āEvery word, and not one of them makes a bit of difference.ā
She dried her eyes on the sleeve of his coat. āIt doesnāt, does it? Not to you, anyway.ā She eyed him strangely. āTheyāve told me some of what youāve done. Not to my face. Iāve listened and overheard a lot of things. Tarragon talks on the phone in my presence, sometimes. Youāve done impossible things. Inhuman things.ā¦
āI know. I donāt know how Iāve done them. Itās as much a mystery to me as it must be to Tarragon and his mentors. It doesnāt matter. All that matters is that weāre together now and nothing canāā
She stopped him with a finger to his lips. āNo, Eric. Itās important. It might explain everything. Iām not supposed to be capable of loving you like this, and a nonprofile man is not supposed to fall in love with me. But I do love you, and you love me. I can only think of one thing that explains whatās happened to us, explains what youāre done.
āEric, you have to be an artison yourself.ā
He wasnāt shocked by the suggestion. She thought he might be, but he wasnāt.
āIām not an ignorant person, Lisa. Iāve considered the same possibility. There are certain tests you can do. I applied some of them to myself, when I was left alone back in Nueva York. Attisons are perfectly human, to all outward appearances. But there are tests that can tell.ā She stared anxiously at him.
āIām not an artison, Lisa. It was one of the first things that occured to me whenāāhe hesitatedāāwhen I began doing things no human being should be able to do. I know that somehow Iām special. Only a blind man could deny it. But Iām not an artison. I failed every one of the tests. I didnāt have access to a laboratory, but I did have access to the Nueva York library, and to local drugstores. I failed every test, Lisa. I didnāt pass a single one.ā
āThen what are you, Eric Abbott?ā she asked softly. āWhat are you?ā
āI donāt know. Different, but not like you. Different in some other way. Iām a design engineer. I know how to run tests and interpret results. I agree it would have explained everything, and I almost wish it had. But it didnāt. Iām no artison. More than a human, certainly, but in what way Iāve no idea.
āIt doesnāt matter, truly it doesnāt. Someday weāll find out. All that matters now is that we love each other. Can you accept that, for now, as enough?ā
āIf you can accept what I am and still love me, Eric, then I can accept anything.ā She searched the cathedralās interior. āWe need to start thinking, start planning our escape. Not from London, but from Britain. I know itās impossible to stay free forever, but youāve made me want to try. Theyāll track us down eventually, but a few days, or weeks, of happiness will help me live out the rest of my life. Iāll always have those memories to turn to.ā Her eyes were bright and she looked more alive than heād ever seen her.
āWeāll give them a run for it, Eric! It wonāt be easy. Youāre a wanted man, and me, Iām an expensive product, difficult to replace. Letās make them work for me!ā
āWeāll do more than that,ā Eric assured her. āYou keep saying thereās no place we can hide from them, nowhere outside Tarragonās reach? Well Iāve been thinking, and there is such a place. Weāve been talking about it for the last ten minutes. WOSA needs colonists? Well, itās just acquired another two.ā ā
She tried to hide her smile. āThatās a wonderful idea, Eric. Unfortunately, it canāt work. Itās impossible. Of course, my falling in love with you is impossible. Your falling in love with me is impossible. Sitting here now, holding you close, instead of lying dead downriver or back in Nueva York is also impossible. So I suppose I shouldnāt be intimidated by still another impossibility.ā
āNo indeed,ā he told her, eyes shining. āBut we have to wait here a few minutes longer before we can begin.ā He settled himself against the ancient bench.
āBut why?ā
There was a strange, beatific expression on his face. Beneath the dome, the voices of the choir soared. āIāve always loved Vaughn Williams.ā
Tarragon was accustomed to operating independent of government interference. He reported to an authority which regarded regional governments as nuisances, relics of a dying past.
Despite that, or more likely because of it, he regarded the upcoming interview with apprehension. The trip across the frozen surface of Lake Lucerne had been made in eerie silence, the skifoil skimming the ice while fat snowflakes drifted down to melt against the windows, and the craggy majesty of the Alps rose like pale ghosts behind the storm clouds.
The entrance to the mountain was deceptively calm, the immense metal doors moving aside to admit him quietly, the ranks of armed, alert guards noting his every step. Inside he found himself plunged into an organized maelstrom of activity, bumped and nudged by rapidly, moving programmers and processors while his escort maneuvered them both ever deeper into the bowels of the Authority.
Then the escort left him alone outside a door. It was a perfectly ordinary door, identical to dozens heād passed during his descent. The voice that bade him enter, however, sent a chill through him, a new sensation for Tarragon. Every informed human being on Earth knew that voice.
āCome in, please.ā He entered.
The elderly man who sat staring at several optos matched the voice. Tarragon looked past him, at the optos. The information displayed was incomprehensible to him.
How tired he looks, Tarragon thought. He always looked tired during his public appearances, but never this worn. He wondered if they used makeup on him for his opto speeches.
āItās me, sir. I have an appointment. Tarragon?ā
āTarragon? Oh, yes, the man from North America.ā Oristano swiveled round in his chair and extended a hand. He did not rise.
āHow do you do, Tarragon.ā He gestured toward a nearby couch. āPlease take a seat.ā
Tarragon did so, feeling a little more at ease. While the Chief of Operations and Programming still presented a formidable appearance, it was much less impressive than heād anticipated. What Martin Oristano represented, however, was more than enough to awe his visitor.
āExcuse me, sir, but I still donāt know why Iāve been told to report to you. Iām not used to being yanked from an unfinished assignment, especially one as baffling and frustrating as the one Iāve been concentrating on this past month.ā
āI am quite familiar with the problems youāve been having, Tarragon, and believe me, I sympathize.ā
Tarragon nodded, unsurprised. The CPO had access to everything that happened on the planet. āThen thereās more to this business than Iāve been told?ā
āQuite a bit more.ā
āThat still doesnāt tell me why Iām here, or why Iāve been pulled from the case.ā
āYou havenāt been āpulled from the case,ā Tarragon. Youāre still assigned to it. Youāve been brought here to be filled in. You see, the Colligatarch itself has become interested in the exploits of your Mr. Abbott.ā
āI knew it.ā Tarragon nodded as he shifted nervously on the couch. It was too soft for his taste. It made him want to relax. āI knew there had to be more to that man than met the eye. I didnāt believe the reports until he slipped out of our grasp in Nueva York. And then when he escaped from us a second time outside London, and then right in front of ā¦ have you been told what heās done?ā
āAs I said. I am familiar with the relevant details.ā
āIām sure you are, sir, but itās one thing to read about them on an opto screen and another to stand in front of a hole in a solid concrete wall that your quarryās just walked through. Itās another thing to watch him vanish before your eyes before sleep gas and a dozen shells reach his body. What am I dealing with here, sir? I have to know what I can expect in the future.ā
āI understand, Tarragon. In turn you must understand that this business has put many important people, including myself, under a considerable strain. Iāve spent more time on this matter than intended, and now it appears little enough time remains.ā
āThere is still enough time,ā said a new voice. Tarragonās eyes swept the room, saw no one. Then the small hairs on the back of his neck rose as he realized who the voice must belong to.
Suddenly he wished he was elsewhere. He was just a poor city boy from the back alleys of Ankara whoād risen far in a difficult profession. He didnāt belong here. There were forces in motion around him beyond his comprehension, forces that would use him or cast him aside with cold indifference. The role of pawn didnāt appeal to him.
āExcuse me, your lordship.ā Immediately he felt a fool. That couldnāt be correct. But neither could āyour computership.ā
The machine sensed his distress. It was not uncommon in humans conversing with the Colligatarch for the first time.
āColligatarch will be fine, Kemal.ā
He relaxed a little, wondering that the machine would be thoughtful enough to address him in the familiar. His professional curiosity quickly overcame his awe.
āColligatarch, I was told that certain things that should not have happened have, indeed, happened. They progress toward the absurd. Who or what is this Eric Abbott I have been asked to capture?ā
āEric Abbott is a threat, Kemal. A threat not only to the Lure program to which you are attached by WOSA, but to a great deal more. Everything that has happened up to now has been part of an elaborate deception, designed to mask the actual nature of this threat.
āI have entertained suspicions as to the true nature for some time now, but only suspicions. We have all been cleverly drawn down an entirely wrong path. Now I believe I have divined their actual intentions. We are at a crisis point.
āI could deal with the immediate danger posed by your Eric Abbott, but that would result in his destruction. There is a small but finite opportunity to change the moral and ethical polarities involved. I would prefer to do this, but it entails considerable risk.ā
āI didnāt think the Colligatarch took risks.ā