Nine

Am I reverting? Anna Richmond wondered, as the elevator continued to ascend the outer wall of the building. Is this what it is like?

Eathen was standing beside the outer glass wall of the elevator, his gaze riveted by the unfolding panorama of the great city. He pointed at some famous object, spoke its name, but Anna shook her head; she didn't want to know anything. A terrible tenseness gripped her muscles. She knew she was shaking like a tall building in an earthquake. Maybe this building. Any building. There hadn't been an earthquake in the city for more than fifty years. One was supposed to be due anytime. No, she thought, nearly uttering the word aloud. I can't do it. I don't want to.

"Anna, is something wrong?" Eathen asked, turning away from the glass wall.

She sensed his radiated concern-strong, more so than ever before. "Can I help?"

She shook her head. "I'm all right."

The long trip was the cause. She ought to have known better-really. It had been weeks and weeks since she was last out of the house, but still it wasn't until they'd boarded the hovercraft-crammed with the crush of morning commuters-that she'd realized how much worse it was now. The people who surrounded her were no longer separate identities to be recognized, probed, or ignored. Instead, each now had the appearance of some unavoidable mass of thought and feeling-a vast, bulky object-that seemed to crowd around her physically, pressing down with a heavy weight, forcing any thoughts of her own out of her mind. When they reached the city, it was worse, and Eathen had led her to the waiting cab as if she were blind or crippled. Here in the building it was better. There was only herself-which she could bear-and Eathen's faint radiations. Vaguely, she could sense others in the building as the elevator soared past floor after floor of tiny apartments. But they wouldn't let her stay in this cozy elevator forever. She recognized this. They were going to make her leave again.

"Are you sure-?" Eathen began.

"Yes." She cut him off sharply. "I told you I'm fine."

Now the elevator stopped. Anna wobbled dangerously as the doors parted. She peered out into a bright, wide corridor.

"This isn't right," she said, shaking her head.

"No." Eathen pointed at the indicator upon the elevator control panel. It registered 58. "I thought you told me apartment 5890."

"I didn't." Was there any point to lying now? She sighed. "All right---I did."

"Then this is it."

"Yes. Yes, I see." She drove herself forward-out of the elevator-into the corridor.

Behind, the doors clanged shut with nasty finality. The elevator zipped away, speeding downward. The gaping hole in the wall through which they had entered closed like a healing wound.

Eathen pointed: "This way, I believe."

She stood her ground, refusing to budge. "I want you to stay here."

"Stay?"

"It's none of your business."

"But-" She sensed his concern.

Reaching out, she touched his arm warmly. "I'm sorry, Eathen, but this is an assignment." She tried to smile. "If Astor knew I'd let you come, he would take my head. You shouldn't know about any of this."

"But I-"

"Look, all I'm going to do is tell her what I'm supposed to tell her about Alec.

They don't want her to worry. So it won't take more than a couple seconds."

"You should have just called her. There was no need to make you come down here."

"I wanted to come. It's better in something like this to stand face-to-face." Again, she touched his arm in a reassuring way. Oh, why was all this necessary now? Just last night-she had finally played for him some of her music- his feelings had finally been aroused. Was it necessary that they quit now? What was more important? Astor's silly plot, or the creation of a new race? "Look," she cried, spreading her arms over her head. "I'm not even armed. I won't hurt her."

"I never thought you would." Eathen smiled. She had taught him that-smiling-but the gesture still seemed cold; there was no feeling on the other side of the lips.

"Of course not," she said.

With obvious hesitation, he stepped back and stood against the wall. "I'll wait here."

"Good. And-I won't be long."

"No."

"I'll be right back."

"Yes."

She meant every word she said but took only a few steps-turning a corner so that Eathen could not see-before she collapsed in a fit of silent giggling. She lunged against the soft, padded wall, restraining herself tightly, avoiding making any sound that would bring Eathen running. But what was so funny? Why was she laughing like this? She didn't know, and maybe that was what was funny. Then slowly, piece by piece, like the reconstructed parts of a jigsaw puzzle, she reformed herself, regained control. She straightened up. She moved away from the wall and stood as stiff as a soldier. She marched off down the corridor.

"I'm fine," she whispered to herself. "I'm not going to do anything wrong."

Apartment 5890 fitted neatly into a snug corner.

She knocked on the door.

A moment later: "Who is it?"

She answered boldly: "Anna Richmond."

The door opened instantly. The face that appeared confirmed all Anna's expectations: Sylvia Mencken was indeed a beautiful woman. And her radiations-Anna stepped back: there weren't any.

She wasn't-she couldn't be-she was a human being. So how-?

"Won't you come in," Sylvia said.

"Yes, yes," said Anna, hurrying past. The apartment was a blank, impersonal place-a pair of rooms, with the bed occupying a sunken place in the first. Anna moved around - and found a chair against one wall. Across the room, hanging straight in the middle of her gaze, was some horrendous old painting: shallow-faced children with huge staring eyes confined by barbed wire.

"I find it amusing," Sylvia said. "And ugly. People back then-their minds were tepid."

"I guess so," Anna agreed, trying to shake the painting from her gaze.

"I hate the past," Sylvia said with feeling.

"Yes, but I came here to tell you-"

"You don't drink?" Sylvia, empty and silent, stood above her, looming like a grinning bird of prey.

"Yes, yes, I do." She eagerly clutched the proffered straw. "Please-anything."

Smiling, Sylvia disappeared into the second room. Glass clinked-ice rattled.

Is it me? Anna thought. She concentrated but-no-she could feel them: the others in the building. It was Sylvia---there was just nothing there.

"Here you are," Sylvia said, returning with a glass. Anna drank tentatively, failing to recognize the liquor. It was sweet.

"Alec is in New York," she managed.

"Yes-yes, I know."

"He wanted to call you but wasn't able to get through."

"Of course."

Anna recited her lines the way Astor had stated them: "An overload on the New York to San Francisco circuit. But he was able to reach me on a private line."

"I see, but-"

"He didn't want you to worry. He's sorry about missing work, especially at this time. But he'll be back. Soon. Very soon."

"When?" Sylvia asked, bluntly. Anna wished she would sit down, do anything, not just stand looming there.

"I'm sorry-I don't know."

"Why is he in New York?"

"I don't know that either."

Sylvia smiled and for the first time Anna caught a firm radiation. It was strong too-there was no way of missing it: pity.

"But he'll be back," Anna said, desperately trying to retain control of the situation.

Sylvia nodded and backed suddenly away, coming to rest underneath the painting of the hollow-eyed children. "Why don't you tell me something about Alec? We'll be working together now-I ought to get to know him."

"What do you want to know?" Anna asked, helplessly. Sylvia was radiating clearly now, but each emotion came so strongly that Anna had no chance to identify it before another had taken its place. It was like standing on the beach in the middle of a storm. Wave after wave of feeling came crashing relentlessly down upon her.

"Oh, anything. The kind of food he likes. His favorite color. Or, astrology? Do you believe in that?"

"No," Anna said, trying to watch her words carefully. It seemed-no matter what she said-that it was wrong. "I don't see any sense to it."

"But that's just the point," said Sylvia. She wore a long, tight, black gown that bared her arms and neck while keeping her legs concealed down past the ankles. As she spoke, she moved back and forth underneath the painting, shifting sidewise, not pacing, almost dancing, a graceful mocking motion. "I believe in anything that doesn't make sense. Astrology. Magic. Numerology. Any form of fortune-telling. Even the bumps on a man's head. Or Ah Tran and his cyclic theories. Do you know him?"

"Yes. I mean, no."

"That's why I appreciate paintings such as-" she gestured at the wall above "-that one. People tell me that art is a way of bringing meaning into life. I don't see that. I want my art to drive it away. That's why I cannot appreciate your sculptures-and I've seen every one you've done. They make too much-way too much-sense for me."

"I'm sorry," Anna said.

"Then do tell me about Alec."

"I-I wouldn't know where to begin." The truth was that Anna couldn't remember Alec. Underneath the awful assault of this woman's radiations, she could remember nothing.

Sylvia smiled and moved away from the wall at last. Once more she was standing in front of Anna. "I want to do you a favor."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." She went to a small table in the center of the room and scribbled a note, which she brought to Anna. "Here you go."

Anna did not look. "What-what is it?"

"Where to find your father."

"My father? You know about-?"

Sylvia held up a hand. It was the same as a command. Anna fell silent.

"And now that you know," Sylvia said, "you can tell Inspector Cargill that you will need his services no longer. He is an evil man, Anna. You should best beware of him. You will tell him to drop the search."

"Yes." There was no other choice.

Sylvia laughed. "Not that he would ever have found him anyway."

Anna said, "Yes." It was the only word she knew. She was suffering from an awful headache. It felt as if someone's fingers had penetrated her skull, that they were moving across her mind, smoothing the wrinkles, crushing her feelings. "Yes,"

she said, with sudden conviction. "You are right. Yes, I understand. Yes, yes, yes."

When Anna met Eathen beside the elevator, she did not give him a chance to ask questions. She told him straight-out: "It was easy."

"You told her?"

"Oh, yes."

"And she didn't ask any questions? Why he hadn't called her? What he was doing in New York?"

"She accepted everything I told her." She laughed, signaling for the elevator to come and take them down. "She's just a woman."

"What's that?" Eathen asked, suddenly. He was pointing at her hand.

"Oh, that." Anna raised the note and read the now familiar name and address written there. It was important- wasn't it?-she tried to remember. "Oh, that's my father."

"Your father?" The elevator arrived. They stepped inside. Eathen grabbed her arm. "That woman knew your father?"

"No," said Anna. Eathen's radiations were too strong. She wished he would go away and let her think in peace. "It was Inspector Cargill. He knew."

"Cargill was there?"

"Yes."

"But what-?"

"He was there." She could see him clearly, dark burlap, silver badge, standing, writing the note. "I saw him. He was investigating the murder. Why shouldn't he be there?"

Going down, the elevator was much faster. They stepped immediately onto the street.

Eathen glanced behind.

"That man is still there," he said.

"Ralston? He saw us?"

"He must have."

"Oh," she said. "Oh, no." But it didn't really seem very important. No-not really.