Blind Lake

“Tonight wasn’t your fault.”

“It doesn’t matter to Ray what really happened. He’ll convince himself I was either responsible for it or at least grossly negligent.”

“How long were you married?”

“Nine years.”

“Was he abusive?”

“Not physically. Not quite. He’d shake his fist, but he never threw it. That wasn’t Ray’s style. But he made it clear he didn’t trust me and he sure as hell didn’t approve of me. I used to get calls from him every fifteen minutes, where was I and what was I doing and when would I be home and I’d better not be late. He didn’t like me, but he didn’t want my attention focused on anyone but him. At first I told myself it was just a quirk, a character flaw, something he’d get over.”

“You had friends, family?”

“My parents are charitable people. They accommodated Ray until it became obvious he didn’t want to be accommodated. He didn’t like me seeing them. Didn’t like me seeing friends, either. It was supposed to be just the two of us. No countervailing forces.”

“Good marriage to get out of,” Chris said.

“I’m not sure he believes it’s over.”

“People can get hurt in situations like that.”

“I know,” Marguerite said. “I’ve heard the stories. But Ray would never get physical.”

Chris let that pass. “How was Tess doing when you said good night?”

“She looked pretty sleepy. Worn out, poor thing.”

“How do you suppose she happened to break that window?”

Marguerite took a long sip of her coffee and seemed to inspect the tabletop. “I honestly don’t know. But Tess has had some problems in the past. She has a thing about shiny surfaces, mirrors and things like that. She must have seen something she didn’t like.”

And put her hand through the glass? Chris didn’t understand, but Marguerite was obviously uncomfortable talking about it and he didn’t want to press her. She’d been through enough tonight.

He said, “I wonder how the Subject is doing. Sleepless in Lobsterville.”

“I left everything ru

He followed her upstairs to her office. They tiptoed past the room where Tess was sleeping.

Marguerite’s office was exactly as they had left it, lights burning, interfaces lit, the big wall screen still dutifully following the Subject. But Marguerite gasped when she saw the image.

It was morning again on Subject’s patch of UMa47/E. Subject had left the high balcony and made his way to a surface-level street. Last night’s winds had given every exposed surface a coating of fine white grit, fresh texture under the raking light of the sun.

Subject approached a stone arch five times his height, walking into the sunrise. Chris said, “Where’s he going?”

“I don’t know,” Marguerite said. “But unless he turns around, he’s leaving the city.”

Thirteen

“Charlie Grogan called,” Sue Sampel said as Ray passed through the outer office. “Also Dajit Gill, Julie Sook, and two other department heads. Oh, and you have Ari Weingart at ten and Shulgin at eleven, plus—”

“Forward the agenda to my desktop,” Ray said. “And any urgent messages. Hold calls.” He disappeared into his sanctum sanctorum and closed the door.

Bless silence, Sue thought. It beat the sound of Ray Scutter’s voice.

Sue had left a cup of hot coffee on his desk, a tribute to his punctuality. Very good, Ray thought. But he was facing a difficult day. Since the Subject had set out on his pilgrimage last week, the interpretive committees had been in a state of hysteria. Even the astrozoologists were divided: some of them wanted to keep the focus in Lobsterville and tag a new and more representative Subject; others (and Marguerite was one of these) were convinced the Subject’s behavior was significant and ought to be followed to its conclusion. The Technology and Artifacts people dreaded losing their urban context, but the astrogeologists and climatologists welcomed the prospect of a long detour into the deserts and mountains. The committees were squabbling like fishwives, and absent Blind Lake’s senior scientists or a line to Washington there was no obvious way to resolve the conflict.

Ultimately, these people would look to Ray for guidance. But he didn’t want to assume that responsibility without a great deal of consultation. Whatever decision he made, sooner or later he’d be forced to defend it. He wanted that defense to be airtight. He needed to be able to cite names and documents, and if some of the more hotheaded committee partisans thought he was “dodging the issue” — and he had heard those words bandied about — too bad. He had asked them all to prepare position papers.

Best to start the day in a positive mood. Ray unfolded a paper napkin and used his key to open the bottom drawer of the desk.

Since the lockdown began Ray had been keeping a stash of DingDongs locked in his desk drawer. It was embarrassing to acknowledge, but he happened to like baked goods and he especially liked DingDongs with his breakfast coffee, and he could live without the inevitable smart-ass commentary about Polysorbate 80 and “empty calories,” thank you very much. He liked peeling back the brittle wrapper; he liked the sugar-and-cornstarch smell that came wafting out; he liked the glutinous texture of the pastry and the way hot coffee flensed the slightly chemical aftertaste from his palate.

But DingDongs weren’t included in the weekly black truck deliveries. Ray had been ca

He pulled a DingDong out of the drawer. Take one away: that left five, a business-week’s-worth.

But all he could see were four packages lingering in the shadows.

Four. He counted again. Four. He searched the drawer with his hand. Four.

There should have been five. Had he miscalculated?

Impossible. He had recorded the count in his nightly journal.

He sat immobile for a moment, processing this unwelcome information, working up a solid righteous anger. Then he buzzed Sue Sampel and asked her to step inside.

“Sue,” he said when she appeared in the doorway. “Do you happen to have a key to my desk?”

“To your desk?” She was either surprised by the question or faking it very plausibly. “No, I don’t.”

“Because when I came here the support people told me I’d have the only key.”

“Did you lose it? They must have a master somewhere. Or they can replace the locks, I guess.”

“No, I didn’t lose it.” She flinched from his voice. “I have the key right here. Something’s been stolen.”

“Stolen? What was stolen?”

“It doesn’t matter what was stolen. As it happens, it was nothing very important. What matters is that somebody gained access to my desk without my knowledge. Surely even you can grasp the significance of that.”

She glanced at the desktop. Ray realized, too late, that he had left this morning’s DingDong lying unopened next to his coffee cup. She looked at it, then at Ray, with a you-must-be-kidding expression on her face. He felt blood rush to his cheeks.

“Maybe you could talk to the cleaning staff,” Sue said.

Now all he wanted was for her to disappear. “Well, all right, I suppose it doesn’t matter… I shouldn’t have mentioned it…”

“Or Security. You have Shulgin coming in later.”

Was she concealing a smile? Was she actually laughing at him? “Thank you,” he said tightly.