INTERVENTION (93 page)

I assumed the personas of living humans when it was convenient, setting them ... aside until the guise was no longer needed.

"Did you do that kind of thing very often?"

I confess, it did tend to become habit-forming! You must try to understand that, at the beginning of my direct participation, I was unsure how much adjustment of the probability lattices would be required of me. Meddling by an incorporeal Lylmik seemed marginally riskier than manipulations done in human disguise. In time, I came to realize that my doubts were merely prideful resistance to the promptings of the Cosmic Afflatus. My actions, though quite freely willed, were demonstrably preordained in the larger Reality, which is mystery. Keeping this in mind, I just got on with it.

"And even enjoyed yourself!" Rogi's tone was accusing.

The Ghost laughed: We Lylmik take our Olympian pleasures where we may. I assure you they are few and far between.

"I'll just bet," said Rogi sardonically. Then he asked, in a more serious vein, "What really happened to Victor? In retrospect, I don't hardly see how I could have zapped him without your help. I was just too far gone."

I helped.

"Why didn't you kill him outright instead of trapping him inside his skull? My God, he was blind, deaf, deprived of all tactile sensation and every metafacuity but self-awareness. And the poor bastard lived another twenty-seven years."

The tenderhearted may regard cerebral solitary confinement as too harsh a purgatory for any entity. I assure you that, for a mind such as Victor's, it was not. He was vouchsafed a period of reflection ... just as I was. Unfortunately,
his
final choice was the wrong one. Priez pour nous pécheurs, maintenant et à l'heure de notre mort.

Rogi sighed. "Well, I'm going to take a vacation before I start in on the next part. Yours. Get in a little skiing before spring strikes with a vengeance. Might go to Denali. That was one of your favorites, as I recall."

The Ghost was chuckling. Marcel flattened his ears as the printed paper pages in the transcriber's receiving rack riffled, as though flicked by an invisible finger.

The Ghost said: So you are quite sure now, are you, that you know me?

Rogi nodded complacently. "Haven't figured the why of it—much less the how. But I guess I'll worm it out of you eventually along with some other parts of the story that always mystified me a bit." He cut the power to the transcriber, stood up, and stretched. "I'm outa here and up to bed."

The Ghost said: Good night, Uncle Rogi.

Rogi said, "Good night, Marc."

***

THE END OF
INTERVENTION