"Yeah, I know. Nobody's like anybody else anymore-only everybody's still running from everybody else."
I started searching for my shirt. "I'm not running from, I'm running to. If you knew-"
"Uh huh. You've even got a secret mission. Like everybody else." She threw herself back in the bed, rolling up in the blankets, pulling a pillow over her head. "Just go away, Jim-quietly! Okay?"
I sat down on the bed next to her while I pulled on my shoes. "Listen, I'll come back, all right? If it's not too late. I want to."
"Don't bother," she mmfled from under the pillow.
"Marcie, please don't be angry with me. I wish I could tell you, but I can't." I bent to kiss her, but she wouldn't let me pull the pillow away from her head. "All right, have it your own way." I drove back to the hotel, feeling like something that had crawled out from under a rock and not knowing why. Dammitthe harder I tried to be honorable the worse I felt. Why couldn't I just be a shit like Ted and have everybody falling all over me? The only answer I could think of to that was that I didn't know how to be a shit. I was doomed to go through life always trying to be nice. Always trying to rationalize. Always trying to understand. I switched on the auto-terminal angrily, and punched for channel fifteen. It was a replay of one of the Free Forum sessions at the conference, but listening to it only made me angrier. Why were they broadcasting this bullshit anyway? If these people wanted to be stupid, that was their business-but how many innocent people were going to be endangered because they believed what they heard on the network? I was almost trembling with anger when I finally pulled into the hotel's underground parking.
I circled down into the concrete bowels of the building. There was a ramp marked SERVICE and I pulled into that. The robot guard scanned my card, looked at my face and cleared me without question. The elevator also checked my identity before delivering me to the thirteenth floor.
There were no armed guards waiting for me when the elevator doors slid open. I let out the breath I had been holding all the way up.
I went back to the room they had assigned me and checked in at the terminal. "Request instructions."
The screen cleared, then flashed: "Please wait at this location until further notice."
What did that mean?
I sat in front of the terminal and waited, staring at the screen. How long?
Had Wallachstein and the others already met and decided my fate? While I hadn't been there to speak for myself?
I went into the kitchen and got myself some tomato juice, then I came back to the keyboard and sat down again. Still nothing. I thought of Marcie. I could still smell the honey-warmth of her hair. It made me feel warm and toasty inside-until I remembered the bitterness of my abrupt exit. I wondered if she'd forgive me.
Well, maybe I could do something while I waited. I cleared the screen and punched for Library Service. The screen flashed: "Sorry. This terminal is locked."
Huh?
I tried again. Same answer.
I pulled my card out of the reader-slot and went to the door. It wouldn't open. "Invalid code."
I came back into the room, stood in the center of it and looked around for another way out. The balcony?
I opened the sliding door and stepped out, leaning out over the railing to see how high I was. Too high. Thirteen stories. It wasn't the fall that was dangerous, it was the abrupt stop at the end.
What about climbing over the railing to an adjacent balcony? Not possible. The balconies were isolated for privacy. Another service of your security-conscious Marriott.
I looked down again, then went back into the room and took inventory. Two sheets, king size. Two blankets, king size. Not enough. Even with the drapes, I'd probably be four stories short.
I sat down in front of the terminal again and began to drink my tomato juice. It was tart. It made the salivary glands at the back of my mouth hurt. Did I have any other options?
I couldn't think of any.
Why did I want to escape anyway? Because they had locked me in. And why had they locked me in? Because they were afraid I might try to escape.
And what did that imply? That they had made a decision? That they had something planned for me that I might not like? And I had rushed from Marcie's bed to come here? No wonder so many people thought me a fool.
I downed the rest of the juice in a few quick swallows, then sank back in the chair and glowered at the implacable screen of the terminal.
It was totally disconnected. Before it would respond again, it would have to be cleared by someone with a priority code.
I thought about Marcie and my promise to call her. I wouldn't even be able to do that.
I thought about Wallachstein and his barely veiled threats. Had I failed the psychiatric examination?
What if they did decide to make me disappear? Wasn't I entitled to a fair trial--or had I already had it? How would they do it? Would I get any warning? How did they make people disappear anyway?
I realized I was sweating. I couldn't sit still. I got up and searched the room again, the balcony, the door-
The door beeped.
I started to call, "Who is it?" and then stopped. What if it were a firing squad? Would they do it here in the room? Or would they take me somewhere else to do it?
I stood there, debating whether to holler for help or try to hide. Before I could make up my mind, the door slid open. "May I come in?"
"Huh? Who-?" And then I placed him. Fromkin. The man who ate strawberries and lox while talking about global starvation. The pompous asshole.
"I said, `May I come in?' I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
"Uh, no-I-uh, how did you open the door?"
He held up a card with a gold stripe on it for me to see. "Oh," I said.
I made room, he stepped inside and the door slid closed. I looked at it, wanting to see if it would open for me now, but I resisted. I followed him into the room and we sat down. He sank into his chair with easy grace. How old was he, I wondered?
He studied me for a moment with sharp dark eyes, then he said, "I'm here because a mutual friend of ours suggested that I talk to you. Do you understand?"
"No names, huh?"
"That's right." He repeated, "Do you understand?" Wallachstein had asked the same question several times. A phrase floated into my mind: the comprehension of the defendant. It was an important legal consideration. There had been a Supreme Court decision about it once. I wondered, was this part of my trial too?
"Is this official?" I asked.
He looked annoyed. "Unless you answer my question, I have to leave. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I said quickly. "I do. I understand. Now answer my question. Is this an official visit, or what?"
"If you want to look at it that way, yes. Our mutual friend thought we ought to have a little chat. It's to your benefit."
"Is it? Really?"
Fromkin looked annoyed, but otherwise he ignored the question. He said, "In case you're wondering, yes, I did see your performance this morning-and yes, I also remember you from last night. For someone who only got in town yesterday, you've certainly let people know you're here." I must have looked embarrassed, for he added, "To be fair, it's not all your doing. This city is just another small town these days. The number-two indoor sport is gossiping about the number-one indoor sport-and who's playing which position. You and your boyfriend just got caught in the middle, that's all."
"We're not boyfriends. The middle of what?"
Fromkin scratched his head. "Uh, let me explain it this way. There's a certain group of people; rumor has it that they're very important. Although nobody knows who's in the group, or even who does what, or even what the group is supposed to be doing, everybody suspects that anybody who knows anything must be in that group. It just so happens that some of those suspicions are very accurate. So when one of those supposed-to-be-important individuals is suddenly called away from her-ah, personal affairs-to bring in a Very Important Delivery, well, then, naturally there's going to be a great deal of interest in that delivery."