Veil

"When did it happen?" Veil asked quietly.

"Early yesterday morning."

After he had escaped from the cage, Veil thought. "Here or on the other mountain?"

"The other mountain. He was working late in his office, probably trying to figure a way to get you out of the Army compound. The gunman must have taken him by surprise. One of the security guards heard shots and went running. He found Jonathan on the floor."

Not quite by surprise, Veil thought. His enemy would be a crack shot. Pilgrim had undoubtedly heard a chiming sound inside his head, had just enough time to react and save himself from an instant kill. "Is he going to make it?"

Sharon frowned and absently brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. Veil glanced at her, and for the first time saw past her stunning beauty to the fatigue that had soaked into her bones and was pulling at her flesh. "I don't know," she said in a hoarse whisper. "The doctors don't know. They say it's up to him."

A young orderly entered the room pushing a cart on which was a tray of food, a pot of steaming coffee, and a small paper cup with two pills in it, one purple and one blue. Veil tossed the pills across the room into a wastebasket, then poured himself coffee and drank it down. The hot liquid seared his mouth, but at the same time filled him with a warm, satisfying glow that pushed back his fatigue. It was the second most delicious drink he had ever tasted.

"I've seen a few wounded men," Veil said around a mouthful of steak and mashed potatoes. "Considering the fact that he took a bullet in the chest, Jonathan looks in fairly decent shape."

"He was lucky," Sharon replied in a tight voice. "The bullet missed his heart and lungs. It ricocheted around his rib cage and came to rest without nicking any vital organs."

Veil took another mouthful of steak and potatoes, washed the food down with a second cup of coffee. "And?"

"With a long rest and proper care, he would recover."

Veil detected the note of deep concern in Sharon's voice, turned to her. "Would recover?"

Sharon did not answer, and she would not meet his gaze.

"Is he still under anesthetic?"

"No. That wore off hours ago." Now she looked at Veil, and tears glistened in her silver-streaked eyes. "Veil, he just refuses to come back."

Veil pushed aside the cart and went to Pilgrim's bedside. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out and gently touched the other man's shoulder. "He's there, isn't he?"

"Yes," Sharon replied simply as she wheeled over a portable electroencephalograph and attached electrodes to Pilgrim's temples. She turned on the switch; instantly the spiked EEG pattern associated with the Lazarus Gate appeared on the green cathode tube monitor.

Veil swallowed hard, found that his mouth was dry. "Bring him back."

"I'm afraid to authorize any kind of treatment, Veil. Look at the lines; look how strong they are. Jonathan is actually controlling his own state of consciousness. We're sure that he could live if he wanted to; I believe he could also will himself to die. I'm afraid that if I try to pull him back, he'll simply let go. I won't take the chance."

"But why—?" Veil swallowed the rest of the question. He knew the answer, and he voiced it. "He's waiting for me, Sharon."

The woman nodded slowly. "I know. I was afraid to admit it to myself, but it's the only explanation."

"Send me to him."

"No!" Sharon said sharply, bitterness creeping into her voice. "Jonathan has no right to do this!"

"Send me to him."

"I can't!"

"I don't believe you."

"Jonathan brought you to the Institute because you'd been painting pictures of . . . whatever that place is where he's gone. Can't you get there yourself?"

"Sharon, I painted those pictures from dreams—and I'm not exactly sleepy at the moment. Even if I were, I'm not sure what would happen under stress. Also, even if I could reach that state of dream-consciousness, there's no guarantee that I'd end up where Jonathan is. I've never been tested, so we don't know what my EEG looks like when I'm in that dream state. Jonathan is at the Lazarus Gate. It seems I've only been beyond; I've never seen any gate of light, never flown through an ocean of blue. I need to go where he is, and the only way to do that is for you to manipulate my consciousness until my brain-wave pattern matches his. You told me it was theoretically possible."

"He's been in love with death ever since the plane crash. Now he wants you to love her too."

"That's not true. You sound jealous."

"If I lose you because of Jonathan's madness, I assure you that what I'll be feeling will be a little stronger than jealousy."

"He has something to tell—or show—me."

"Then let him come back and tell you!"

"He can't, or he won't. I have to go there."

"Now you sound as crazy as Jonathan! Don't you understand? You can't go to him! There is no place to go. All the Lazarus Gate represents is a nerve spasm, a bit of brain chemistry changes in an instant of time before death. The fact that Jonathan has found a way to freeze that instant doesn't change the fact that it's all an illusion. Two people can't occupy the same place, in either space or time."

"We won't know that unless I try to occupy the same place. This is what my invitation to the Institute was all about from the beginning. It's one of the reasons Jonathan insists that I come to him—or at least make the attempt."

"Veil, don't you understand that I'd virtually have to kill you?"

Suddenly Veil found himself laughing. He stepped forward, took Sharon in his arms, and hugged her. "Come on, Sharon. I'm half dead already. Sending me the rest of the way shouldn't be all that difficult. I really do have to see if it's possible to have a chat with Jonathan where he is. He won't have it any other way."

Sharon pushed him away with both hands, then slapped him hard. When there was no response except for a sudden, cold glint in his eyes, she slapped him again. When she went to hit him again, Veil grabbed her wrist and held it.

"You have no right, Veil! You have no right to ask me to kill you!"

"But I am asking you," he replied in a voice that had grown as cold as his eyes. "But you won't be killing me. You'll be bringing me to a state near death. Then you can bring me back."

"There's no guarantee, Veil! It's never been done!"

"I'm not asking for a guarantee. How could you put me under to the necessary degree? Answer me!"

"Drugs, I suppose," Sharon answered in a small voice. She was unable to take her eyes away from Veil's. "Maybe with the right mix of anesthesia, something paralytic." Tears welled in her eyes, and she choked back a sob. "Veil, you seem so different. I'm afraid of you."

"What about the brain-wave pattern? How could it be manipulated? Answer me!"

"More drugs," Sharon whispered, "combined with low levels of electricity."

"And bringing me back?"

"High-voltage electric shock. Perhaps. Maybe, Veil."

"Can you do it yourself?"

Sharon quickly shook her head. "No, Veil. It's ... so complicated. At the very least I need to consult with an anesthesiologist and a neurologist. Then I'll need—"

"No! You're lying. You're a physician, and you've studied the problem; you're probably the only person who's studied the problem from a medical viewpoint. I'm betting you've done detailed computer simulations of exactly this situation. I'm betting you know, at least in theory, exactly what mix of drugs and anesthesia to use, as well as the proper levels of electricity. Am I right?"

Sharon closed her eyes to shut Veil out, but she could not hold back the truth. "Yes . . . but only in theory. Veil, I can't understand why you want to do this thing."