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herself gives consent when she is recovered, then your cooperation in this
matter would be appreciated." He gave them a small ironic bow and began to
walk slowly away.
"Hope you all enjoyed the meal," Buford said perkily, turning to trot at the
heels of David Crichton, moving across the long room in a direction that would
bring them into the wing that was closed to the visitors. The rest of the
scientists filed silently after them, without a word or a glance either to the
outlanders or to one another.
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"Enjoyed the meal," Mildred said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Tell their
cook not to give up her day job. I've eaten better food at my Uncle Josh's
house, and his wife could ruin breakfast cereal."
"What do you reckon, Ryan?" Trader asked.
Suddenly the door swung open again and David Crichton appeared. "You didn't
see my pair of hounds, did you? Any of you? No? Pity. A lot of work went into"
A hand appeared on his shoulder and drew him out of the room again. The door
closed with a hydraulic hissing.
Trader grinned. "Few cards short of a deck, ain't he?"
Ryan didn't smile. "I'm not sure. Way I see it, Crichton might be playing a
totally different game to the rest of us."
Chapter Twenty-One
"They've been living here in this secluded valley for the better part of a
hundred years?"
Krysty was making progress on the slow road toward total recovery.
After the meal, once they were back in their own wing, there had been a brief
strategy meeting with everyone present. There had been no need for long talks
and complex planning. They all agreed that the institute didn't seem to
present any serious threat to them, either individually or collectively, and
that they would follow Ryan's lead the next day.
"Must be inbred." Ryan had pushed the two beds together and slipped a small
sec lock across the inside of the door, giving them a fragile privacy.
"They seem like crazies or stupes?"
"No, and they aren't really like those weird white-coats we ran into up at
Crater Lake."
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"So, what are they doing, lover? What's their big special secret?"
"Yeah, that's the rusty nail in the lumber pile. I keep thinking about those
days."
Krysty lay back, sighing. "Sorry, lover. Wave of tiredness came over me. Yeah,
the dogs. And don't forget that poor bastard who looked like he'd been gone
over by a mad surgeon."
"Might not be any connection."
She nodded, looking steadily into his face. "But there was the last words he
said. Dean heard them."
"Twins."
"And 'coning,' remember? Dean said that the last word of all sounded like
'coming,' didn't he?"
"Moaning? Someone's name? Going? Could've been that. He was trying to say that
he was going."
"Still doesn't explain him talking about twins, does it? And Dean was certain
on that." She paused. "The dogs were so similar they looked like identical
twins, didn't they?"
"Yeah, that's true." Krysty smiled as she yawned.
"Talk can wait. You need some more sleep."
"I reckon I'll be back up to about ninety percent by morning, though their
mushy food didn't help. I'd kill for eggs over easy with back bacon and a pile
of hash browns in the morning along with a glass of fresh-
squeezed orange juice. And good coffee, hot and strong enough to float a
horseshoe."
"Promise you it won't be that, lover." He stood and started to get undressed.
"You turning in this early?"
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"I think my own batteries could do with a little recharging, as well. Trader
always said that you should take sleep when you want it and you can get it. Or
you'll want it another time and you won't be able to get it."
Krysty watched him, seeing the lean, scarred body, with bands of muscle hard
across the strong bones, waiting until he was peeling off his dark blue pants,
laying them on a chair in the corner, where the Steyr rifle was resting.
"Lover," she said very quietly.
"Yeah."
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"I'm tired."
"I know."
"But not that tired."
BREAKFAST WAS A GRUEL of watery yellow that the sec man claimed was made from
real eggs but had some added goodies, and some white gunge, slightly browned,
that he told them was radiated and constituted potatoes, better than they were
when they came out of the earth.
The orange juice was nonexistent. Fresh fruit was difficult to keep in the
institute for very long. To drink he offered some truly bizarre nut-roast
coffee with vile soya milk that stayed in long, circular streaks around the
mug.
"Professor Crichton said to tell you that someone would call for you in about
a half hour and to ask how the lady was." He addressed the statement to Ryan.
"She's sitting right in front of you. Why not ask her yourself?"
"Because they all said she was she had You know what I mean?"
"You mean I'm a mutie?" Krysty sat up in bed, her long flame-colored hair
rumbling free over her shoulders. Ryan had noticed how dulled and limp it had
become immediately after she'd used the Gaia power and how it was now
returned, almost, to its full brightness and glory.
"Yeah, I mean They said you lifted a whole tree that weighed ten tons."
"Very nearly," the woman agreed. "And you can go and tell your baron or boss
or professor or whatever he calls himself that the mutie lady is feeling
herself..." She glanced at Ryan and grinned impishly.
"Cut that. Just report back to him that she is feeling a great deal better and
should be able to meet anyone at anytime, anyplace."
The man nodded and lifted an index finger to his forehead in a salute. Then he
turned on his heel and marched out of the room, closing the door quietly
behind him.
IT WAS THE EVER-PRESENT Ladrow Buford who appointed himself as the guide to
the party, greeting them out in the atrium at three minutes after nine in the
morning, the time checked with a large four-faced digital clock whose numbers
had been clicking remorselessly over for the entire life of the
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Melissa Crichton institute.
"Greetings to all of you outlanders, ladies and gentlemen and children." He
stooped forward to peer at
Dean. "Sadly we have few children here in the institute these days. The [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]