potential donors, so that exact matches can be found for those in need of organs or tissue. After the killer kidnapped Rosalind May-his intended recipient-he had to tissue-type her, then find a donor of the right age who was a match. The twenty-five hundred women on EROS aren’t nearly a large enough group to get a match. Actually, he would need a tissue donor registry. Like for bone marrow. Transplant networks list people who
“So where would he find a group like that?” Miles asked.
Drewe shrugged. “A legitimate tissue donor network. Or directed donors listed with blood banks. Those are the only kinds of databases that would have the medical information he’d need.”
While Miles pondered this, Drewe stared at me as if waiting for me to say something. When I didn’t, she looked at Miles and said, “We’ve got to tell the FBI to start checking tissue donor registries.”
He looked at me, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of contacting the FBI.
“Can we do it anonymously?” I asked her.
She sighed deeply, then pulled her keys from her pocket and walked away. She slammed the front door on her way out.
At my request, Miles agreed to compose a summary of Drewe’s theory and sneak it into the Quantico computer. I suggested using an anonymous remailing service to send the message, but Miles thought the FBI could get at us through the operator if they tried hard enough.
Later that day, a running argument developed between us as to whether Brahma was actually being taken in by Lenz, or whether he was making a fool of him. I’d begun to notice what I thought was dry humor in “Maxwell’s” conversations with “Lilith.” Most of it was double entendre so subtle as to be arguable, yet I believed it significant. Ever since Miles pointed out the “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” and “Levon” connections, I’d felt Brahma was toying with us. Not just Lenz, but everyone who had committed the hubris of stepping up to the plate against him.
Miles, on the other hand, thought Lenz was doing very well, considering the time pressure he was under, and pointed out that I had yet to draw Brahma into a single on-line conversation. To speed up this process, he carried his laptop to the easy chair in the front room and, during an encore showing of
The police surveillance of our house continued, and by the third day cabin fever had set in. Miles insisted that my phones were tapped. And it wasn’t enough that he remain indoors. He demanded that I check one window on each side of the house every half hour and also that I leave the house occasionally to create the appearance of normalcy. I understood the necessity, but it became a major pain to constantly jump up from my computer while he sat watching
Yet it was tougher on him than on me. He’d promised Drewe that he would clear out at the first sign of trouble, and I knew he meant it. Like a fireman or a fighter pilot, he had to stay pumped enough to jump up from a dead sleep and race into the kitchen pantry for the trapdoor that led to the bomb shelter.
So it was almost a divine deliverance when, at eleven p.m. on the third night, the long-awaited invitation from Brahma arrived. I’d been in the “lobby” of one of EROS’s conference areas, politely fending off not-so-polite advances from a man calling himself “Billy Pilgrim,” when a small window opened on my screen. The words inside it read:
MAXWELL› Hello, Erin. I notice that your conversations have a particular type of error pattern. Are you using a voice-recognition unit?
My heartbeat racing, I tried to think clearly. I’d debated whether or not to use the voice-recognition unit. Ultimately, I decided that being able to speak my thoughts into the computer rather than type them was worth arousing whatever suspicion Miles’s voice-rec program might cause in Brahma. Speaking as clearly as I could, I said, “Yes. How did you know?”
On the screen appeared:
ERIN› Yes. How did you know?
There was a brief silence. Then three new lines of text appeared, and the voice I’d selected for Brahma said:
MAXWELL› I’m quite familiar with such systems. You’re the first person I’ve seen using one on EROS. Where did you come by it? Quality systems are prohibitively expensive.
Miles had given me good ammunition for this question.
ERIN› My husband is a physician. He’s using a new system that was designed for medical dictation. A friend of his works for the company that designed it. He put a version on our computer so we could try it out. I like it. I like having my hands free.
MAXWELL› Yes. What company does this friend work for?
ERIN› Sorry. It’s proprietary technology, still in the testing stage. He’d go ballistic if I talked about it. Mostly because of the company’s stock price.
MAXWELL› I see. Would you like to join me in the Blue Room?
My heart thudded against my breastbone. After saying yes, I sent a rude kiss-off to “Billy Pilgrim,” then clicked my way into digital privacy with a man who had killed at least eight people, and probably more.
Brahma was waiting when I arrived.
MAXWELL› I’ve been watching you. You spurn attention as though it burns you. What are you looking for?
I paused to compose myself. During the long days of waiting, I’d given much thought to how I would approach Brahma. In the end, I knew, I would have to fly purely on instinct. But as with any new relationship, my opening was critical.
ERIN› Something that doesn’t exist.
MAXWELL› What could that be?
ERIN› A man with the soul of a woman.
MAXWELL› There are many of those.
ERIN› A man who has the soul of a woman but remains a man.
MAXWELL› Ah. This is rarer. Why do you seek this?
ERIN› I’m unfulfilled, obviously.
MAXWELL› Man desires all things, thus he is eternally unfulfilled.
ERIN› But woman can be fulfilled.
MAXWELL› I speak of Man in the collective sense.
ERIN› There is no collective sense that includes both man and woman. They are poles of existence.
MAXWELL› You speak wisely. You have much experience?
ERIN› Is that a nice way of asking how old I am?
MAXWELL› Take it as you will.
ERIN› I just passed my thirtieth birthday.
MAXWELL› You are married?
ERIN› Yes.
MAXWELL› Your only marriage?
ERIN› Yes.
MAXWELL› You have children?
ERIN› A son.
MAXWELL› There are problems?
ERIN› Not the usual sort.
MAXWELL› You are sexually content?
ERIN› No. I’ve lost my passion for the physical.
MAXWELL› But you once enjoyed it?
ERIN› I lived by it.
The speakers fell silent. Then Maxwell resumed his questioning.
MAXWELL› Why do you seek a man with the soul of a woman?
