A Tale Of The Continuing Time - The Last Dancer Part 23

Bennett shook his head. "I don't think it's possible. The person you remind me of-" Crandell hesitated, and in that instant Deniceknew. A s.h.i.+ver touched her and the skin at the back of her neck, p.r.i.c.kled.

Impulsively she reached out and Touched- -the image leapt at her; his memory of the girl, at sixteen or seventeen, standing in the sunlight on a beach somewhere in New York; wearing a pair of white shorts and nothing else, long black hair moving gently with the wind, and dominating the memory, the girl's brilliant emerald eyes.

That's how I looked when I was her age. That's.e.xactlyhow - She became aware that she was staring at Bennett.

Bennett looked oddly embarra.s.sed. "You remind me of someone I knew once. But she's been dead for a long time." His voice trailed off into wistfulness, and then he smiled at her with sudden genuine warmth.

"You remind me of her, that's all. A remarkable woman I once knew. Possibly the finest person I ever knew." Bennett paused, and then said firmly, "We have never met."

Denice nodded, thanked him for his time, went back to her room, and sat quietly. They had met before, and she knew where; knew of whom she reminded him.

The woman of whom he spoke so fondly was her mother, Jany McConnell. And Bennett Crandell thought he knew her because Bennett Crandell was not his name.

His name was Gary Auerbach and it had been at least fifteen years since Denice had seen him last.

He was a Peaceforcer.

It took Nicole Lovely and Chris Summers less than four hours to arrive.

There was a moment's silence when Denice was done speaking.

Nicole Lovely's features hardened, set into something resembling cast ferrocrete, into something that looked very much like the rugged features of the ex-PKF Elite sitting next to her. "You're certain?"

Eyes fixed on the ugly blue s.h.a.g rug in the office they had taken her to, Denice said softly, "No, 'Selle Lovely. I am not entirely certain." She could barely hear her own voice. The ex-Elite's presence made her nervous. She had had biosculpture, but it had not been major; with her makeup key turned off she knew that she looked like an Asian version of her mother. And she did not doubt Summers remembered Jany McConnell at least as well as Bennett. "If he's who I think, his name is Gary Auerbach."

Summers' thoughts were elsewhere, though. Summers said softly, "Auerbach. I knew him slightly; he was attached to Project Superman at the same time I was."

Lovely said, "Would you recognize him?"

"After twenty years and a bout of biosculpture? Not likely." The rogue Elite fixed a heavy, skeptical gaze on Denice. " 'Selle Daimara, you've been here, what, three days?"

"Four, sir."

"And already you've uncovered a spy who's eluded our detection for better than three years. I must admit I'm impressed."

Denice met the cyborg's hard, skeptical gaze without flinching. "He came to several of the shows I danced in when I was with Orinda Gleygava.s.s, back in '69 and '70. He was at five or six different performances ofLeviathan." It was simple truth; there was no need to tell them she did not remember Auerbach from those attendances, that she only knew he had been there because she had taken the memory from him. Her mouth was dry and she had trouble continuing. "He said I reminded him of a woman he used to know, but I think he was covering for having recognized me from when I danced. And I don't know why he would need to do that, unless he's who I think he is, who he was introduced to me as." She spoke swiftly, staring at Chris Summers: "I don't know his face but I recognize the voice."

Chris Summers said heavily, "We have an option here. We can brain-drain him and see what we get."

*"It might damage him," said Nicole Lovely mildly, watching Denice.

Denice Castanaveras took a deep breath. "The voice is the voice of Gary Auerbach. I think he's a Peaceforcer."

Sometime after 11:00 em., Christian Summers stopped by Denice's room. He spoke as the door rolled aside for him. "Come with me," he said brusquely.

"Where?"

"The bas.e.m.e.nt." Denice flipped her handheld off, tossed it on the bed, and followed him.

In the maglev on the way down, Summers said broodingly, "I drained him myself. I was as gentle as I could be, but he's still a mess; I haven't run a probe in twenty years."

"I see."

Summers was only a few centimeters taller than her, nonetheless he managed to look down at her when he said, "Blocks all over the place. You made a good call."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Summers looked at her without expression, then nodded. "Thank you." The maglev doors curled open.

"I always liked Bennett."

Around midnight, down on Level Five, in an empty stone cellar, Denice waited with Nicole Lovely, Callia, and Chris Summers. Three men-Lan was one of them, Aguirre another, and the third a Reb Denice had not been introduced to-waited against one wall of the cellar, carrying laser rifles.

The cellar lacked glowpaint; fluorescent bars of lights hung from the ceiling. Several of them were burned out and the balance flickered as though they might go at any moment.

Bennett's hands were snaked behind his back when they brought him in. Denice's heart skipped a beat at the sight of him; he was still wearing the white coat in which he had examined Denice, and was plainly terrified. "What are you doing to me?"

Chris Summers said quietly, "You know."

Crandell shot a quick, clearly pleading look at Denice, then back at Summers. "Chris, you've known me almost four years. I don't know why you're doing this, but if you're trying to scare me, you're succeeding."

"Put him against the wall." Nicole Lovely's voice was steady and even. "Mister Auerbach, we are going to execute you. We are going to do it right now." Bennett struggled, even with his hands snaked behind his back, as the two Rebs muscled him up against the wall. A s.h.i.+ver ran up Denice's spine at the expression on Lovely's face. "I am not trying to scare you and I'm not kidding. We know you haven't gotten a message out of here since we've made you, we know you're resistant to brain drain, and we know you won't know anything worth torturing you for, or else we would.Listen to me."

The crack of her voice penetrated his terror; he froze, then nodded jerkily.

Nicole Lovely said, "I am offering you the courtesy of a message to your family, if you wish one."

Bennett-even now Denice could not stop thinking of him by that name-had to work to get the words out. " 'Selle Lovely,please. My family is dead. I lost them during the Troubles. The closest relative I have alive is somewhere in Germany; I haven't seen him in twenty years."

Chris Summers said quietly, "Bennett, do you want a blindfold?"

Bennett stared at him, trembling. His face twisted and he spat, "f.u.c.k you."

To the soldiers standing next to Crandell, Nicole Lovely said, "Stand away. Let's do it." The two men let go of Crandell and moved swiftly away. Lovely said, "Gentlemen."

The three men standing against the wall opposite Crandell brought their rifles up. Bennett Crandell's breath came fast and loud. Denice found her own breath coming quick, her heart pounding. His eyes were impossibly wide, all whites, and he looked around the room as though in supplication, looking for someone who might take his cause.

He stared for a brief moment at Denice.

The memory hit Denice like a sledgehammer:Lan moving beneath her, lips brus.h.i.+ng across her nipples - Chris Summers spoke in a completely dead voice. "He's our man. I'll do it."

Nicole Lovely snapped, "Do itnow."

Christian J. Summers stood five meters away from Bennett Crandell and looked straight at the man and said, "Fire."

Bennett Crandell's legs folded beneath him.

The lasers took him across his face and upper body. Bennett screamed once, loud and wild, as the ionization corona from the lasers danced around him. Then the superheated air entered his lungs, and the scream died with the man.

Denice did not remember fainting.

"How do you feel?"

Denice held the edge of the toilet with one hand and vomited again. When she could speak she said violently,"Why do you keep askingme that?"

Callia Sierran said gently, "Because it matters." She brushed a stray hair from Denice's face; when her fingers touched Denice's cheek, Denice felt nothing; no imagery, no thoughts, no touch of what Callia felt.

"Don't you think you've had enough to drink?"

Denice remembered her other hand, was distantly grateful to Callia for having reminded her of its contents. "No," she said after a moment, "no, I don't think so." She let go of the edge of the toilet, sank back against the wall of the bathroom, and took a long swig of amber tequila directly from the neck of the bottle, used it to wash away the taste of vomit in her mouth. The tequila struck her empty, abused stomach like a firebomb; she closed her eyes and concentrated on keeping it down.

Callia settled to the floor of the bathroom next to her, sat back against the wall with her. "Okay. You can't kill yourself with one bottle of tequila. I'll wait with you."

"I love being drunk," said Denice after a bit. She floated in the warm darkness with her eyes closed, alone with herself and her thoughts, completely free, as she never was when sober, of the distant buzz of other people's thoughts. "It turns the world off for a while. Makes things go away," she said precisely.

She drank in the warm silence.

Callia Sierran said the wrong thing. "You did the right thing."

Denice screamed at her, "Leave mealone!" She pushed herself to her feet, bottle clutched in one hand.

"I didn't ask you to come in here, I didn't want you to." Her voice broke and she was suddenly tired. "Go away, okay?"

Callia reached up, took Denice's right arm just beneath the elbow, and gently pulled Denice back down to the floor of the bathroom with her. "You're not going anywhere. If you vomit out in the bedroom I'm going to end up cleaning the rug. I'd rather not."

"Oh." That seemed reasonable to Denice; she nodded, and the bathroom swayed around her. "I'll just...

sit here, then," she announced. She took another drink. "Callia?"

"Yes?"

Denice heard the drunken despair in her voice, felt a distant disgust for it. "If I did the right thing, how come I feel so bad?"

"It was a hard thing to do. That doesn't make it wrong." Callia brushed a tear off Denice's cheek. "It's okay to cry if you need to."

Denice looked at Callia's blurry image. "I amnot crying."

Callia smiled the saddest smile Denice had ever seen; Denice could not understand why the woman was so sad. "I didn't say you were." Callia put one hand behind Denice's head, pulled Denice close and whispered, "You're the toughest little thing I ever saw in my life. But it's still okay to cry."

Denice stared at Callia through her tears, and then suddenly leaned forward just a few centimeters and kissed her.

Callia pulled back, said sharply,"Stop that. This has nothing to do with me. It has nothing to do with anything except how you feel about what you've done."

"How I feel?"

Callia's voice gentled. "How do you feel?"

Denice blinked. "I don't know. I don't really think about that much."

"I know."

"I mean, what's the point? You do what you have to do. That's all." It seemed to Denice that Callia must be considerably drunker than she; Callia's form swayed back and forth in front of her eyes. "It doesn't really matter how you feel about it, does it?"

Callia whispered, "It matters a lot."

"Oh." Denice upended the bottle, felt the last of the warm tequila empty out, and threw the bottle aside.

She wiped her numb lips. "In that case I think I feel terrible." She paused. "I think I'm going to be sick again."

She was, violently, moments later. She was vaguely aware of Callia's arms around her, holding her as she vomited. After the spasms stopped Callia gave her a gla.s.s of water and Denice drank it down in one shuddering gulp.

Denice leaned back against the wall, distantly surprised to find that she was once again within the circle of Callia's arms. At first she found herself stiffening, and then relaxed with a conscious effort. They sat together on the floor of the bathroom, without speaking, for a long time. Denice closed her eyes and found herself drifting drunkenly, exhausted, aware of little in the world except the warm pressure of Callia's arms around her, of Callia's cheek touching her own.

"Who told you you had to be so strong?"

The question came without warning; Denice answered without thinking. "My father. The whole world was out to get him and he never backed down, never gave up. He told us we should be that way." She was surprised to feel the sudden tightness at the back of her throat the thought of Carl brought her. She spoke through a gathering storm of tears. "It was the last thing he ever said to us, to me and my brother, to remember that we were stronger than everyone else.Better."

"How old were you when he died?"

"Nine. I was-" Her voice broke, and Denice Castanaveras, fourteen years after her parents' deaths, fourteen years after her life had vanished in a thermonuclear haze, fourteen years after the deaths of her friends and her family, whispered again, "Oh, G.o.d, I wasnine," and then, for the first time, cried for what she had lost, and for what she had become.

Lan knocked on the door as quietly as he was able. He barely heard Callia's voice telling him to come in.

They were still in the bathroom, sitting together on the porcelain tile. Callia sat upright and motionless, posture as flawless as though she were on inspection, holding Denice.

Denice sat fast asleep, curled up into a ball inside the protection of Callia Sierrans arms.

"How is she?"

"Pa.s.sed out drunk. She's going to have a h.e.l.l of a hangover. I checked Bennett's supplies; we have nothing for a hangover."

"Didn't think there was any alcohol in this dump. Where did she find it?"

"Tucked away in the kitchen."

Lan nodded. "She surprises me."

"Oh?" He had the sudden impression he had offended his sister. "Why?"

"I thought she was tougher than this."

"She's stronger thanyou'll ever understand. Good people aren't supposed to do what she did. It's going to take her a while to get past that."

"He was a Peaceforcer," said Lan softly. "He deserved to die."

"He was a good man," Callia snapped, "doing what he believed was right. And Denice had him killed."

Callia looked away from him. "She has a conscience. Unlike some people."