overcome her guard and escaped.
Well, there was no way she could get to us inside the base, locked inside a building isolated by Pentagon decree. Amelia was worried that the woman might find out where she had been living, so she called Ellie. There was no answer. She left a message, warning about Gavrila and advising her to move to some random place across town.
Marty's schedule said he was in surgery and wouldn't be free until 1900-five hours. There was some cheese and beer in the cooler. We had a slow snack and then collapsed into bed. It was narrow for two people, but we were so exhausted that anything horizontal would do. She fell asleep with her head on my shoulder, for the first time in a long time.
I woke up groggily to the console pinging. It didn't wake Amelia, but I did, in my clumsy efforts to extricate myself. My left arm was asleep, a cold tingling log, and I had romantically left a spot of drool on her cheek.
She rubbed at that and opened her eyes to slits. 'Phone?'
'Go back to sleep. I'll tell you if it's anything.' I walked into the office, beating my left arm against my side. I snagged a ginger ale from the cooler – the favorite drink of whoever had lived there previously, and sat down to the console:
Marty will meet you and Blaze at 1915 in the mess hall. Bring this.
The size of the roster was familiar, a listing of the entire complement of Building 31, minus me. I'd probably seen it a hundred times a day in my old job.
The order of the listing was odd, since it had nothing to do with people's functions (I'd normally seen it as a duty roster), but it only took a minute to figure it out. The first five names were the mechanic guards whose soldierboys my platoon had taken over. Then a list of all the jacked officers, who had been jacked together since 26 July, presumably not all in one big group.
Likewise, the end of the roster was all of the jacked noncoms and privates, besides the guards. They also had been jacked together since day before yesterday. They would all theoretically come out of it on the 9th of August, cured of war.
In between those two groups, a list of the sixty-some who had spent all their lives up to now under the handicap of normality. The four doctors had been drilling since yesterday. It looked like team 1 was doing about five a day, and team 2-presumably the hotshots from the Canal Zone-were doing eight.
I heard Amelia moving in the bedroom, changing out of the clothes she'd slept in. She came out combing her hair and wearing a dress, a red-and-black Mexican thing I'd never seen.
'I didn't know you brought a dress.'
'Dr. Spencer gave it to me; said he bought it for his wife, but it didn't fit her.'
'Likely story.'
She looked over my shoulder. 'Lot of people.'
'They're doing about a dozen a day, with two teams. I wonder whether they're sleeping at all.'
'Well, they're eating.' She checked her watch. 'How far away is that mess hall?'
'Couple minutes.'
'Why don't you change your shirt and shave?'
'For Marty?'
'For me.' She plucked at my shoulder. 'Shoo. I want to call Ellie again.'
I scraped a quick shave and found a shirt that had one day's wear.
'Still no answer,' Amelia said from the other room. 'There's no one at the motel desk, either.'
'You want to check with the Clinic? Or Jefferson's motel room?'
She shook her head and pushed the PR button. 'After dinner. She's probably out.' A copy of the roster drifted out of the slot; Amelia caught it, folded it, and put it in her purse. 'Let's go find Marty.'
THE MESS HALL WAS small but, to Amelia's surprise, not totally automated. There were machines for some standard simple food, but also an actual food station with an actual cook, who Julian recognized.
'Lieutenant Thurman?'
'Julian. Still can't tolerate jacking, so I volunteered to step in for Sergeant Duffy. Don't get your hopes up, though; I can only cook four or five things.' He looked at Amelia. 'You would be ... Amelia?'
'Blaze,' Julian said, and introduced them. 'Were you jacked with them for any length of time?'
'If you mean 'Are you in on it,' yes, I got the general idea. You did the math?' he asked Amelia.
'No, I did the particles; just tagged along behind Julian and Peter on the math.'
He started tossing two salads.
'Peter, the cosmology guy,' he said. 'I saw about him on the news yesterday.'
'Yesterday?' Julian said.
'You didn't hear? They found him wandering around dazed on some island.' Thurman told them all he remembered about the news item.
'But he doesn't recall anything about the paper?' Amelia said.
'I guess not. Not if he thinks it's the year 2000. You think he can get it back?'
'Only if the people who took out the memory saved it,' Julian said, 'and that doesn't sound likely. Sounds like a pretty crude job.'
'At least he's still alive,' Amelia said.
'Not much good to us,' Julian said, and caught a look from Amelia. 'Sorry. True, though.'
Thurman gave them their salads and started a couple of hamburgers. Marty came in and asked for the same.
They went to the end of a long empty table. Marty slumped into the chair and unpeeled a speedie from behind his ear. 'Better sleep a few hours.'
'How long you been on your feet?'
He looked at his watch without focusing on it. 'I don't want to know. We're just about through with the colonels. Two Team's just up from a nap; they'll do Tomy and the topkick, what's his name?'
'Gilpatrick,' Julian said. 'He could use a little humanizing.'
Thurman brought over Marty's salad. 'That was a mess up in Guadalajara,' he said. 'The news came in from Jefferson just before I left the Twenty.' Most of the communication between Guadalajara and Portobello was via jack circuit rather than conventional phone – you got through more information in less time, and everyone who was jacked would know sooner or later, anyhow.
'It was sloppy,' Julian said. 'They should have been more careful with that woman.'
'That's for sure.' Thurman went back to his hamburgers. Neither of them knew they were talking about two different incidents; they'd tried Thurman on the jack twice; he'd been in contact when the news came in about the killing rampage that ended in Elbe's murder.
'What woman?' Marty said between bites.
Julian and Amelia looked at each other. 'You don't know about Gavrila. About Ray.'
'Nothing. Is Ray in trouble?'
Julian took a breath and let it out. 'He's dead, Marty.'
Marty dropped his fork. 'Ray?'
'Gavrila's a Hammer of God assassin who was sent down to kill Blaze. She smuggled a gun into an interrogation room and shot him.'
'Ray?' he repeated. They'd been friends since graduate school. He was still and pale. 'What will I tell his wife?' He shook his head. 'I was best man.'
'I don't know,' Julian said. 'You can't just say 'He gave his life for peace,' though it's true, in a way.'
'It's also true that I dragged him away from his safe, comfortable office and put him in the way of a lunatic murderer.'
Amelia took his hand in both of hers. 'Don't worry about it now. Nothing you can do will change anything.'
He stared at her blankly. 'She's not expecting him back until the fourteenth. So maybe the universe will make it all irrelevant by exploding.'
'More likely,' Julian said, 'he'll wind up just one in a long list of casualties. You might as well wait and announce them all after the shitstorm. After the bloodless revolution.'
Thurman came over quietly and served them their hamburgers. He'd overheard enough to realize that they
