"Thank you."
"I know you have things you must do."
"Yes."
"Veil . . . Veil, I was so afraid you were dead."
Veil gently pushed the woman away, then got down from the gurney. He swayed for a moment but steadied himself. Sharon came back into his arms.
"And I was afraid I was going to die," Veil replied softly. "I wondered why, because I'd never been afraid of death before. Then I realized that, until I met you, I'd never really understood all that life could be. You've become life to me, Sharon. You're an adventure I wish to experience, a journey I want to take. That's why I was suddenly afraid to die."
"Taking life for granted ties our tongues, Veil, as well as our hands."
"Yes."
"You've certainly untied both my tongue and my hands."
Veil smiled, kissed her forehead. "So I've noticed."
"You once invited me to tango with you on the edge of time. I should have taken the time we had then."
"Everyone has to do things in his or her own time. To face death doesn't mean that living should be rushed."
"Will we dance when this is over?"
"Yes."
"I wish there were time now, Veil. There are things I want to say to you."
"And I to you. But there isn't time."
"Not even for explanations?"
"Especially not for explanations. I have to go to Jonathan."
"I know." Sharon sighed, buried her lips in his neck for a few seconds, then abruptly broke away and gripped his hand. "Come with me."
Pilgrim lay on a hospital bed in the Emergency Care Ward. A sheet covered him to the waist, and his chest was heavily bandaged. A tube led from a needle in his arm to a bottle of clear intravenous fluid suspended from a rack beside his bed. His color was good, his breathing regular, and on his face was an expression of quiet rapture.
"When did it happen?" Veil asked quietly.
"Early yesterday morning."
After he had escaped from the cage, Veil thought. "Here or on the other mountain?"
"The other mountain. He was working late in his office, probably trying to figure a way to get you out of the Army compound. The gunman must have taken him by surprise. One of the security guards heard shots and went running. He found Jonathan on the floor."
Not quite by surprise, Veil thought. His enemy would be a crack shot. Pilgrim had undoubtedly heard a chiming sound inside his head, had just enough time to react and save himself from an instant kill. "Is he going to make it?"
Sharon frowned and absently brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. Veil glanced at her, and for the first time saw past her stunning beauty to the fatigue that had soaked into her bones and was pulling at her flesh. "I don't know," she said in a hoarse whisper. "The doctors don't know. They say it's up to him."
A young orderly entered the room pushing a cart on which was a tray of food, a pot of steaming coffee, and a small paper cup with two pills in it, one purple and one blue. Veil tossed the pills across the room into a wastebasket, then poured himself coffee and drank it down. The hot liquid seared his mouth, but at the same time filled him with a warm, satisfying glow that pushed back his fatigue. It was the second most delicious drink he had ever tasted.
"I've seen a few wounded men," Veil said around a mouthful of steak and mashed potatoes. "Considering the fact that he took a bullet in the chest, Jonathan looks in fairly decent shape."
"He was lucky," Sharon replied in a tight voice. "The bullet missed his heart and lungs. It ricocheted around his rib cage and came to rest without nicking any vital organs."
Veil took another mouthful of steak and potatoes, washed the food down with a second cup of coffee. "And?"
"With a long rest and proper care, he would recover."
Veil detected the note of deep concern in Sharon's voice, turned to her. "Would recover?"
Sharon did not answer, and she would not meet his gaze.
"Is he still under anesthetic?"
"No. That wore off hours ago." Now she looked at Veil, and tears glistened in her silver-streaked eyes. "Veil, he just refuses to come back."
Veil pushed aside the cart and went to Pilgrim's bedside. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out and gently touched the other man's shoulder. "He's there, isn't he?"
"Yes," Sharon replied simply as she wheeled over a portable electroencephalograph and attached electrodes to Pilgrim's temples. She turned on the switch; instantly the spiked EEG pattern associated with the Lazarus Gate appeared on the green cathode tube monitor.
Veil swallowed hard, found that his mouth was dry. "Bring him back."
"I'm afraid to authorize any kind of treatment, Veil. Look at the lines; look how strong they are. Jonathan is actually controlling his own state of consciousness. We're sure that he could live if he wanted to; I believe he could also will himself to die. I'm afraid that if I try to pull him back, he'll simply let go. I won't take the chance."
"But why—?" Veil swallowed the rest of the question. He knew the answer, and he voiced it. "He's waiting for me, Sharon."
The woman nodded slowly. "I know. I was afraid to admit it to myself, but it's the only explanation."
"Send me to him."
"No!" Sharon said sharply, bitterness creeping into her voice. "Jonathan has no right to do this!"
"Send me to him."
"I can't!"
"I don't believe you."
"Jonathan brought you to the Institute because you'd been painting pictures of . . . whatever that place is where he's gone. Can't you get there yourself?"
"Sharon, I painted those pictures from dreams—and I'm not exactly sleepy at the moment. Even if I were, I'm not sure what would happen under stress. Also, even if I could reach that state of dream-consciousness, there's no guarantee that I'd end up where Jonathan is. I've never been tested, so we don't know what my EEG looks like when I'm in that dream state. Jonathan is at the Lazarus Gate. It seems I've only been beyond; I've never seen any gate of light, never flown through an ocean of blue. I need to go where he is, and the only way to do that is for you to manipulate my consciousness until my brain-wave pattern matches his. You told me it was theoretically possible."
"He's been in love with death ever since the plane crash. Now he wants you to love her too."
"That's not true. You sound jealous."
"If I lose you because of Jonathan's madness, I assure you that what I'll be feeling will be a little stronger than jealousy."
"He has something to tell—or show—me."
"Then let him come back and tell you!"
"He can't, or he won't. I have to go there."
"Now you sound as crazy as Jonathan! Don't you understand? You can't go to him! There is no place to go. All the Lazarus Gate represents is a nerve spasm, a bit of brain chemistry changes in an instant of time before death. The fact that Jonathan has found a way to freeze that instant doesn't change the fact that it's all an illusion. Two people can't occupy the same place, in either space or time."
"We won't know that unless I try to occupy the same place. This is what my invitation to the Institute was all about from the beginning. It's one of the reasons Jonathan insists that I come to him—or at least make the attempt."
"Veil, don't you understand that I'd virtually have to kill you?"
Suddenly Veil found himself laughing. He stepped forward, took Sharon in his arms, and hugged her. "Come on, Sharon. I'm half dead already. Sending me the rest of the way shouldn't be all that difficult. I really do have to see if it's possible to have a chat with Jonathan where he is. He won't have it any other way."
Sharon pushed him away with both hands, then slapped him hard. When there was no response except for a sudden, cold glint in his eyes, she slapped him again. When she went to hit him again, Veil grabbed her wrist and held it.
"You have no right, Veil! You have no right to ask me to kill you!"
"But I am asking you," he replied in a voice that had grown as cold as h
is eyes. "But you won't be killing me. You'll be bringing me to a state near death. Then you can bring me back."
"There's no guarantee, Veil! It's never been done!"
"I'm not asking for a guarantee. How could you put me under to the necessary degree? Answer me!"
"Drugs, I suppose," Sharon answered in a small voice. She was unable to take her eyes away from Veil's. "Maybe with the right mix of anesthesia, something paralytic." Tears welled in her eyes, and she choked back a sob. "Veil, you seem so different. I'm afraid of you."
"What about the brain-wave pattern? How could it be manipulated? Answer me!"
"More drugs," Sharon whispered, "combined with low levels of electricity."
"And bringing me back?"
"High-voltage electric shock. Perhaps. Maybe, Veil."
"Can you do it yourself?"
Sharon quickly shook her head. "No, Veil. It's ... so complicated. At the very least I need to consult with an anesthesiologist and a neurologist. Then I'll need—"
"No! You're lying. You're a physician, and you've studied the problem; you're probably the only person who's studied the problem from a medical viewpoint. I'm betting you've done detailed computer simulations of exactly this situation. I'm betting you know, at least in theory, exactly what mix of drugs and anesthesia to use, as well as the proper levels of electricity. Am I right?"
Sharon closed her eyes to shut Veil out, but she could not hold back the truth. "Yes . . . but only in theory. Veil, I can't understand why you want to do this thing."
"I've already explained—"
"It's a madman's explanation."
"I'm not asking you to agree, and I don't have any more time to waste."
Sharon took a deep breath, slowly exhaled it, and opened her eyes. "I won't do it," she said simply. "Jonathan is insane;
I understand that now. You're insane for wanting to try what amounts to a stupid stunt that could kill you, and I'd be insane if I agreed to help you. I'd also be a criminal. I study death, Veil; I don't cause it."
"So be it," Veil said, releasing his grip on Sharon's wrist, turning and heading for the door.
"Veil, where are you going?!"
He wheeled around in the doorway. His tone was calm, distant, and very cold. "You won't do it, fine. This is a hospital. I'll find somebody around here who will."
"There isn't anyone else."
"There isn't anyone else who can control it, but I'll damn well find somebody who'll put me close to death. You once said I was a dangerous man, and now you say that you're afraid of me. Well, I assure you that I can be downright terrifying if I have a mind to be. I'm going to stop the first person, man or woman, in a white coat I come to. I absolutely guarantee you that in fifteen seconds or less that person will be absolutely delighted to put me in a very deep coma. After that I'll just have to take my chances."
Tears streamed down Sharon's cheeks, dripped on the floor. She tried to speak but could only manage to sob and shake her head.
"Are you saying you'll do it?"
Another sob, then a trembling nod.
"Good," Veil said curtly as he walked back into the room and stabbed a finger in the direction of a telephone on Pilgrim's bedstand. "Get whatever you need. Put me at the Lazarus Gate for fifteen minutes. That's all I'm asking for. Then try to get me back." Veil paused and breathed a silent sigh of regret as Sharon turned her back on him and walked to the telephone. "I don't suppose there's any way to lock this room up?" he asked softly.
"No." Sharon's voice was strangely muffled, as if she were holding her hand over her mouth.
"Anybody with a gun?"
"Not that I know of. No."
He thought about asking if there were any personnel who would act as guards, then decided that it would be unfair to both Sharon and the "guards," who would be ineffectual, in any case, against the threat he was afraid of. "All right, Sharon," he said evenly. "Let's do it."
Sharon, moving like an automaton, picked up the telephone receiver and dialed a number. As she spoke, Veil experienced a sudden, almost overwhelming, sense of loss. He'd had no choice but to act the way he had, he thought, not only to force Sharon to do his bidding, but to free her of guilt in the event he died as a result of that bidding. That realization did not make him feel any better, for he now felt there was an unbridgeable distance between himself and the woman he loved. Sharon was only a few feet across the room, but he had pushed her clear to the other, dark side of his life, and he feared he would never be able to call her back; even if he survived the attempt to reach the Lazarus Gate and Jonathan Pilgrim, he had erased their future time together. He doubted whether they would ever dance.
His words and actions had been necessary and could not be taken back, Veil thought as he settled himself down on the floor in a corner of the room. He crossed his ankles, rested his wrists on his knees, and let his chin drop down on his chest. Then he began to take deep, regular breaths. He knew that more words could not heal the rupture in trust and feeling he had just caused. Now there was nothing to do but wait for the necessary chemicals and apparatus to be brought, nothing to do in the meantime but meditate and search for a calm center in himself in preparation for a journey through no time and no space, around infinity, to the Lazarus Gate.
Chapter 25
______________________________
Veil . . . ?
He is pure blue flight, a sensation unlike anything he has ever experienced before, awake or in dreams. He is surrounded by a brilliant, electric blue, he is the blue, and when he looks at his hands, he can see through them. He is his hands, for there is no differentiation of limbs, body, mind, and organs, as such. There are no fixed reference points, no sound, only the conviction that he is traveling at great speed. He is approaching death as Sharon manipulates his life processes through drugs and electricity.
As Veil continues to stare at his hand a pinpoint of light suddenly appears in the blue beyond the palm. He puts his hand to his eyes and the light arcs through him, flashing down his spinal cord. He explodes and is reassembled, floating weightless, before a shimmering white radiance that he knows is the Lazarus Gate. No longer flying, he senses that he can now move where he wants, as in his dreams, simply by willing it. He wishes to go through the Lazarus Gate, and he does so without hesitation. There is a flash of blinding light and a great, booming chime sound that he feels in his head, heart, stomach, and groin.
Jonathan Pilgrim, naked like Veil, sits in the middle of the infinitely long corridor, which is bounded by walls of swirling gray. The former astronaut throws back his head and laughs when he sees Veil. Pilgrim is whole; there is no wound in his chest, and his eye and hand have been restored to him.
They embrace, and the fluid warmth Veil feels flowing through him is at once intensely sensual but transcends sexuality, raw emotion that pierces to the core of their common humanity, an affirmation of all things that human beings, male and female, share. It is pure love. They kiss, then step apart.
"How about that, sports fans?" Pilgrim says with a broad grin. "Some ride, huh?"
"Indeed," Veil replies, bursting into laughter that erupts from his throat as a variety of chiming sounds that bounce off the surrounding walls and cascade down around them like sparks. "I've never taken that particular route, but I've been here before."
"Of course. Now you can understand why I got just a little bit excited when I saw the work that you and Perry were doing."
"Yes."
"I've been kind of hanging around here waiting for you to show up."
"I know. How do you control it?"
"Haven't got the slightest idea, my friend. It just seemed like a good idea, so I decided to do it. I guess second-time visitors accumulate a certain amount of long-term credit here, if you will. I feel like I can stay or go back, as I choose. I could have come back and told you about this place."
"I already knew about this place."
"Yes and no. You didn't know that two people could actually be here together, and
that those people could communicate."
"Neither did you."
"Ah, but I suspected from the beginning. If I'd tried to convince you back there, wherever there is, you'd have thought I was crazy—which you started to think, anyway, after our last conversation."
"So now I think we're both crazy."
"Ha!" Pilgrim shouts, producing a deep, satisfying chime sound that reverberates deep in Veil's belly. Then he suddenly grows serious, although he is still smiling. "Thank you for coming, Veil. Doesn't it feel goody
"My guess is that you and I are pumping one hell of a load of endomorphins, Jonathan. We're drugging ourselves; it's kind of a farewell gift from life."
"Let go of that kind of negative thinking," Pilgrim says with a hint of annoyance. Suddenly he laughs again, leers mischievously, and wriggles his fingers in the air. "Wouldn't the Russians give something to know about this?"
"Any intelligence agency would."
"Absolute, stone telepathy with stereo music, a light show, and all in living color."
"Almost living, Jonathan. You have a tendency to forget that little problem."
Pilgrim, still leering and wriggling his fingers, continues as if he hasn't heard. "Can you imagine what the world's spy masters would want to do with this place?"
"Yes, I can. Jonathan—"
"They'd make up their little plots, then try to recruit Lazarus People as spies. Around the world would go the Lazarus People, at least in the spy masters' minds. The Lazarus People would work diligently, nine to five, all week at their nefarious little deeds, and then—yes!—all meet here on Saturday morning at 0500, Greenwich Mean Time, for a conference. I love it! Beats blind mail drops, huh?"
"Except that a person would have to be three-quarters dead in order to attend this conference. That's tough duty, Jonathan. Also, this is one conference we don't know it's possible to walk away from."
"A piece of cake. Sharon's done dozens of computer simulations. She got you here, didn't she? She'll get you back."
"I'm definitely counting on it."
"Not to worry."
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