Aftermath a-1

by Charles Sheffield

  “I don’t hide bad news from you, sir.”

  “You try not to. And I love you for it.” Saul wondered about that choice of verb, but Yasmin perked up visibly. Anyway, it was too late to change what he had said, and he went on, “I need inputs that tell it straight. Before the gamma pulse, I thought I had a way through the shield of people around me. My office was wired for direct data feeds. I could switch from space cameras to farm country to undersea to almost every state and city in the world. When I lost that service I felt I’d been blinded. Until it comes back there’s only one answer: I have to get outside the White House and see for myself. Inspecting places like this is important. And I need help — I can’t be everywhere. I’ll give you just one example. The Q-5 is listed as a ’small’ facility for extended syncope, but over eleven thousand prisoners are there — including murderers, human monsters, and a number of the country’s most dangerous convicted terrorists. I have seen not one word about the condition of Q-5 in any report. When you go there to find your brother, I want you to keep your eyes open and give me a briefing when you get back to Washington. Something is happening at Q-5, but I don’t trust my military advisers to understand what. They see everything through their own filters.”

  “I’ll do my best. It will be difficult with Raymond to worry about, but I’ll try to be objective.”

  Saul nodded and became quiet. He remained that way for a long time, slowly eating. So long that at last Yasmin, restored by wine, time, and silence to some of her natural sassiness, felt curious enough to prompt him.

  “Sir?”

  Saul looked up at her. She smiled, a warm but tentative smile.

  “You said you had another reason for coming here to see me, sir. A personal reason. If you would like to tell me about that, I’d very much like to listen.”

  16

  You heard talk of electrical power returning to the whole city, but so far there was no sign of it. The candles, flickering low, turned the long basement room to a maze of shadows. Auden Travis didn’t see where Nick Lopez came from, but suddenly the Senator was smiling at his side.

  “No rush, Auden, but it’s thinning out.” Lopez gestured to the door, where half a dozen men were putting on their coats. “Jeremy and Raoul would never dream of saying anything — we could stay here ’til dawn if we wanted to. But it’s close to two o’clock.”

  “It can’t be that late.” Auden looked at his wrist, where of course there was no working watch. “It feels about ten o’clock.”

  “Believe me, it’s not.” Lopez took Travis’s elbow. “They have to get up in the morning for work — and so do you.”

  “I suppose so.” Auden moved toward the door at Lopez’s gentle urging, but before he arrived there he turned his head for a final look down the room.

  “Enjoy it?” Lopez asked quietly.

  “I had a wonderful time, Senator.”

  “Nick.”

  “Nick.” Travis took a deep breath. “I know this will sound corny, but I haven’t enjoyed an evening as much as this in my entire life. It makes me feel almost guilty, having such a great time when the city and the world is such a mess.”

  “It is a mess, but not because of anything we did. I’m glad you liked it. I hope you’ll come again.”

  “I’d love to. If I get invited.”

  “Oh, come on, don’t be silly. Couldn’t you see you were the hit of the evening?”

  “I thought it was my imagination. Everyone was so friendly to me.”

  “And why shouldn’t they be? You are gorgeous. And you deserve a few hours of pleasure. You work much too hard, you know. I hope Saul appreciates you.”

  “Oh, he does.” But Travis couldn’t erase the memory of the President running off after that whore, Yasmin Silvers. He wanted to pour out the truth to Lopez, but he couldn’t do that. “The President entrusts me with a great deal of information,” he said at last. Except why he sent her to the syncope facility, then went running off after her. Though the last part isn’t hard to guess.

  “He trusts you because you can be trusted,” Lopez said. “I trust you already, and I don’t know you well.”

  They retrieved their coats in silence and went to thank Raoul and Jeremy in the kitchen, who both gave Auden a hug and said, “Be sure to come again.”

  “He will,” Lopez said. “I’ll talk him into it. And now let’s see what the weather is doing out there.”

  They left the apartment and started up the steps from the basement to the ground level. At the top the Senator patted the pockets of his overcoat.

  “Uh-oh. My hat. I put it on the entrance table when I came in. Wait here, I won’t be a second. Maybe you can take a look and see if it stopped snowing.”

  When he returned Auden was standing at the top with the outside door cracked open an inch. He had his eyes closed, but he turned when he heard Lopez’s footsteps.

  “It’s not nice at all out there, sir. Freezing cold and deep snow.”

  “For God’s sake, Auden, are you trying to make me angry? I’m not sir, I’m Nick. I’m your friend, not your superior officer.”

  “I’m sorry. Nick. It’s hard to get used to it. You’ve been Senator Lopez in my mind for so long.”

  “Like some crumbling relic?”

  “I didn’t mean that at all. Nick.”

  “I believe you. Just what is it doing outside?” Lopez opened the door wide, and a blast of air and flurry of snowflakes blew in. “Jeez. Not nice doesn’t begin to describe it. It’s hell out there. Dangerous, too, without our security escort.”

  “Do you have far to go?”

  “Me?” Nick Lopez stared at Auden. “I don’t have to go anywhere. I live here. I have a big apartment — on the second floor, fortunately, since we don’t have elevators now. But it’s you I’m thinking about.”

  “You don’t have to worry. It’s only a few blocks.”

  “It’s a good half mile. A five-minute taxi ride to the White House — except that now there are no cabs anymore. Auden, you can’t possibly walk in this weather, in the middle of the night.”

  “I’ll be safe enough.”

  “Don’t bet on it. It’s a zoo out there. But even if you don’t get mugged, you’ll freeze to death. And it’s so unnecessary. You can stay at my place.”

  “I need to be at my job in the morning.”

  “And so do I. But you told me yourself, the President has gone off someplace downriver. He won’t be at the White House in the morning. There’s not a reason in the world why you have to be there before, say, nine o’clock.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I do.” Lopez closed the door firmly. “I’d be pleased and honored if you accept my hospitality for the night. And I’ll be mortified if you refuse.”

  Auden hesitated. He had heard Nick Lopez’s explanation, that everyone in Washington had a bad reputation and that he was no exception. Auden knew this to be at least partially true — he had heard scurrilous stories about almost everybody, from the President to eighty-seven-year-old Lucas Munce.

  But inside every story there was likely to be a kernel of truth. Auden had heard wildly conflicting reports about Senator Nick Lopez. He was the finest man in Washington. He was a slave to his own sexual urges. He was a loyal friend who offered his friendship for life. He took young men, made them crazy about him, and dropped them without a second thought.

  Auden should not stay overnight in Nick’s apartment. Not because there was the stigma of illegality to the relationship — the brave gay men who stormed the barricades fifty years ago had forced those changes. But legality was insufficient to remove all stigma. Not every part of America was urban and cosmopolitan. Plenty of small-minded and small-town religious bigots would express open outrage if they learned that an aide close to the President was not heterosexual. One published word, and both Auden and the President could suffer. That was why since joining the White House staff Auden had been celibate for so long.

  But tonight it was more than
so long. It was too long. Auden felt wonderful, relaxed and giddy and amorous all at the same time. Your loyalty does you credit, Nick had said. Meanwhile, you are left here, to work and work and work. What time do you stop?

  It seemed like he never stopped. But if Senator Lopez — Nick — felt free to take things easy for a few hours, why should Auden be any different?

  “Well?” Nick Lopez was smiling, patiently waiting. “I’m telling you, I’ll be heartbroken if you say no.”

  “If you put it that way . . .”

  “I certainly do.” Lopez put his arm around Auden’s shoulder and steered him toward the staircase. “We’ll go upstairs, have a drink and talk. We need to get to know each other — you were so popular tonight, I couldn’t get near you. And there’s one other thing.”

  “What’s that, Nick?” Travis shivered slightly at the pressure of Lopez’s arm, but he did not draw away.

  “It’s what we were talking about this afternoon, before we came here. My ’reputation,’ as you put it.”

  “Oh, that.” Auden laughed. He was no longer nervous. “I’m not worried about that anymore, now that I’ve seen how you are with your friends. I’m not worried about anything.”

  “Good. But I want to say one thing more. I value our friendship highly, for what it is now and what I hope it will become. So you have my promise: nothing will happen tonight that you don’t absolutely want to happen.”

  “I know that, Nick. You don’t have to make me any promises. I’m an adult.” Auden nestled a little closer. He wasn’t merely a career, he was a man, too, with his own needs. “I think I knew how things would turn out with us even before we set out for the party.”

  17

  Art woke rested and curiously at peace. He had slept through the whole night, rare for him in the past few years. It took a few moments to realize that he had been awakened by the disappearance of the warm body next to his.

  It was already full day. He turned his head, opened his eyes, and stared blearily at the dark shape outlined against the window.

  “You’re a blanket hog, d’you know that?” Dana sounded as lively as he felt comatose. “I had to fight for my share half a dozen times.”

  “Sorry.” Art’s throat and mouth felt dry, and his voice was gravelly.

  “I bet. But there are worse bedtime sins.”

  “Like what?”

  “We’ll talk about it some other time. You can stay put for a while if you want, I’m going to boil water.”

  “What’s it doing outside?”

  “The snow has tapered off, but it’s deep on the ground. It looks cold — colder than it should be this late in the year. I thought the supernova was supposed to make the world hotter?”

  “On average. But mainly it screws up the weather.” Art sat up, and felt the well-being that comes with a good night’s sleep. “Instead of west-east patterns the winds seem to be running north-south.”

  “Straight from the North Pole.” Dana was fully dressed. “I’ll see you downstairs. We won’t let the weather stop us.”

  As she went out Art pushed back the bedclothes and stood up. His knee gave hardly a twinge when he put his weight on it. There was the real answer to arthritis: find a beautiful woman and use her as your warming pad.

  He and Dana hadn’t said a word since last night about Oliver Guest, but her comment as she left confirmed his own thoughts. They were going to take the risk. They would try to reach the Facility for Extended Syncope and wake up a multiple murderer — who also happened to be a telomod expert.

  When and how would they go, and what would they do if they got there? Those were separate questions, to be answered later.

  Seth Parsigian was already working the little stove when Art arrived downstairs. He must have been down to the basement and recharged it from the propane tanks. He was astonishingly grubby, but very alert. Maybe Dana was right, the man never slept. Today, though, Seth seemed preoccupied. He nodded to Art and said gruffly, “Buenos días, hombre. We got problems. We need ideas.”

  “How to find Oliver Guest?” Art accepted coffee from Dana and brought the cup to his face so that the steam could warm his nose. The room, like the whole building, was icy cold.

  “Not how to find him.” Seth was already dressed in outdoor clothes. “I know where Guest was iced down, it was in the syncope facility south of Washington at Maryland Point. Forty to fifty miles from here. Unless somebody moved him, and I don’t see why anyone would, he’s there still. Trouble is, we got no way to reach him. Roads are deep snow. Even our tractor wouldn’t make it.”

  So much for Art’s idea that he had the tractor well hidden. And notice how it had become “our” tractor. Dana, squatting on her heels next to Art, shook her head. “Even if the tractor would go through the snow, it wouldn’t make sense to try. It’s nearly April, the weather has to warm up soon. We can sit here and wait for a few days, then we can travel easily.”

  “We might, except for one thing.” Seth gestured at one of the room’s electrical outlets. “No power, no water, no services of any kind.”

  “We don’t need them. We have food and warmth and shelter right here. We can manage.”

  “I’m not worryin’ about us, sweetie. We’re snug. I’m worried about good old Ollie. If we got no services here, I’ll bet some old-style folding money they got none down at Maryland Point. What happens to somebody in judicial sleep when the power goes off? I assume they just snooze on for a while. But if the intravenous feeds quit, and the drugs and nutrients don’t go in, what happens?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Nor do I. Maybe the sleepers all starve an’ die. Maybe they wake up and head for the hills. Neither one’s any good for us. If Ollie turns to spoiled beef we’re out of luck. And if he’s awake and out of there before we’re in, you can bet your ass and hat we’ll never find him.”

  “Seth’s right.” Art warmed his hands at the little stove. “We can’t afford to wait, Dana. We have too much at stake. Oliver Guest is our only shot at continued treatment.”

  “So we’re all agreed.” Seth stood up. “We gotta go, and soon. But how?”

  “If we can’t go by road,” Dana said slowly, “what else is there? The monorail? I know the service is dead, but the tracks may be clear.”

  “Even if they are,” Art said, “they won’t help much. They run southeast from here, straight into the middle of Washington. We have to reach a lot farther south.”

  “On the river,” said Seth thoughtfully. “Maryland Point is on the Potomac. How far are we from the river? If only we had a map of the area.”

  “I have maps.”

  “You do?” Seth Parsigian raised his eyebrows at Art. “You really planned ahead. You got precognition?”

  “No. But I’ve got friends who must have.” Art didn’t try to explain. He said, “Wait a minute,” and headed back upstairs. When he returned holding Ed O’Donnell’s old maps, Seth and Dana were arguing, crouched together across the portable stove.

  “South,” Dana said. “No more than five miles.”

  “I don’t think so. Five miles may be right, but you go west.” Seth glanced at the three maps that Art held out. “The question is, what direction leads you fastest to the Potomac? If we can reach it, we may be able to run along it all the way to the syncope facility.”

  “If we had a boat.”

  “We get to the river, you let me worry about that. I’m a top scavenger.” Seth opened one of the maps. “This should tell us. Except it looks like it came out of the Ark.”

  “The land/river boundary hasn’t changed in fifty years.” Dana leaned over so that she and Seth could study the map together. She touched one location with her finger. “Here we are, west of the freeway. And there’s the river.”

  “Then we’re both right.” Seth was measuring using his index finger as a rule. “The Potomac is just about as far away to the south as it is to the west. Say, five or six miles.”

  “That’s beeline distance.” Da
na ran her finger straight across the map. “We’d never make it crosscountry. It’s more by road. But there are no roads to the west. We have a good road south, the one we are on. We can follow Seven Locks just about all the way to the river.”

  “If it weren’t for the snow, we could.” Seth sat back on his haunches. “You saw what it was like yesterday. If, anything, the going will be worse today. If nobody took a mind to stop us — and I’m not comfortable with that assumption — you’re talkin’ about a full day’s trek. And that’s just to get us to the river. We have to go a lot farther. All right, folks, who has a better idea?”

  He didn’t speak like a man expecting an answer. But he offered no resistance when Art said, “Let me see,” and took the map from his hands.

  “You think you got better eyes than us?” Seth said, when Art followed an invisible line with his finger. “You see a road where we don’t?”

  “I think so. A sort of road.” Art wasn’t one to play word games, but he needed to be sure. He traced Seven Locks Road with his finger. It ran south in almost a straight line and ended just short of the river. He examined it in more detail, and shook his head.

  “We already looked at that, Art,” Dana said. “The snow is the problem.”

  “Not for us, it won’t be.” Art was sure. “The way we go won’t be easy, but we’ll have no trouble with snow.”

  Seth showed his teeth, though it was hard to call it a smile. “You plannin’ to fly, baby?”

  “No. There’s more routes in the world than you’ll find on a map like this. We’ll use the storm drains. And though a road can go up and down, water only runs downhill. That’s why you have to look at the contour lines.”

  “The sewers,” Seth said. “You want to run through the sewers and be knee-deep in shit? Do you know what you’re suggesting?”