His voice was heavy. He wouId have lightened it, but could not. He was tasting It now, for the first time in his life. The young think answers come easily, as if by right, that the world shapes itself at the bidding of their will. one by one, generation by generation, they learn how smal a part of truth that is, the world shapes them far more than they it. Then Melody said, 'What are we going to do?' he knew he had to answer. Knowing hurt worse than staying quiet would have. He said, 'We're going to give Matt back to the DRC.' “What?' She stared at him.
That's the only place he can get more HIVI, and if he doesn’t get it he won't go on too long. If this round of pemmonia doesn't finish him, the next one will, or some other infection he won't be able to fight off and we can't help him. Come on, Melody, is it so or not ,' she said grimly. AIDS was not a quick or easy way to die, too many thousands of deaths had left everyone knowing that. 'But they'll only go on using him as a lab specimen
'A live one,' Dixon broke in, 'at least for a while, and with the HIVI he feels al right, for as long as it’s effective.'
'However long that is.' Melody was still fighting it!
'Longer than he has with us.' She flinched. 'The cause…”
'If you think that cause is worth more than what happens to one sim in particular, how are you any different from Dr. Howard?'
'That's a low blow, Ken.' But she did not give him a direct reply. For some time, she did not give him anything at al . she finally said, 'Let's see what Matt has to say about it. If he wants to go back, oh, shit.' It was not I concession, but Dixon knew it was as much as he would get. They went to the closed door. Melody, usually impetuous, stayed behind Dixon, as if to say this was not her place. He opened the door. They both frowned at the sickroom smel that met them.
Matt lay on his back on the bed. He lifted his head a couple of inches when they came in, then let it fal back the pil ow, as though the effort of holding it up was top much For him. For the moment, though, he was breathing well.
He had lost weight, but had no appetite; a bowl of food, almost full, stood untouched on the nightstand. His eyes ' were the only live things in his thin face. He looked, Dab thought, like a camp survivor from the Russo- Prussian War. Dixon knew the comparison was a cliche. Nontheless, it fit all too well. Once inside the bedroom, Melody took the lead; Dixon’s idea might have been her own, once she was with Matt
'You've stopped coughing,' she said quietly. 'Are you feeling any better?' so Tired, the sim signed. So tired. His arms flopped down. On the mattress as soon as he was done using them. Then one of them came up again. Medicine? he signed Medicine that helps?
'I'm sorry, Matt. We have none, and don't know where to get any.” Melody said. Dixon winced at Matts shrug of resignation. Melody went on, 'They do have that kind of medicine at the towers, Matt, if you want to go back.' she held her voice steady.
home? Matt signed, which only made Dixon feel worse, he had not thought he could. The sims somber face brightened. Medicine back home?
He tried to sit up, eventual y succeeded, though it set off another spasm of coughing, this one fortunately brief. Females too, yes? he I with a sidelong look at Dixon and Melody. Tired of hand. That set Melody laughing so hard she had trouble stoping. Finally, at Dixon's quizzical look, she explained, read in my great-great-grandfather's diary that the only reason he ever came home from a trapping run was that he got tiered of his hand.'
' Dixon laughed too, a little, before turning serious Pin, 'Matt seems to have made his choice.' That brought her up short; after a moment, she gave a reluctant nod. Then went on, 'Now we have to figure out how to give him back without giving ourselves away to the greencoats....'
The intercom buzzed. 'Yes, Doris?' Dr. Howard said.
“It’s for you, sir,' his secretary said. 'Won't give a name, won't speak to anyone but you. He says it's about Matt” ”Put him on,' Howard said wearily. He'd had enough crank cal s since Matt was taken to last him a lifetime, but there was always the off chance.... He picked up the phone. 'Yes?
This is Dr. Peter Howard. Go ahead.'
The man on the other end of the line sounded young and cautious, but what he said made Howard sit straighter in his chair “ How do I know your not a fake”
'If I were a fake, would I have any way of knowing last three pamphlets you got were red, green, and White order?'
The doctor said, exitment rising in his voice. 'I don't believe you would.
This is about Matt, you say? Where is he is he well? Is he alive?'
The stolen HIVI should have been used up some time ago. After it was gone, anything might have happened.
'No, he's not very well, but he is alive,' the caller 'As a matter of fact, he's sitting on a bench on the corner Peachtree and Sherman, waiting for somebody to come pick him up. We're giving him back to you.' If that was true, Relief left Howard limp. 'Thank you,' he whispered.
'You're anything but welcome,' the young man bitterly. 'You made him sick, but you're the only one who can slow down the AIDS in him now, so we don't have any choice but to give him back. I wish we did.'
'People will be better because of what we've done to him,' Howard said.
'Wil Matt. He didn't get a choice.'
'You had him some little while yourself. Did you let him make all his own choices?' The silence at the other end of the connection answered that for Howard. 'You can't with a sim, can you?' the doctor said. 'Believe me, I know that.''
'Go to hell,' the young man said. 'I'm breaking this call off now. You're probably tracking this call.' The connecting went blank.
'Thank you for giving him back, anyhow,' Howard to the dead line.
Then he gathered himself and rang Coleman. He was not surprised to find that the so chief had already given orders for picking up Matt, going after the caller.
