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"Come with me, sir."
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The next room was more like a major general's office. Wood paneling, actual
paintings on the walls, a pic window that displayed Mount Kilimanjaro. One
wall of awards and citations and holos of the general with four presidents.
The old gentleman rose gracefully from behind his acre of uncluttered desk. He
was obviously athletic and had a twinkle in his eye.
"Lieutenant, please sit over here." He indicated one of a pair of
leather-upholstered easy chairs. He looked at the sergeant. "And bring in Mr.
Carew."
Thurman sat uneasily, "Sir, I'm not sure how many people ought to "
"Oh, Mr. Carew's a civilian, but we can trust him. He's an information
specialist. He'll jack with you and save us all kinds of time."
Thurman had a premonitory migraine glow. "Sir, is that absolutely necessary?
Jacking "
"Oh yes, yes. The man's a jack witness in the federal court system. He's a
marvel, a real marvel."
The marvel came in without speaking. He looked like a wax replica of himself.
Formal tunic and string tie.
"Him," he said, and the general nodded. He sat down in the other chair and
pulled two jack cables from a box on the table between him and Thurman.
Thurman opened his mouth to explain, but then just plugged in. Carew followed
suit.
Thurman stiffened and his eyes rolled back. Carew stared at him with interest
and started breathing hard, sweat dotting his forehead.
After a few minutes he unplugged, and Thurman sagged into relieved
unconsciousness. "That was hard on him," Carew said, "but I have a great deal
of interesting information."
"Have it all?" the general said.
"All we need and more."
Thurman started to cough and slowly levered himself into a normal sitting
position. He clamped his forehead with one hand and massaged a temple with the
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other. "Sir... could I ask for a Pain-go?"
"Certainly ... sergeant?" She went out and returned with a glass of water and
a pill.
He gulped it down gratefully. "Now ... sir. What do we do next?"
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"The next thing you do, son, is get some rest. The sergeant will take you to a
hotel."
"Sir, I don't have a ration book, or any money. It's all back in Portobello; I
was under detention."
"Don't worry. We'll take care of everything."
"Thank you, sir." The headache was retreating, but he had to close his eyes at
the mirrored elevator car, or face the prospect of watching himself puke a
thousand times at once.
The limousine hadn't moved. He slid gratefully onto the soft slick plastic.
The driver closed his door and got in the front. "This hotel," he asked her,
"are we going all the way downtown?"
"No," she said, and started the engine. "Arlington." She turned and raised a
silenced .22 automatic and shot him once in the left eye. He clawed for the
door handle and she leaned over and shot him again, point-blank in the temple.
She made a face at the mess and pushed the button that directed the car to the
cemetery.
MARTY DROPPED HIS BOMBSHELL by bringing a friend to breakfast. We were eating
out of the machines, as usual for the morning meal, when Marty walked in with
someone whom I didn't at first recognize. He smiled, though, and I remembered
the diamond set into his front tooth.
"Private Benyo?" He was one of the mechanic guards replaced by my old platoon.
"In the flesh, sarge." He shook hands with Amelia and introduced himself, then
sat down and poured a cup of coffee.
"So what's the story?" I asked. "It didn't take?"
"Nope." He grinned again. "What it didn't take was two weeks.'"
"What?"
"It doesn't "take two weeks," Marty said. "Benyo is humanized, and so are all
the others."
"I don't get it."
"Your stabilizer, Candi, was in the loop. That's what did it! It only takes
about two days, if you're jacked with somebody who's already humanized."
"But... then why did it take the whole two weeks with Jefferson?"
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Marty laughed.  It didn't! He was one of them after a couple of days, but
people didn't recognize it, since he was the first and he was ninety percent
there from the beginning. Everybody, Jefferson included, was concentrating on
Ingram, not him."
"But then you take a guy like me," Benyo said, "who hates the idea from the
very start and wasn't exactly a sweetheart to begin with hell, everybody could
tell when I converted." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]