Marooned in Realtime

Wil's hand hovered over the commit. 'Unh, no. Wait.' Curiosity was a powerful thing with Brierson. He'd just remembered something that could force his normal self to go against all common sense and retrieve another copy. Better check it out now, then zap the diary.

When he first received the diary, he'd asked for all references to himself. There had been four. He had seen three; She'd mentioned calling him back from the beach the day of the Peacer rescue. There'd been the fisher she'd named after him. Then, around year thirty-eight, she'd recommended Yelen use his services-even though she'd forgotten his name lay then. That was the reference which hurt so much the first time he looked at the document. Wil guessed he could forgive that now; those years would have destroyed the soul of a lesser person, not simply blurred a few memories.

But what was the fourth reference? Wil repeated the context search. Ah. No wonder he had missed it. It appeared about year thirteen, tucked away in one of her essays on the plan. In this one, she wrote on each of the low-techs she remembered, citing strengths and weaknesses, trying to guess how they would react to the plan. In a sense it was a foolish exercise-Marta granted that much more elaborate analysis existed on the Korolev db's — but she hoped her 'time of solitude' had given her new insights. Besides (unsaid), she needed to be doing something useful in the years that stretched before her.

T Wil Brierson. An important one. I never believed the commercial mythology, much less the novels his son wrote. Yet.. , since we've known him in person, I've concluded he may be almost as sharp as they make him out to be. At least in some ways. If you and I can't figure out who did this to me, he might still be able to.

T Brierson has a lot of respect among the low-techs. That and his general competence would be a real help against Steve Fraley and whoever will run the Peacer show. But what if he opposes our plan? That may seem ridiculous; he was born in a civilized era. Yet I'm not sure of the man. One thing about civilization, it allows the most extreme types to find a niche where they can live to their own and others' benefit. Here, we are temporarily beyond civilization; people we could abide before might now be dangerous. Wil is still disoriented; maybe that accounts for his behavior. But he may have a mean, irrational streak under his friendly exterior. I only have one piece of evidence, something I've been a little ashamed to tell you about:

T You know I was attracted to the guy. Well, he followed me when I stormed out of Don Robinson's show. Now, I wasn't trying to flirt; I was just so mad at Don's sneakiness, I had, to open up to someone — and you were in deep connect. We' talked for several minutes before I realized that the pats on my shoulder, the hand at my waist, were not brotherly comfort. It was my fault for letting it get that far, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. The guy is big; he actually started knocking me around. If the rest of the evening hadn't begun my great 'adventure,' the bruises he left on my chest would have had medical attention. You see, Lelya? Mean to beat me when I refused him. Irrational for doing it with Fred just five meters away. I had to suppress the auton's reflexes, or Brierson would have been stunned for a week. Finally, I slapped his face as hard as I could, and threatened him with Fred. He backed off then, and seemed genuinely embarrassed. t

Wil read the paragraph again and again. It hung in the circle of light from his desk lamp... and not one letter changed. He wondered how his normal self would react to Marta's words. Would he be enraged? Or simply crushed that she could say such a lie?

He thought for a long time, vaguely aware of the nightmare edge of the darkness around him. Finally he knew. The reaction would not be rage, would not be hurt. When he could feel again, there would be triumph: The case had cracked. For the first time, he knew he would get Marta's murderer.

TWENTY-ONE

Yelen gave him the promised two days off and even removed the autons from his house. When he walked near a window, he could see something hovering just below the sill. He had no doubt it would come rushing in at the smallest sign of erratic behavior. Wil did his best to give no such sign. He did all his research away from the windows; Yelen might see his return to the diary as a bad method of recuperating.

But now Wil wasn't reading the diary. He was using all the (feeble) automation at his command to study it.

When Yelen came around with her list of places to visit and low-techs to talk to, Wil begged off. Forty-eight hours was not enough, he said. He needed to rest, to avoid the case completely.

The tactic bought him a week of uninterrupted quiet-probably enough time to squeeze the last clues from Marta's story; almost enough time to prepare his strategy. The seventh day, Yelen was on the holo again. 'No more excuses, Brierson. I've been talking to Della.' The great human-relations exert? thought Wil. 'We don't think you're doing anything to help yourself. Three times the Dasguptas have tried to get you out of the house; you put them off the same way you do me. We think your 'recuperation' is an exercise in self-pity.

'So'-she smiled coldly —'your vacation is over.' A light :,teamed at the base of his data set. 'I just sent you a record of the party Fraley threw yesterday. I got his speech and most )f the related conversation. As usual, I think I'm missing nuances. I want you to —'

Wil resisted the impulse to straighten his slumped shoulders; leis plan might as well begin now. 'Any more evidence of Nigh-tech interference?'

'No. I would scarcely need your help to detect that. But —'

Then the rest scarcely matters. But he didn't say it out loud.

Tot yet. 'Okay, Yelen. Consider me back from psych leave.'

'Good.'

'But before I go after this Fraley thing, I want to talk to you and Delta. Together.'