see.”
I could feel the eyes following me as I went to the front of the car to get my hat off the seat. Then the nurse was leading her away. I felt a little funny about it, almost as if I were going to miss her. I’d carried her feet twelve miles through the jungle; I’d driven all of her twenty-four hundred miles. She had still to say a word to me, but I guess you get used to having somebody around even if you mustn’t touch them and they won’t talk.
“The materials you’re to study arrived yesterday by air. They’re in your room,” Tom Stern was saying. “But you’d better come into the office first. We’re supposed to take a look at that leg.”
“The hell with the leg,” I said. “Just point me at a bed and stand back out of the way.”
“Well, in the morning then,” he said. “You’re to call Washington when you’ve done your homework. What do you want done with the car?”
Sheila was just disappearing into the building, a wraith in pants beside the husky nurse in her print dress. I’ve never been able to work up a great deal of interest in trousered women, but then, she wasn’t really a woman, just a pair of yellow-gray eyes. I looked at the Pontiac and shook my head regretfully.
“You’d better shoot it,” I said. “It isn’t humane to let it suffer so.”
I followed one of the houseboys into the building. Two people were sitting in wheelchairs on the veranda or, as they call it in that country, portal, with the accent on the last syllable. The man had only half a face, acid had got the rest. The woman looked all right, but I knew, because I’d seen her on a previous trip when I came out for special training, that she’d sit there without moving until they brought her in and fed her and put her to bed. Her eyes didn’t bother me much. They were just dead.
These were people who’d made the same mistake Sheila had: they’d got caught, somewhere, by somebody. And if you think mixing up the permanent invalids with the agents in for retraining or repairs, like me, was just an accident or an economy measure, think again. We were supposed to see them sitting there, the ones who hadn’t quite made it. It was a gentle reminder of what happened when you goofed. As I say, the place is safe, but it has drawbacks.
I had a nice big room with a desk. There was a lot of stuff on the desk. I started opening the packages and said to hell with that. And to hell with the fact that there was still daylight at the window. I pulled down the blind, undressed, got into bed, and went to sleep.
7
The thing was wearing drifting white robes and stretching out its white arms to me and whispering my name. I couldn’t see its face clearly. I tried to wake up and found that I was awake. That didn’t seem right, somehow. Apparitions ought to stick to dreams where they belong.
It was still there in the middle of the room, illuminated only by the kickback of the yard lights outside, as much as could penetrate the drawn blinds. I’d been sleeping heavily a moment before, and I wasn’t thinking very lucidly, I guess. I just knew that I didn’t believe in ghosts, and that I had no midnight mistresses in the place, and that tricks were sometimes played here in the name of training and analysis, to see how fast you could react.
I went for the white thing before it could come for me. I lunged out of bed low, cut it down, wrapped it up, and pinned it to the floor. It was dressed in some material that was coarse to the touch; the idea of a shroud came to mind. The hell with that. Somebody was playing games, and they could damn well go play them somewhere else. Then I felt the weak, panicky struggles and heard the frightened breathing and I knew at last what I had. I let go and got up and turned on the light, feeling foolish and angry.
“Jesus Christ, Skinny,” I said. “Don’t tell me you walk in your sleep on top of everything else.”
She was huddled on the floor, kind of tangled in a Navajo rug. I
I could feel the eyes following me as I went to the front of the car to get my hat off the seat. Then the nurse was leading her away. I felt a little funny about it, almost as if I were going to miss her. I’d carried her feet twelve miles through the jungle; I’d driven all of her twenty-four hundred miles. She had still to say a word to me, but I guess you get used to having somebody around even if you mustn’t touch them and they won’t talk.
“The materials you’re to study arrived yesterday by air. They’re in your room,” Tom Stern was saying. “But you’d better come into the office first. We’re supposed to take a look at that leg.”
“The hell with the leg,” I said. “Just point me at a bed and stand back out of the way.”
“Well, in the morning then,” he said. “You’re to call Washington when you’ve done your homework. What do you want done with the car?”
Sheila was just disappearing into the building, a wraith in pants beside the husky nurse in her print dress. I’ve never been able to work up a great deal of interest in trousered women, but then, she wasn’t really a woman, just a pair of yellow-gray eyes. I looked at the Pontiac and shook my head regretfully.
“You’d better shoot it,” I said. “It isn’t humane to let it suffer so.”
I followed one of the houseboys into the building. Two people were sitting in wheelchairs on the veranda or, as they call it in that country, portal, with the accent on the last syllable. The man had only half a face, acid had got the rest. The woman looked all right, but I knew, because I’d seen her on a previous trip when I came out for special training, that she’d sit there without moving until they brought her in and fed her and put her to bed. Her eyes didn’t bother me much. They were just dead.
These were people who’d made the same mistake Sheila had: they’d got caught, somewhere, by somebody. And if you think mixing up the permanent invalids with the agents in for retraining or repairs, like me, was just an accident or an economy measure, think again. We were supposed to see them sitting there, the ones who hadn’t quite made it. It was a gentle reminder of what happened when you goofed. As I say, the place is safe, but it has drawbacks.
I had a nice big room with a desk. There was a lot of stuff on the desk. I started opening the packages and said to hell with that. And to hell with the fact that there was still daylight at the window. I pulled down the blind, undressed, got into bed, and went to sleep.
7
The thing was wearing drifting white robes and stretching out its white arms to me and whispering my name. I couldn’t see its face clearly. I tried to wake up and found that I was awake. That didn’t seem right, somehow. Apparitions ought to stick to dreams where they belong.
It was still there in the middle of the room, illuminated only by the kickback of the yard lights outside, as much as could penetrate the drawn blinds. I’d been sleeping heavily a moment before, and I wasn’t thinking very lucidly, I guess. I just knew that I didn’t believe in ghosts, and that I had no midnight mistresses in the place, and that tricks were sometimes played here in the name of training and analysis, to see how fast you could react.
I went for the white thing before it could come for me. I lunged out of bed low, cut it down, wrapped it up, and pinned it to the floor. It was dressed in some material that was coarse to the touch; the idea of a shroud came to mind. The hell with that. Somebody was playing games, and they could damn well go play them somewhere else. Then I felt the weak, panicky struggles and heard the frightened breathing and I knew at last what I had. I let go and got up and turned on the light, feeling foolish and angry.
“Jesus Christ, Skinny,” I said. “Don’t tell me you walk in your sleep on top of everything else.”
She was huddled on the floor, kind of tangled in a Navajo rug. I
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