44

He woke up with an oxygen mask strapped to his face, surrounded by a series of seemingly identical men dressed in white, their faces covered by surgeon’s masks.

“He made it,” one of them said. “He’s alive.”

“Any evidence of brain damage?” asked another.

Altman tried to speak, but couldn’t get his tongue around the words. One of the doctors put a hand on his shoulder. It was Stevens, he realized; he could recognize him by his eyes. “Just relax,” he said. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

He closed his eyes, swallowed. And then a terrible thought hit him: What if this was just another hallucination?

He tried to move his arms, but couldn’t. He opened his eyes, looking desperately around.

“He’s confused,” he heard one of them say. “Disoriented. He doesn’t know where he is.”

What was it she had said? You must not give in to the Marker. You must not allow it to begin Convergence. He had to tell them. “The Marker,” he whispered. Markoff leaned close. “The Marker,” he repeated.

“The Marker?” said Markoff. “What Marker? He’s talking nonsense. Give him another shot.”

Altman shook his head. Or tried. Whether his head moved or not, he couldn’t say. Either it didn’t move or they ignored him. He watched one of them fill a syringe and prime the needle, without being able to do anything about it.

He tried to speak, made instead a gurgling, inarticulate cry.

“It’ll be okay,” said Stevens, patting his arm. “Don’t worry, Altman, we’re here for you.”

And then he felt the prick as the needle punctured his flesh. His arm burned a moment, and then went numb. The men in white were there for a moment longer; then they slowly blurred and ran together and finally disappeared entirely.

When he came conscious again, the room was empty, except for three men: Stevens, Markoff, and another man from Markoff’s inner circle whose name he didn’t know. He was as large as Markoff but thicker, with a brutal, flat face. They stood to one side of the bed, speaking in whispers impossible for Altman to make out.

Stevens was the first to notice he was awake. He gestured at him and whispered something. The other two stopped talking. In unison, all three moved closer and stared down at him.

“Altman,” said Markoff. “Still alive. You seem to lead a charmed life.”

Altman started to respond, but Markoff held a finger up to stop him. He reached down, removed Altman’s oxygen mask.

“Are you feeling up to speaking?” asked Markoff.

“I think so,” Altman said. His voice sounded like it no longer belonged to him, or belonged to someone that was him but much older.

“You remember Stevens,” said Markoff. “This is Officer Krax.”

Altman nodded.

“It’s very simple,” said Markoff. “I want you to tell me everything.”

He did, starting with the moment when Torquato had suddenly attacked and moving through to his hallucinations.

“Tell us more about these hallucinations,” said Krax.

“Does it matter?” asked Altman. “They were just hallucinations.”

“It does matter,” said Stevens. “Indeed, it matters a great deal.”

So, Altman, too tired to argue or make up a lie, told them. When he was done, the three men withdrew to the far side of the room, started whispering again. Altman closed his eyes.

He was on the verge of falling back asleep when they returned.

For a moment they just stared at him. Stevens started to say something, but Markoff touched his arm and stopped him.

“I want you to tell Stevens everything from here on out,” he said. “Any dreams, hallucinations, anything at all out of the ordinary, you contact Stevens right away.”

“This is crazy,” said Altman.

“No,” said Markoff, “it isn’t.”

And then they were gone, leaving Altman behind to brood. He felt more confused and apprehensive than ever.

But a few minutes later the door opened, and a distraught Ada rushed in, and he had other things on his mind.