Blind Descent

Jewel typed like a fury, stiffened tresses quivering with the impact of lacquered nails on the keyboard.

The office was cold and boring. A

"Nope." Jewel typed on.

There were no magazines to be seen. A

"Do you happen to know where Sondra McCarty is? Peter McCarty's wife?" A

"All nonessential perso

For all the expression Jewel put into the practiced words, she could have been one of those dolls with a ring in its back one pulled to make it talk.

"She's a civilian. Peter asked me to check on her," A

"Packed and gone."

A punch, a poke, and paper was sucked into the printer next to Jewel's elbow. Still she typed; she didn't miss a beat. A

"Are you sure Sondra's gone?" A

Flying fingers stopped midword and began a slow drum. Not pesterproof. Jewel screwed her chair around till she was facing her desk- not all the way around to face A

"Absolutely positive." She whipped a pile from her "out" basket and, dabbing the pad of her index finger into a little pot of waxy stuff, flipped through it quickly, keeping her fingers stiff so the acrylic of her nails would not be compromised.

"Packed and gone," she repeated with satisfaction, and shoved a list in A

A note of humanity crept into Jewel's voice, suggesting she would have waited for a husband until hell froze over.

"Good job, Brent, I mean that. Hang tough." The words wafted from Laymon's office as he pushed the door open to usher the geologist out.

Brent mumbled something. He looked bad. Pale and unshaven, the haggard eyes of a man who'd been sleeping badly. A

"Is Holden here yet?" Laymon asked Jewel. A

"He can't come in," Jewel told her boss. She didn't look at him, but turned back to the computer screen. Her fingers rested on the keys, but she was neither reading nor typing. The screen had gone blank. She either had lost her text or had touched a magic computer hide-it button.

Laymon wasn't in the mood to take no for an answer. "Did he call? I told you to interrupt me if he called."

"His wife, she tol' me he gotta go to the doctor's about his foot."

Jewel's articulation, her posture, her vocabulary, all were disintegrating under Laymon's disapproval. A

"I got A

"Keep trying the Tillmans'," Laymon said. "Talk to the man himself, not his wife."

Only after this exchange had been completed and a nod of acquiescence wrung from Jewel's bowed neck did George Laymon officially "see" A

"Good of you to come by," he said, managing to gather power unto himself by conferring obedience upon her.

"I just sort of wandered in," A

"I appreciate your coming down so early," he said, and waved her into his office. Closing the door he winked conspiratorially and shook his head. "For a woman who types that fast, Jewel doesn't seem to get a whole lot done. How're you doing?"

Laymon's attention, a focused beacon, lighted and warmed. Despite a natural aversion to being wooed by politicians, A

Laymon didn't retreat behind the pseudomahogany of his desk but perched on the side, one haunch on the wood, one booted foot swinging free. He actually must have paid attention in those management classes the NPS was always shipping the higher-ups off to. Putting me at my ease, A

Laymon was a spectacularly average individual. Height, weight, color of hair and eyes: everything fell in the neutral zone. Because true average is a mathematical concept and not a class, he didn't vanish into the woodwork. Graying hair, good build, and regular features made him a handsome man. A

She wasn't vain enough to think because a man wasn't flashing lights and sounding sirens the minute she walked into a room he was gay or asexual. Laymon's lack of interest was beyond the personal and had nothing to do with the expected photo of the lovely wife and two appropriately scrubbed kids framed on the desktop. A

"Brent sure looks like shit," A

"Brent's taking this hard," Laymon told A

A

"It's to be expected. How are you doing?"

A

"I'm from the 'Show Me' state," Laymon said. Exactly what had she seen? How far had she explored the Paddock? What had others told her of holes blowing, going leads? Who carried the survey and the sketches? How clear was Lake Rapunzel? How deep the slide? How unstable the Pigtail?

A