Aces Abroad

Paula came up behind him and put her hands lightly on his shoulders. "It's beautiful up here, really."

The others around the campfire looked up at her suspiciously. Jayewardene guided her away. They stood at the edge of the peak, staring out into the dark mist down the mountain.

"Each religion had its own belief about the footprint," he said. "We believe it was made by Buddha. The Hindus say it was made by Shiva. Moslems argue that it is where Adam stood for a thousand years, atoning for the loss of paradise."

"Whoever it was, they had a big foot," Paula said. "That print was three feet long."

The sun came up over the horizon, slowly bringing light to the swirling mists below them. Their shadows grew huge in the grayness. Jayewardene caught his breath. "The Specter of the Brocken," he said, closing his eyes in prayer.

"Wow," said Paula. "I guess it's my week for things giant."

Jayewardene opened his eyes and sighed. His fantasies about Paula had been as unrealistic as those about his hope of destroying his power through the pilgrimage. They were like two wheels in a clockwork whose teeth meshed but whose centers forever remained at a distance. "What you have seen is the rarest of wonders here. One can come here every day for a year and not witness what we have."

Paula yawned, then smiled weakly. "Sounds like it's time to go down."

"Yes. It's time."

Danforth and Paula met him at the airport. Danforth was shaved and in clean clothes, almost the same cocksure producer he'd met only a few days ago. Paula wore shorts and a tight, white T-shirt. She seemed ready to get on with her life. Jayewardene envied her.

"How's Miss Symmes?" he asked.

Danforth rolled his eyes. "Well enough to have called her lawyer three times in the last twelve hours. I'm really in the soup now. I'll be lucky to stay in the business at all."

"Offer her a five-picture deal and plenty of points," said Jayewardene, cramming his entire knowledge of film jargon into one sentence.

"Sign this guy up, Mr. D." Paula gri

Danforth stuck his thumbs through his belt loops and rocked back and forth. "That's really not a bad idea. Not bad at all." He took Jayewardene's hand and shook it. "I really don't know what we would have done without you."

"Gone right down the drain." Paula gave Jayewardene a one-shoulder hug. "I guess this is where we have to say good-bye."

"Mr. Jayewardene." A young government courier shouldered his way through the crowd to their side. He was breathing hard, but took time to straighten his uniform before handing Jayewardene an envelope. It bore the presidential seal.

"Thank you," he said, popping it open with his thumb. He read it silently.

Paula leaned in to look, but the writing was Sinhalese. "What does it say?"

"That my resignation has not been accepted and I am considered to be on an extended leave of absence. Not exactly the safest thing he could have done, but much appreciated." He bowed to Danforth and Paula. "I'll look for the film when it comes out."

"King Pongo," Danforth said. "It'll be a monster hit for sure."

The plane was more crowded than he had expected. People had been wandering around since after takeoff, chatting, complaining, getting drunk. Peregrine was standing in the aisle, talking to the tall, blond man who'd been with her in in the bar. They were keeping their voices low, but Jayewardene could tell from the looks on their faces that it was not a pleasant conversation. Peregrine turned away from the man, took a deep breath, and walked over to Jayewardene.

"May I sit next to you?" she asked. "I know everyone else on this plane. Some considerably better than I'd like."

"I'm flattered and delighted," he said. And it was true. Her features and fragrance were beautiful but intimidating. Even to him.

She smiled, her lips curving in an almost inhumanly attractive ma

Strauss wandered over, his hands clutching the backs of seats as he went. He was pale and afraid. "Mr. Jayewardene?" He said it as if he'd been practicing the pronunciation for the last ten minutes. "My name is Strauss. I've been told all that you did for me. And I want you to know that I never forget a favor. If you need a job when we get to New York, U Thant's a friend of the family. We'll work something out."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Strauss, but I would have done it in any case." Jayewardene reached up and shook his hand.

Stiauss smiled, straightened his shoulders, and clutched his way back to his seat.

"I'd say he's going to need quite a while to readjust," Peregrine said in a whisper. "Twenty-plus years is a lot to lose."

" I can only wish him a speedy recovery. It's difficult to feel sorry for myself considering his circumstances."

"Feeling sorry for oneself is an inalienable right." She yawned. "I can't believe how much I'm sleeping. Should have time for a nice long nap before we get to Thailand. Do you mind if I use your shoulder?"

"No. Please think of it as your own." He looked out the window. "Australia. Then where?"

She rested her head against him and closed her eyes. "Malaysia, Vietnam, Indonesia, New Zealand, Hong Kong, China, Japan. Fortunato." She said the last word almost too quietly for him to hear. "I doubt we'll be ru

"But you will." He said it hoping to please her, but she looked at him as if she'd caught him going through her underwear.

"You know this? You've had one of those visions about me?" Someone had obviously told her about his power.

"Yes. I'm sorry. I really have no control over them." He looked back out the window, feeling ashamed.

She rested her head back onto his shoulder. "It's not your fault. Don't worry. I'm sure Tach will be able to do something for you."

"I hope so."

She'd been asleep for over an hour. He'd eaten onehanded to keep from waking her up. The roast beef he'd had was like a ball of lead in his stomach. He knew he would survive Western food at least until they reached Japan. The air was a low rumble as it rushed by the plane's metal skin. Peregrine breathed softly next to his ear. Jayewardene closed his eyes and prayed for dreamless sleep.

DOWN IN THE DREAMTIME

Edward Bryant

Cordelia Chaisson had dreamed about the murder less frequently during the month past. It surprised her she still thought of it even that much; after all, she had seen far worse. Work consumed her; the job with Global Fun amp; Games sufficiently exhausted her days; laboring on the AIDS/WCV benefit to be held in May at Xavier Desmond's Jokertown Funhouse took up much of the nights. Most evenings she went to sleep long after the eleven o'clock news. Five in the morning came all too early. There was little time for diversion.

But there were still the occasional bad nights of dreaming: -Coming up out of the Fourteenth Street station, heels clicking smartly on the dirty concrete, traffic muttering down from above. Hearing the voice a few steps up at street level saying, "Just give us the purse, bitch!" Hesitating, then going ahead anyway. Fearing, but-

She heard the second voice, the Aussie accent: "G'day, mates. Some problem here?"

Cordelia emerged from the stairwell into the sweltering night. She saw the instant tableau of two unshaven white punks backing a middle-aged woman into the space between the short row of phone carrels and the plywood butt of a shuttered newsstand. The woman had tight hold of both a yapping black poodle and her handbag.