The Grays

was a liability, fine. The more public she became, the safer she’d be from the shot in the night.

When she saw a bus pull past and stop at the corner, she hurried out of the store and got on it. It would go downtown, she was fairly sure. “I need to get to the Greyhound station,” she told the driver.

“First stop on Illinois, walk two blocks, you’ll see the sign.”

“Thank you.” She took one of the seats in the very last row, because there were no windows beside it. She sat wondering what she might do, where she might go. She thought carefully.

She knew that there were other aspects to the operation. Somebody watched for violations of the agreement with the grays about who they could involve themselves with. But who? She had no idea and no way of finding out.

Again, though, she might find out more at Wright-Pat. Officially, she was stationed there, on detail to the facility. Given that the facility was now inoperable, she couldn’t be said to be violating any orders if she returned to base. In fact, that was likely her legal requirement.

She saw that they were passing her condo. She looked up toward her windows, thinking that all her stuff was there and maybe she would never see it again, or her cute little car that was still parked at the facility or any of her old life, not Ted or any of her friends.

As she looked away, she felt a sudden shudder go through her body. And she was in the apartment. Vivid. Real. Her bed still unmade, yesterday’s skirt on the floor of the bedroom, a flat beer open on the kitchen counter. All of it, just as it was.

Then she was back in the bus.

She knew it immediately: Adam was there, Adam was in her apartment! She jumped up. “Let me off! Let me off the bus!” She hurried forward. “Driver, you have to stop!”

“Express to downtown,” he said.

Idiot! She thought fast. They were a quarter of a mile away, the place was likely to be watched, she should not risk this. But it was her best shot, she was sure of it. “If you don’t stop this bus, I’ll throw up on your head!” She leaned over him and started gagging.

The bus was stopped and the door was open and she was running back up the street toward the condo. She was insane to be risking this, of course, but Adam was there, he must be, he had to be. That was Adam’s mind broadcasting to hers, it was totally and completely unmistakable.

As she ran, she looked for Mike’s Phaeton but didn’t spot it. Maybe she’d outrun him.

No, don’t be a fool, assume only the worst. You didn’t need operational training to understand that.

She went into the cleaners next door. “Hi, Mr. Simmons,” she said.

“Hey, Lauren—”

She ducked behind the counter and headed to the back of the establishment.

“Lauren?”

“Hey, Mrs. Fink,” she said to the seamstress as she passed her sewing station and went out the back door.

She ran up the alley and then took the stairs down to the trash room, and opened the steel outer door with her passkey, which fit all the building’s outside locks. Going through into the basement, she hurried past Jake Silver, their handyman.

“Miss Glass!”

“Hey there, Jake, taking the back way today.” She went to the elevators and pressed the button.

“You ain’t supposed to come through there. That’s not a door, Miss Glass.”

The elevator opened and she got in without responding to him. She started to punch seven, thought better of it, and took the car to the top floor, nine. The corridor was silent, the air smelling faintly of cooking. She went down to the fire stairs and took them two flights.

Her own corridor was just as quiet. She formed a thought—Adam’s face, with a feeling of question attached to it.

Instantly, there came back another thought—an image of her own face. It wasn’t Adam’s usual signature, but it was certainly an image from him, she could tell by how it felt when it appeared, bursting out into her mind like a television picture.

She opened the door and went into her flat. She stood in the doorway with the door still open behind her. From many, many questions she had put to Adam, she knew that whoever she really worked for was attempting to understand and use the process of communication by mind. They had even had her test the range, which was about a quarter of a mile, and could pass through anything except a certain type of electrical field, which was used at times to isolate Adam in the cage.

She looked toward her bedroom. Everything was as she had seen it in the bus, every detail. In the back of her mind, she had been worrying that this was some kind of trick on Mike’s part to draw her here, so now she closed the door and double-locked it—as if that would keep him out for more than a few seconds—and moved deeper into the apartment.

She’d never been with Adam outside of the cage and on one level she was fascinated to find out what this would be like. Hunching her shoulders to express an atmosphere of question, she moved into the center of the living room. With a faint click that made her gasp, the heat turned on. “Hello,” she said. “Adam?” Simultaneously, she projected an image of his face—well, not really his face, because she’d hardly ever actually seen it except in glimpses, but a sort of generic face, long and thin, with big, black eyes.

There was a sound behind her. She turned, but there was nothing there. “Please don’t hide,” she said. “I need you, now.”

Another noise came, behind her again. She turned, and for a moment could not understand what she was seeing. There were two small creatures, each about four feet tall, standing near the broad picture window that crossed the front wall of the big living room. She was appalled at how insectlike they looked, shocked by the gleaming eyes, the expressionless faces, the gracile forms. Insectoid children.

As she stepped forward they turned into two great vultures, black, their red and terrible eyes glaring, their huge beaks open, their wings spread in warning.

A scream pealed out of her, totally involuntary, and she jumped away—only to feel something leap on her back. It held her arms down with an iron grip, its legs pressed against her hips. She could hear it breathing, an absolutely regular sound, like some sort of machine.

Frantically, she projected an image of herself on her knees, then went down as best she could. She made an image of herself as a little girl.

The two vultures postured, screaming, their wings spread wide.

She projected an image of a beautiful garden, then of she and Adam sitting together, then of Adam with his head in her lap—imaginary, of course, she’d never seen him so close.

One of the grays before her became itself again. The other turned into an enormous hooded cobra, coiled against the wall, its head raised a good four feet off the floor, the hood extended, its tongue licking the air.

Then the one that had grabbed her disappeared.

As she had at first with Adam, she sat down, closed her eyes, and cleared her mind. She brought a long-ago trip to the seaside to mind, the blue waves, the smell of suntan oil, the seagulls crying. “It’s okay,” she said, “I know you’re scared. I’m scared, too. But Adam is my friend. I love Adam.” She opened her hands on her knees. “I want to help you.”

The cobra swayed. The other gray stared at her. The one behind her slid its long hands around her neck.

She made an image of Adam again, then of the ruined facility, then of Wilkes shooting at her, then of her running through along an alley. She fired these off fast, one after another.

The cobra struck at her—and was suddenly a gray again, hanging in midair before her. She fought to quell her terror. The gray disappeared, but not completely. The three of them were racing around her, moving so fast through the air that they were blurs.

She got an image of Adam running, then rising into the sky in a shaft of shimmering light.

In return, she made an image of Adam in the light, then of herself in a coffin. She imagined Mike Wilkes closing the coffin with a bang.

Then she said, “Take me with you,” and imagined herself in a shaft of light, going up.