Part 6 (1/2)

He called the others' names; he called his own, and had nothing but silence.

”You can't take them away,” he muttered to himself, to G.o.d, to whatever ran this place, and bowed his head on the console. Finally, which he had never yet done, he truly mourned his dead and sobbed hysterically.

Even that wore thin. There was only so much grief, so much anger, not even so much as when he and Jillan were orphaned. Then there had been guilt-a child's kind of guilt-Maybe if I'd been good they'd be alive- It's my fault. I should have loved them more-^ There was no guilt here. Not with Jillan and Paul. He sat there with the last of the tears still cold on his face and judged that whatever mistakes they had made, they were paying for all of it together; Jillan and Paul's being dead was not final but drawn-out, shared, a life-in-death which still could make jokes about its state, shed tears for itself, know fears for the future. The same thing waited for him, he reckoned, when whatever-it-was got around to his case.

It's going to do that soon; they don't want to watch what happens to me.

Or maybe they're just gone. Turned off, of no more use.

No pain that way, at least.

And at last, all but sobbing in self-pity, he thought: But Rafe's afraid to die.

He shuddered away from that entanglement and wiped his face with both his hands until the tears went down.

He thought of taking another long, long walk. His bruises had gone to livid green by now. He was stronger. He might take food, fill his pockets with it, use a plastic bag for a canteen--just walk, walk until he ran out of everything and those in charge had to do something about him, either meet him face to face or let him die.

But: Come to the s.h.i.+p, he had told his doppel-ganger. Perhaps their time sense was different. Maybe for them it was only a little while. If he left they might come and he would never know.

He flung himself down against the wall where he often sat and just stared at Lindy's remains, not looking down the corridors which led into the dark.

”Rafe,” his own voice said.

He started half to his feet, braced against the wall, levered himself the rest of the way up. ”Where have you been?” It came out harsh. He had not meant that. He was all but shaking, facing his naked self, which stood over against the dark of the corridor. ”Did you find them?”

”Were you worried?”

”Was I worried? Don't joke with me, man. I'm not laughing. Where are they?”

The doppelganger pointed, vaguely up and off beyond the walls. ”There.”

”They won't come?”

”Paul's not coping well with this.”

He let go his breath, found his hands shaking, walked over to the console and sat down, firmly, in a place he knew. ”Not coping well.”

”Not at all.”

”Jillan?”

”Better. She's all right.”

”She's with him.”

The doppelganger shook his head. ”No. She's not.”

”Cut the riddles. Where's Jillan?”

”You're upset.”

”G.o.d, what's wrong-wrong with you?”

”Nothing's wrong.”

”I know what it's like-talking to myself; I do know; and you don't follow my lead, not half right” He put himself on his feet, leaning on Lindy's board. ”What are you?”

The doppelganger winked out.

”What are you?” Rafe screamed after it. He hit the useless board. ”Jil-lan!”

And he sat down again, fell into his seat, trembling from head to foot.

”Clever,” said the doppelganger voice, off to his side.

He spun the chair, faced it where he sat. It stood over by the EVApod, dimmer, for the light was brighter there.

”You,” he said to it, gathering up his mind, ”you're the one I've been wanting to get in reach. Why don't you come in here in person?”

”You want to kill me.”

”Maybe.” He sucked in a copper-edged breath and stood up. ”Where's my sister? Where's Paul?”

”The physical ent.i.ties? Dead. I tried to hold them. They died.”

”Dead. And their copies” He did not want to admit how much it meant, but his knees were weak. He held onto the counter. ”Do they still exist?”

”Oh, yes.”

”Bring them here.”

”I'll let them loose again. Soon. I came to talk with you.”

”Why?” he asked, staring at the mirrored face before the blank visage of the EVApod. ”To say what? What shape is Rafe going to be in? Do I get my own doppelganger back?”

”Yes. He's safe. Is that a concern to you?”

He did not answer. It already knew weaknesses enough in him; it wore his doppelganger like a skin. He straightened his back and moved back to the console, turned around again. ”Why not your own shape?”

”It would distress you.”

”You think this doesn't?”

”A question of degree.”

”You're not very like us.”

”No. I'm not.” ”You're fluent.”