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Authors: Patricia Anthony
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fantasized about it. In my bed. In the dark. Didn’t use to be afraid. Only lately. Only after.
But what if I could go back? My whole life. Stop it this time. And what if all I had to do is walk through the dark? It’s the walk, I told Kanz. My wife walks like an M-9. A proud walk. It throws murderers off stride.
What if someone’s waiting for her? A knife. The alleyway. But I can’t walk proud like that. I blunder through the dense black where she disappeared. Buckled sidewalk trips me. A double tap. My own echo. I’m not sure which direction I’m going until I turn the corner.
Garish kiosk — the only spot of color on Revelation. A blond woman in a red coat stands there. Back to me. Oh. Back to me. Reading the menu.
I have to hold my breath. Careful. Careful. Does she hear my heart pound? Frighten her. Lose her. Not again.
She whirls. Her eyes are wide. And brown. Her eyes are brown. Her nose is wrong. Her mouth too wide. Not Lila. What’s the matter with me? Of course not Lila. Not Reece.
But something in the way she holds her head. Something in the way she walks. From a distance . . .
“Oh,” she says dismissively. “It’s you.” I swallow hard.
She turns her back on me again. “I thought you’d take the hint.”
“Mrs. Hendrix?”
Her shoulders tense. She passes her card through the reader. Punches her order up.
“I just want to talk to you.”
Hold you.
I walk to her side. Under the coat, her body’s not at all like Lila’s. Stockier. Thicker waist. Larger breasts.
She sees me looking. “Nothing personal, but if you want to talk about Paulie, let’s keep it business.”
“Yes.” I cough into my hand. My cheeks burn. “All right.”
She takes a sandwich from the food slot. A cup of coffee from Beverages. Then she selects a table and finds a chair.
I order my own coffee. “Why did you run?” I keep my back to her. To that blond hair. Tilted chin.
“It’s easier that way.”
No. No, it’s not. “Is it?”
“You think Paulie’s innocent.”
An electric jolt of shock. When I pick up my coffee, my hand shakes. “I’m exploring that possibility.” I take a deep breath and turn. Not so hard to do. Not so much like her. I carry my coffee to the table and sit down. “How did you guess that?”
“Deduction.” Mrs. Hendrix has a smile that makes her look like a school girl. “If you thought Paulie was guilty, there’d be no reason to hunt for me in the south side, a quest that I’m sure was not without either its frustrations or dangers.”
A smart woman. Too smart? Is that why Vanderslice never helped her? “Was your husband involved in a revolution?”
“He was involved in rebellion up to his neck.” Her smile widens. Her eyes fill with devilment. “Paulie was motivated to see the Tennyson government fall. So was I. We worked for years at it.” Her gaze shifts. She looks across the empty dark street. “Perhaps ‘rebellion’ is too strong a word. It was no secret how either one of us felt. Paulie skirted the limits of the Apostasy Laws. In private, he broke them. But no one ever knew. It was never a crime to complain about the government. Everyone just considered it outré.”
“What about the plans found in his DEEP?”
Her eyes lock with mine. Not a kind brown. Nor a warm brown. Resilient. Like hardwood. “And therein lies the conundrum. Paulie never had anything in his DEEP.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Paulie was a brilliant man, but he was uncomfortable with programming. All his computer commands were verbal. He had no idea how to create a DEEP. There’s only one way that information could have got there: it was planted.”
The kiosk’s icemaker hums and then upchucks a clattering load of ice into its steel bin. I look at the dented machinery and the red and blue sign above: DANGER. INJURY MAY RESULT FROM NON-PAYMENT.
“I’ve been told that nobody can access a DEEP except from the home port.”
“That’s what they want us to think.
But what if I could go back? My whole life. Stop it this time. And what if all I had to do is walk through the dark? It’s the walk, I told Kanz. My wife walks like an M-9. A proud walk. It throws murderers off stride.
What if someone’s waiting for her? A knife. The alleyway. But I can’t walk proud like that. I blunder through the dense black where she disappeared. Buckled sidewalk trips me. A double tap. My own echo. I’m not sure which direction I’m going until I turn the corner.
Garish kiosk — the only spot of color on Revelation. A blond woman in a red coat stands there. Back to me. Oh. Back to me. Reading the menu.
I have to hold my breath. Careful. Careful. Does she hear my heart pound? Frighten her. Lose her. Not again.
She whirls. Her eyes are wide. And brown. Her eyes are brown. Her nose is wrong. Her mouth too wide. Not Lila. What’s the matter with me? Of course not Lila. Not Reece.
But something in the way she holds her head. Something in the way she walks. From a distance . . .
“Oh,” she says dismissively. “It’s you.” I swallow hard.
She turns her back on me again. “I thought you’d take the hint.”
“Mrs. Hendrix?”
Her shoulders tense. She passes her card through the reader. Punches her order up.
“I just want to talk to you.”
Hold you.
I walk to her side. Under the coat, her body’s not at all like Lila’s. Stockier. Thicker waist. Larger breasts.
She sees me looking. “Nothing personal, but if you want to talk about Paulie, let’s keep it business.”
“Yes.” I cough into my hand. My cheeks burn. “All right.”
She takes a sandwich from the food slot. A cup of coffee from Beverages. Then she selects a table and finds a chair.
I order my own coffee. “Why did you run?” I keep my back to her. To that blond hair. Tilted chin.
“It’s easier that way.”
No. No, it’s not. “Is it?”
“You think Paulie’s innocent.”
An electric jolt of shock. When I pick up my coffee, my hand shakes. “I’m exploring that possibility.” I take a deep breath and turn. Not so hard to do. Not so much like her. I carry my coffee to the table and sit down. “How did you guess that?”
“Deduction.” Mrs. Hendrix has a smile that makes her look like a school girl. “If you thought Paulie was guilty, there’d be no reason to hunt for me in the south side, a quest that I’m sure was not without either its frustrations or dangers.”
A smart woman. Too smart? Is that why Vanderslice never helped her? “Was your husband involved in a revolution?”
“He was involved in rebellion up to his neck.” Her smile widens. Her eyes fill with devilment. “Paulie was motivated to see the Tennyson government fall. So was I. We worked for years at it.” Her gaze shifts. She looks across the empty dark street. “Perhaps ‘rebellion’ is too strong a word. It was no secret how either one of us felt. Paulie skirted the limits of the Apostasy Laws. In private, he broke them. But no one ever knew. It was never a crime to complain about the government. Everyone just considered it outré.”
“What about the plans found in his DEEP?”
Her eyes lock with mine. Not a kind brown. Nor a warm brown. Resilient. Like hardwood. “And therein lies the conundrum. Paulie never had anything in his DEEP.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Paulie was a brilliant man, but he was uncomfortable with programming. All his computer commands were verbal. He had no idea how to create a DEEP. There’s only one way that information could have got there: it was planted.”
The kiosk’s icemaker hums and then upchucks a clattering load of ice into its steel bin. I look at the dented machinery and the red and blue sign above: DANGER. INJURY MAY RESULT FROM NON-PAYMENT.
“I’ve been told that nobody can access a DEEP except from the home port.”
“That’s what they want us to think.
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