“All three of the books by Maurice Tenger?”
“The very same. How perceptive of you.”
“I presume your credentials are in order.”
From somewhere under all that marabou, Dewahl produced a datastar and handed it to her. Rabino-witz slipped it into the receptacle and quickly scanned the readout. All the licenses from both Jenithar and Earth seemed current; she could check their authenticity later. She made a quick copy and handed the star back to him.
“The situation is highly mobile,” he told her. “You may be contacted as well by others. I assure you, though, no one is better positioned to be more generous than am I.”
“You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.” Rabinowitz went on to list the terms of her agreement with Levexitor, exaggerating each clause slightly in her favor. Dewahl never flinched.
“It sounds highly equitable,” he said when she finished.
“Good. I’ll have my attorney draw up some contracts. You should have them in a few days.”
“Most excellent.” He looked as though there was more on his mind that he didn’t have the words to express.
“Was there something else?” she asked.
“These dealings have been so fortuitous, I was wondering whether other deals might be made as well.”
“I’d love nothing better. I represent many different clients and agencies. What kind of work did you have in mind?”
Dewahl shimmied uneasily. His marabou shook in an oddly disquieting manner. “It is said that there are some works from your world lacking in contemporary representation.”
“Sounds like an oxymoron to me. I can’t represent work that isn’t represented.”
“Perhaps I misphrased myself. I meant work whose creators are no longer available to represent it.”
“I think you mean world domain. I’m afraid I can’t help you with that except to direct you to the proper United Nations office. By Earth law, I can only handle material that’s still under copyright; the UN takes jurisdiction when it becomes world domain.”
“Perhaps I was misinformed. One hears stories of deals being made outside of normal channels… it is so hard to know the truth when the only one who knows all is Dahb Chalnas, and he is scheduled to die in six days for his crime.”
“So soon? I guess Jenitharp really believe that justice delayed is justice denied. Who told you I might deal in world domain material?”
Suddenly the room went red. Dewahl vanished, to be replaced by an image of dark circles inside brighter ones, images of her own eyes. They throbbed and pulsed, then slowly began to circle one another like mad moons. The room faded to navy blue, and a myriad of little stars began sparkling, closing in from the periphery. Her ears filled with a hypnotic humming, constant and yet also in tune with the throbbing eyes.
She could not feel herself. Her limbs, her body, her head—all were gone. Reality was just the blue and the stars and the moon-eyes, receding slowly into the distance like an escaping soap bubble, until it quietly popped and made nothingness out of nullity.
She squinted at the colors trying desperately to coalesce into shapes and she swatted instinctively at the swarm of flies that buzzed around her head. Very intelligent flies, obviously—the buzzing sounded almost like words. “You gave us quite a scare,” the swarm said.
“You’re not my Auntie Em,” Rabinowitz mumbled hazily. She tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but bumped her shoulder on the side rails. The texture of her waterbed was all wrong, too, much too hard and firm.
“Don’t zip out on me just yet,” the flies said, but they were losing some of their buzz. “The doctor said you should stay up for awhile.” Hands grabbed her and pulled her into a sitting posture. This had the unintended effect of causing the whole Universe to wobble. The colors shifted in and out of focus like a drunken kaleidoscope.
“Do you know who you are?” the flies went on.
“Of course 1 know,” she said. “I know, therefore I am. I think.”
“Ah, even if it wasn’t in your files I could guess you were a college graduate. Do you know who I am?”
“The Lord of the Flies.”
“Close enough for government. Now for the big one: Do you know where you are?”
“In bed,” Rabinowitz said. “You can’t fool me that easy.”
“And they told me you wouldn’t make any sense. Do you know who tried to kill you?”
“Kill me? Kill me?” Rabinowitz put her hands up to hold her head steady, which caused the colors and the flies to merge into the form and voice of Detective Hoy. “Did somebody try to kill me?”
“No fair, I asked you first.”
“Nobody wants to kill me. I’m cute, I’m sweet, I’m bright as a new penny. My Daddy showed me a penny in a museum once, but there haven’t been new ones for fifty years. Doesn’t matter, it’s the principle of the thing. Nobody would kill me. I’m beloved of all. By all. Whatever.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you always wake up like this.”
“Yes. No. I don’t remember. It’s a lady’s prerogative not to remember.”
“Maybe, but it’s not a lady’s prerogative to be found unconscious on her veering room floor.”
“Then, since I’m every inch a lady—however much an inch is—I won’t do it.”
“Oh yes, I quite agree. Once was enough.”
Her mind was circling the idea like a hawk about to swoop. “Somebody tried to kill me?”
“I guess it must take some getting used to. Yes, somebody tried to kill you. Somebody with a lot of resources. How much do you remember?”
“You would ask a trick question. My memory is not plugged in today. The whole rest of the world is at the wrong end of the telescope, and I can only wave at it from the shore.”
“Your veering set was still hooked up and running when they found you. Do you remember that much?”
“I don’t remember going anywhere.”
“Did somebody come to you?”
Rabinowitz started to nod slowly, then reached up quickly to grab her head as it threatened to fall off. “That sounds possible. All things are possible in time.”
“According to phone company records, you got an incoming call from Jenithar.”
“You have an annoying habit of asking questions you already know the answers to.”
“I know my answers to them. I don’t necessarily know yours. Besides, the phone company couldn’t verily the party at the other end of the line.”
“Jenithar. Yeah, someone from Jenithar. That sounds about right. I don’t remember his name. It’ll be in my log. I record all calls. Seemed to think I could get him some world domain material. Funny, huh?”
“Hilarious. What did you tell him?”
“Just the Bible, the Koran, and the complete works of Shakespeare.” She let go of her head experimentally, and it seemed to stay precariously balanced atop her neck. “Somebody tried to kill me?”
“Is there an echo in here?”
“You said it was somebody with a lot of resources.”
“For somebody whose memory isn’t plugged in, you’re doing a good job.”
“Virtual memory, an effective simulation. Why did you say that about the resources?”
“As near as we can tell, this person tried to kill you with a sensory overload program. It’s not real common here on Earth—we don’t even tell people it’s possible—but there are some twinkers from Besortix who specialize in it. Their program slices into your veering set on some other carrier wave so it can’t be traced back to them. Once it’s on your system it overloads your senses, particularly sight and sound. It tries to lock your brain into a weird pattern, like certain flashing lights can trigger an epileptic attack or a migraine. Only this program tries to make the condition permanent. If it burns in deep enough, it can even affect the brain functions that keep your heart and lungs working.”