'He was armed-it was him with the laser! It was a madhouse, a mob out of control. We were ordered to shoot anyone with a weapon.'
'But he couldn't have hurt you. Just your machine.'
'He was shooting wildly,' I lied; half-lied. 'He could have killed dozens himself.'
'You couldn't have shot for the weapon he was using?'
'No, it was a heavy-duty Nipponex. They have Ablar, a bulletproof and antispalling coating. Look, I aimed for his knees, then somebody jostled him from behind. He pitched forward and the bullet hit him in the chest.'
'So it was sort of an industrial accident. He shouldn't have been playing with the big boys' toys.'
'If you want to put it that way.'
'How would you put it? You pulled the trigger.'
'This is crazy. You don't know about Liberia yesterday?'
'Africa? We've been too busy – '
'There's a Liberia in Costa Rica.'
'I see. That's where the boy was.'
'And a thousand others. Also past tense.' I took a long drink of whiskey and coughed. 'Some extremists killed a couple of hundred children, and made it look like we'd been responsible. That was horrible enough. Then a mob attacked us, and ... and ... the riot control measures backfired. They're supposed to be benign, but they caused the death of hundreds more, trampled. Then they started shooting, shooting their own people. So we, we...'
'Oh, my God. I'm sorry,' she said, her voice trembling. 'You need real support, and here I come all edgy with fatigue and preoccupied. You poor... have you been to a counselor?'
'Yeah. He was a big help.' I plucked an ice cube from the tea and dropped it in the whiskey. 'He said I'd get over it.'
'Will you?'
'Sure. He gave me some pills.'
'Well, be careful with the pills and the booze.'
'Yes, doctor.' I took a cool sip.
'Seriously. I'm worried.'
'Yeah, me too.' Worried, wearied. 'So what are you and this Pete doing?'
'But you – '
'Let's just change the subject. What did he want you for?'
'Jupiter. He's challenging some basic cosmological assumptions.'
'Then why you? Probably everyone from Macro on down knows more about cosmology-hell, I probably do.'
'I'm sure you do. But that's why he chose me-everyone senior to me was in on the planning stages of the Project, and they have this consensus about... certain aspects of it.'
'What aspects?'
'I can't tell you.'
'Oh, come on.'
She touched her tea but didn't drink it; looked into it. 'Because you can't really keep a secret. All your platoon would know as soon as you jacked.'
'They wouldn't know shit. Nobody else in that platoon can tell a Hamiltonian from a hamburger. Anything technical, they might pick up on my emotional reaction, but that's it. No technical details; they might as well be in Greek.'
'Your emotional reaction is what I'm talking about. I can't say any more. Don't ask me.'
'Okay. Okay.' I took another drink of whiskey and pushed the order button. 'Let's get something to eat.' She asked it for a salmon sandwich and I got a hamburger and another whiskey, a double.
'So you're total strangers. Never met before.'
'What is that supposed to mean?'
'Only what I asked.'
'I met him maybe fifteen years ago, at a colloquium in Denver. If you must know, that's when I was living with Marty. He went to Denver and I tagged along.'
'Ah.' I finished the first whiskey.
'Julian. Don't be upset about that. There's nothing going on. He's old and fat and more neurotic than you.'
'Thanks. So you'll be home, when?'
'I have to teach tomorrow. So I'll be home by morning. Then come back here Wednesday if we still have work to do.'
'I see.'
'Look, don't tell anyone, especially Macro, that I'm here.'
'He'd be jealous?'
'What is this with jealousy? I told you there's nothing ...' She slumped back. 'It's just that Peter's been in fights with him, in Physics Review Letters. I may be in a position where I have to defend Peter against my own boss.'
'Great career move.'
'This is bigger than career. It's ... well, I can't tell you.'
'Because I'm so neurotic.'
'No. That's not it. That's not it at all. I just – ' Our order rolled up to the booth and she wrapped the sandwich in a napkin and stood. 'Look, I'm under more pressure than you know. Will you be all right? I have to get back.'
'Sure. I understand about work.'
'This is more than just work. You'll forgive me later.' She slid out of the booth and gave me a long kiss. Her eyes were wet with tears. 'We have to talk more about that boy. And the rest of it. Meanwhile, take the pills; take it easy.' I watched her hurry out.
The hamburger smelled good but it tasted like dead meat. I took a bite but couldn't swallow it. I transferred the mouthful to a napkin, discreetly, and drank up the double in three quick swallows. Then I buzzed for another, but the table said it couldn't serve me alcohol for another hour.
I took the tube to the airport and had drinks in two places, waiting for the flight back home. A drink on the plane and a sour nap in the cab.
When I got home I found a half-bottle of vodka and poured it over a large mug of ice cubes. I stirred it until the mug was good and frosty. Then I emptied out the bottle of pills and pushed them into seven piles of five each.
I was able to swallow six of the piles, one mouthful of icy vodka apiece. Before I swallowed the seventh, I realized I should write a note. I owed Amelia that much. But I tried to stand up to find some paper and my legs wouldn't obey; they were just lumps. I considered that for awhile and decided to just take the rest of the pills, but I could only make my arm swing like a pendulum. I couldn't focus on the pills, anyhow. I leaned back and it was peaceful, loose, like floating in space. It occurred to me that this was the last thing I would ever feel, and that was all right. It was a lot better than going after all those generals.
AMELIA SMELLED URINE WHEN she unlocked the door eight hours later. She ran from room to room and finally found him in the reading alcove, slumped sideways in her favorite chair, the last neat pile of five pills in front of him, along with the empty prescription vial and half a large glass of warm watered vodka.
Sobbing, she felt his neck for a pulse and thought maybe there was a slight thread. She slapped him twice, hysterically hard, and he didn't respond.
She called 9-1-1 and they said all units were out; it might be an hour. So she switched to the campus emergency room and described the situation and said she was bringing him in. Then she called a cab.
She heaved him out of the chair and tried to pick him up under the arms, staggering back out of the alcove. She wasn't strong enough to carry him that way, though, and she wound up dragging him ignominiously by the feet through the apartment. Backing out through the door, she almost ran into a large male student, who helped her carry him to the cab and went along with her to the hospital, asking questions that she answered in monosyllables.
