away he felt his pulse slow. Take a while to concentrate on the basics: food, shelter, clothing. Later Lisa, somehow.
No one stared at the loosely clad figure as it made its way up the avenue. This was Nueva York, and far more badly dressed citizens walked its streets every night. There were some who might have remarked on the strange smile the man wore, but that sort of dazed, distant look was also common in the big city. At least he was walking purposefully and not stumbling inanely about.
The police cruiser that passed on patrol likewise ignored him. Why shouldn’t they? There was nothing to indicate they were ignoring the most dangerous man in the city.
Eric Abbott, of course, did not think of himself as dangerous. No, he was in love, and that was a thing of beauty. Nothing dangerous about being in love.