Gideon's Corpse

Oddly, that certitude seemed to liberate him. He knew now what he faced, and what he could never have. It gave him the freedom to follow the doctor’s parting advice: to focus on doing things that mattered to him, and help others. Releasing the trout would have been a fine gesture; but, he had to admit, eating it had been an even rarer pleasure. Eating it had mattered to him. In the midst of life we are in death… It was a wise thought, true for trout and human alike.

Over those three weeks, he had done a number of other small things that mattered to him. One had been to arrange for an indefinite medical leave from Los Alamos. And when his little fishing vacation was over, when he had turned his phones back on and collected his messages at last, he found one from Gli

Even his anger at Gli

And so here he was, back in New York City, ready to start the next chapter in his short life. He took a deep breath and looked around. It was a beautiful weekend afternoon, and Washington Square Park was overflowing with activity. He lingered, enchanted by the bustle—the Dominican drummers whose joyful rhythms filled the air; a group of awkward in-line-skating kids in helmets and padded knees, their mothers sitting in a worried knot; a pair of men in expensive suits smoking cigars; an old hippie strumming a guitar and collecting coins; a mime trailing people, aping their way of walking to their great a

The city had changed; and he had, as well. We all need reminding what’s really important in life, thought Gideon. These people had been reminded. Just as he had.

It was all over; the country had returned to normal. His own troubles had been resolved: the videotapes at USAMRIID, Blaine’s laptop, and Dart, confessing all from his hospital bed, had filled in the gaps and told the full story. Novak had been arrested, along with other conspirators at Los Alamos and in the defense and intelligence communities. The frame job had been exposed, Chalker revealed as an i

Then there was Alida. She was gone forever. That part of his heart he was still wrapping up and packing away. Nothing more to be done about that.

He took a turn around the fountain, and paused in front of the Dominican drummers. They were pounding away, huge smiles on their faces, bliss in their eyes, beating out the most complicated syncopations imaginable: not just two against three but five against three and what even sounded like seven against four. It was like the beating of the human heart, he thought; that first sensation we all experienced at the begi

As he listened to the music, he felt peace. Real peace. It was an amazing feeling, one he was still unused to. Was this what most people experienced every day? He had never known what he’d been missing. The AVM, and the good doctor, had given him that gift, finally, after so many years of anxiety, fear, sorrow, angst, hatred, and revenge. It was a huge, even inexplicable irony. The AVM was going to kill him—but first, it had set him free.

Gideon glanced at his watch. He was going to be late, but that was all right. The drumming was what was important right now. He listened for almost an hour; and then, with a feeling of peace still in his heart, he headed west down Waverly Place to Greenwich Avenue, toward the old Meatpacking District.

EES seemed as empty as always. He was buzzed in without even an acknowledgment. No one was there to meet him or escort him through the cavernous laboratory spaces to the elevator. The elevator creaked up, and up, the doors finally opening again. He walked down the hall to the conference room. The door was closed; all was silent as a tomb.

He knocked, and he heard Gli

Gideon opened the door and was greeted with a room full of people, and a sudden outpouring of applause and cheering. Gli

And then they fell silent. Gideon realized they were expecting him to speak. He stood there, flummoxed. Then he cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said. “Um, who are all you people?”

This was greeted with a laugh.

Gli

An eruption of applause.

“There is nothing we can say or do, and nothing we can give you, that would properly express our gratitude for what you did. So I’m not even going to try.”

Gideon was moved. They wanted to hear him say more. What would he say? It suddenly occurred to him that he was so good at being phony, at spi

“I’m just glad I was able to do something good in this crazy world.” He cleared his throat again. “But I couldn’t have done it without my partner, Stone Fordyce. Who gave his life. He’s the hero. All I gave was a few teeth.”

A more restrained round of applause.

“I want to thank you all, too. I can’t begin to know what you all do, or have done, but it’s nice to see your faces. So many times out there, I felt like I was on my own, alone. I realize that’s part of the job—part of your system, I suppose—but seeing you all here makes me realize that I wasn’t really alone, after all. I guess, in a way, EES is my home now. Even my family.”

Nods, murmured agreements.

A silence and Gli

“I ate a trout.”

More laughter and applause. Gideon stilled it with the raise of a hand. “Over the past few days I’ve realized something. This is what I should be doing. I want to continue to work for you, for EES. I think I can do some real good here. Finally…” He paused, glanced around. “I really don’t have anything else in my life worth a damn. You’re it. Sad, I know, but that’s how it is.”