Read Online Identity Matrix (1982) by Jack L. Chalker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jack L. Chalker
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Her merest gesture, word, glance, was heaven to me.
I was totally, madly, completely in love with Dorian Tomlinson.
We walked and talked for most of the afternoon, and generally enjoyed each other's company. I was too busy acting like a lovesick schoolgirl to have to pretend to anything, and later on, when the fatigue wouldn't go away, I went sound asleep in her arms, cradled against her warm, soft breasts.
"We'll be in to Prince Rupert before noon," Dory told me gravely. The comment sobered me, bringing me down from my secure high of the past day and a half. Dory was going home to Calgary, a long train trip from Prince Rupert but definitely out of my way.
"What happens then?" I asked apprehensively.
She sighed. "Well, I can't very well desert you here, and yet I have a train to catch."
"Let me come with you, then," I pleaded. "I don't eat much, and I could probably smuggle myself aboard any old train or something."
She laughed. "I don't think we're that hard up. But, yes, you're right. The only thing I can do now is take you. I have a small efficiency apartment just off campus you could stay at, at least for a while. Think you can talk your way past customs?"
"Sure," I told her. "Nothing to it. An Indian kid in Prince Rupert?" I was anxious, even eager for this. It seemed the way out of all my problems, even if it did shift the burden onto someone else. In my situation, I had to be dependent on someone, anyway, at least until I grew "old" enough to make my own way.
And I cer-tainly didn't want to leave Dory—anyplace she was was where I wanted to be. It looked like things were really working themselves out, and I wandered forward in the lounge, feeling content, wondering idly what the small crowd in front was watching. Curious, both Dory and I approached, and I suddenly froze solid, gripping Dory's hand as tightly as I could.
The crowd was watching a man do card tricks. He was quite good at it, and seemed to be having a good time. He was a medium-sized, ordinary-built man, but he'd stand out in any crowd. He was dressed in an old-fashioned black suit and string tie, wore a bowler hat, and had a huge, black handlebar moustache.
Although I'd only seen him briefly and at some dis-tance, he was impossible to forget—although the last time he'd been gripping a semiautomatic rifle and peer-ing off a cliff on a trail above Skagway.
Dory caught my fright and looked down. "What's the matter?"
"That magician," I whispered nervously. "I don't know what's with the funny getup but he was with the men looking for me."
She frowned and looked at me like I was crazy, but shrugged and turned.
"Let's just go back to the lounge and sit for a while, then, O.K.?"
She had no argument from me. We started to walk casually back, away from the strange man's performance. I was beginning to wonder about my original assess-ment of the pursuers as FBI or some such, though. Not only did the man dress outlandishly, but the patter I heard with his card tricks was in an unmistakable Irish accent.
What the hell was going on here, anyway?
I wondered when he'd gotten on. I'd pretty well cruised the ship since Skagway time and time again and I'd watched the passengers very carefully.
Nobody looking like that had been anywhere around, I was sure of it. If he'd been on from the start, he'd kept himself locked in a stateroom—but, if so, why come out so publicly now? The only possible answers weren't pleasant. I knew that he was a pursuer—and that implied that, if he were aboard, so were those he was chasing. He and his people had probably spent some time surveying the passengers even more closely than I had, but hadn't had any luck so far.
Although their quarry could be literally anybody, they seemed at least reasonably satisfied that the aliens or whatever they were were still aboard, and they hadn't been able to smoke them out. Moustache, then, would have kept out of sight up to now because he was easy to spot—but now we were only hours
I was totally, madly, completely in love with Dorian Tomlinson.
We walked and talked for most of the afternoon, and generally enjoyed each other's company. I was too busy acting like a lovesick schoolgirl to have to pretend to anything, and later on, when the fatigue wouldn't go away, I went sound asleep in her arms, cradled against her warm, soft breasts.
"We'll be in to Prince Rupert before noon," Dory told me gravely. The comment sobered me, bringing me down from my secure high of the past day and a half. Dory was going home to Calgary, a long train trip from Prince Rupert but definitely out of my way.
"What happens then?" I asked apprehensively.
She sighed. "Well, I can't very well desert you here, and yet I have a train to catch."
"Let me come with you, then," I pleaded. "I don't eat much, and I could probably smuggle myself aboard any old train or something."
She laughed. "I don't think we're that hard up. But, yes, you're right. The only thing I can do now is take you. I have a small efficiency apartment just off campus you could stay at, at least for a while. Think you can talk your way past customs?"
"Sure," I told her. "Nothing to it. An Indian kid in Prince Rupert?" I was anxious, even eager for this. It seemed the way out of all my problems, even if it did shift the burden onto someone else. In my situation, I had to be dependent on someone, anyway, at least until I grew "old" enough to make my own way.
And I cer-tainly didn't want to leave Dory—anyplace she was was where I wanted to be. It looked like things were really working themselves out, and I wandered forward in the lounge, feeling content, wondering idly what the small crowd in front was watching. Curious, both Dory and I approached, and I suddenly froze solid, gripping Dory's hand as tightly as I could.
The crowd was watching a man do card tricks. He was quite good at it, and seemed to be having a good time. He was a medium-sized, ordinary-built man, but he'd stand out in any crowd. He was dressed in an old-fashioned black suit and string tie, wore a bowler hat, and had a huge, black handlebar moustache.
Although I'd only seen him briefly and at some dis-tance, he was impossible to forget—although the last time he'd been gripping a semiautomatic rifle and peer-ing off a cliff on a trail above Skagway.
Dory caught my fright and looked down. "What's the matter?"
"That magician," I whispered nervously. "I don't know what's with the funny getup but he was with the men looking for me."
She frowned and looked at me like I was crazy, but shrugged and turned.
"Let's just go back to the lounge and sit for a while, then, O.K.?"
She had no argument from me. We started to walk casually back, away from the strange man's performance. I was beginning to wonder about my original assess-ment of the pursuers as FBI or some such, though. Not only did the man dress outlandishly, but the patter I heard with his card tricks was in an unmistakable Irish accent.
What the hell was going on here, anyway?
I wondered when he'd gotten on. I'd pretty well cruised the ship since Skagway time and time again and I'd watched the passengers very carefully.
Nobody looking like that had been anywhere around, I was sure of it. If he'd been on from the start, he'd kept himself locked in a stateroom—but, if so, why come out so publicly now? The only possible answers weren't pleasant. I knew that he was a pursuer—and that implied that, if he were aboard, so were those he was chasing. He and his people had probably spent some time surveying the passengers even more closely than I had, but hadn't had any luck so far.
Although their quarry could be literally anybody, they seemed at least reasonably satisfied that the aliens or whatever they were were still aboard, and they hadn't been able to smoke them out. Moustache, then, would have kept out of sight up to now because he was easy to spot—but now we were only hours
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