Cascade Point

Wonky nodded vigorously. "Yeah, sure is. Friend of mine, good friend. Knew him in Jersey, couple years ago. He told me if I ever needed a job just come to him. So I did."

Javier nodded. Wonky was a thin youth with darting eyes and quick movements. He had probably grown up on the city's streets, his scars and missing teeth the dues of survival. Such people hadn't existed on Aurora, but Javier had met many in the old cities of Earth. None of the younger worlds of the Colonia, he had once heard, had been in existence long enough to develop the vast social and economic disparities of the mother world. Give them time, though, and the slums would come.

He shook off the mood. It was probably natural—maybe even inevitable—for a Cassandra to lean toward morbid thoughts. But such borderline self-pity should not be overdone, especially on a day like today. He had a job!

Now if only he could keep it.

—

The first few days went well. The work itself was, of course, childishly simple, and Javier quickly learned all that Wonky could tell him about the kitchen and its operation. Of the hotel served by the dining facilities he learned nothing. Wonky's duties as busboy ended at the edge of the dining room; so, effectively, did his world.

Javier threw himself into his job with a will and efficiency that caused many puzzled looks and—inevitably—snide comments from his fellow workers. The strange coloring of his hair and eyes probably also slowed their acceptance of him, but if anyone actually identified the newcomer as a Cassandra he kept that knowledge to himself.

Strangely enough, Wonky seemed immune to the general aloofness and would often hang around Javier during slow times. His conversational range was limited, but Javier learned many helpful tips about living in the big city from him. He was grateful, too, for the company.

Luck was with him in another guise, as well: his first three visions occurred outside of working hours, away from the hotel. Two happened in the tiny rundown room he had rented a few blocks away, the other as he was walking home one afternoon. As always, they were images of disasters: an aircar crash, an earthquake, and a flash flood. And as usual, they did not come true, at least not as far as a check of the news media could establish. Years ago, Javier had believed he would get used to the visions, as one could get used to nightmares or scenes of violence on the evening news. Now, though, he knew differently. There was an overpowering immediacy to the disasters he was forced to witness, an accuracy of sensory detail that made them as real to him as anything else in the world. To deny the visions at any level would require similar denial of all reality, and Javier wasn't yet desperate enough to yield to insanity.

He'd been at work for almost a week when Wonky came in from the dining room with a load of dishes and the look of a kid with a secret. "Hey, Javier, guess what I just saw in the dining room."

"What?" Javier asked. His eyes and most of his attention were on the sonic washer, which had a tendency to drift off its proper frequency and rattle the dishes.

"There's a girl out there who looks just like you," the other gri

The washer was suddenly forgotten. "What do you mean?"

"You know—got the same hair as you. Same green eyes, too. I saw her up close." Another Cassandra? Here? "Show me, will you?"

Wonky led the way to the swinging doors that opened into the dining room. Opening one of them a crack, he gestured beyond it. "Next to the wall."

Javier squinted through the opening. Details were hard to see at that distance, but he was almost sure—

She turned in his general direction for a second and he stiffened. Pulling off his apron, he tossed it to Wonky. "I'm going to talk to her. Cover for me, okay?"

"Hey, wait, you're not supposed—" The rest of Wonky's protest was cut off by the closing door. Feeling horribly conspicuous, Javier threaded his way through the maze of tables. "Excuse me," he said as he reached the girl's side. "Are you Mely

She glanced up, then took a longer look. "Yes. Do I know you?"

"I doubt it. My name's Alban Javier. I went to Aurora Northern, too, but I was a year behind you. Mainly, I know your picture from news reports of your work with Dr. Rayburn."

"What can I do for you?" she asked coolly.

"Uh—may I sit down?" This wasn't going quite as Javier had expected it to and he was begi

She hesitated, then nodded curtly. He sank gratefully into the seat at her right. "I—well, I just wanted to find out what's happening in your work," he told her. "The articles I've read don't really say much."

"The final report won't, either," she said, her voice strangely flat. "At least, it won't say what you want to hear."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we haven't found a way to stop the visions."

Javier froze. "But... you said final report."

"That's right. We're quitting."

He started to speak, but no sound came out of his suddenly dry mouth. He tried again. "You can't do that. I mean—look, we've been living with this for fifteen years, some of us. We've had friends die and other friends go permanently psychotic. We can't stop until we find a cure."

"What do you mean, we?" Mely

"I'm sorry," he said. Dimly, he was aware of how inadequate the words were, but at the moment another, more urgent thought was uppermost in his mind. "Tell me," he asked carefully, "did they ever figure out what triggers the visions?"

It was as if a thin glaze of ice had dropped over the emerald of her eyes; and in that moment Javier knew that she, too, knew the truth. "No," she said in a low voice. "And I doubt they ever will."

He nodded, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat. "You could have made it easier on yourself, you know, if you'd just told them."

Her smile was bitter. "You don't find enough hatred directed toward you, Alban? You want to try living among people who know how your visions come to you?"

"No." Javier glanced at the people sitting nearby, but if they were listening they gave no sign of it. "I'm sorry; it was a stupid comment."

"That's all right." She touched his arm. "I'm sorry, too—I didn't need to be sarcastic. I'm just very burned out right now."

"Any way I can help?"

She shook her head. "Thanks, but no. I'm just passing through, actually—I'm heading up to the most desolate part of northern Newfoundland I can afford to get to." She smiled faintly. "My first choice was central Australia, but Dr. Rayburn's budget couldn't stretch that far."