Janus (25 page)

Consciousness came and went for the man called Jon Grebbel. Sometimes, when the drugs released the storms within him, he seemed to be a creature of the tide flats. He squirmed and howled in the wind and the harsh sun, and then the dark waters would return and hide him in their depths.

Most of the time then, all was dark. Sometimes he would glimpse one of the deep’s unearthly offerings, but it would be gone before he could understand it. There would follow an interval of absence, when he knew nothing, but the currents and the sea creatures worked on him, and at the next change of the tide, the creature that bore his name was left gasping on the sand in a new shape.

When he floated free of the drug, he knew his eyes were bandaged again, but he was aware of the changes in light and shade that marked the passage of time. He tried counting days, but could not tell how many mornings he had seen and how many of them he had dreamt. Sometimes there were voices, and when he tried to answer them, they vanished into the dream world; or dream voices would insist, and would become those of flesh people ministering to his body.

Even when the drug did not hold him, he lived among brilliant dreams. Some were so poignant and familiar that, when they returned to him, under the bandages he wept, and afterwards wondered what they could have been to have moved him so. Some were recent and forced themselves in front of him, and he regarded them with awe that he should have given and received such tenderness. But most of the dreams pulled him down into the dark sea where half-seen mouths snapped, and eyes glared. When he could, he tried to study them, and would think,
That was me?
And then:
Yes, that was me.
And later, with controlled anger:
No
—that
is
me.
I will be what I always was.

The following morning, on her way to visit Barbara in the clinic, Elinda was told that Jon Grebbel had been admitted with concussion and fractures after a fall.

“We’ve got him on electro-ossipagation,” the technician told her, in what must have been meant to be reassuring tones, while she stared at him numbly. “The bones’ll be knitting nicely in a few days, and they’ll be better than new before he knows it.”

“Is that why he’s still unconscious?” she demanded, her throat dry.

“Well, no, actually.” The technician looked uncomfortable. “There’s something wrong in his head. It must be the concussion. I’m not meaning to alarm you now—we don’t think there’s anything organically wrong, nothing that won’t fix itself with rest—but if we don’t keep him deeply sedated, he squirms and thrashes about. Does his bone casts no good at all, you can imagine. Looks as though he’s having nightmares. We’re still working up the test results, but so far we can’t find any sign of brain trauma; and sometimes he’s been quite lucid. So we’ll just be keeping him under observation for a bit longer.”

“Can I see him, then?” Her voice sounded almost normal.

“Sure, you can see him. Just don’t expect too much. We’ve uncovered his eyes for the moment, but he may not know you. Then again, he may—depends on how he is this morning.”

She went in. Grebbel’s arm was in a sling. A bandage hid half his face. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be sleeping peacefully. She touched his hand with her fingertips, then held it, tracing the bones and tendons under the smooth skin. After a few moments, she sat on the bed and looked at him. His eyelids flickered, but he seemed unaware of her presence. He had gone to Larsen, she was certain, and now he was—different.

If she spoke to him, would he recognise her?

At least they hadn’t fastened his wrists, she thought; he didn’t bite. She felt ready to scream.

Then he murmured something and his fingers closed about hers. She bent forward until her forehead was on his chest. Her shoulders shook, her throat swelled and ached. His fingers were in her hair, stroking the back of her head. But when she sat up finally, his expression seemed unchanged, as though he had dreamed her and did not believe the dream.

Compulsively she scrubbed at the tear stains fading into the sheet. She wanted to spend the rest of the day sitting and watching him sleep, pretending they were cocooned from the rest of the world. And then she knew she was hiding from her own fears, and that they would only grow the longer she ignored them. She bent and kissed him, and felt his lips twitch in response. Then she got up and left.

In the office, she called the Security office over the net, and asked for the officer who had been with her when she found Barbara. She reached Charley as she was going off shift and arranged to meet her for lunch.

“Concerned about your Mr. Grebbel?” Larsen asked from his desk in the office. “I assure you, he was fine the last time I saw him.”

She turned to look at him. “Don’t worry, I’m not turning you in. And what does ‘fine’ mean? I just left him, he’s wrapped up like a goddamned Christmas present.”

“I meant, he’s doing as well as can be expected, given the choices he made,” Larsen told her, erasing her last doubts about what Grebbel had done.

She was searching for a reply when Chris rushed in and started talking about the latest gossip to come through the Knot.

Larsen pointedly turned away from her and called up the page. Making an obvious effort to focus, he said, “These young people, this group—they are musicians?”

Chris nodded. “Andropov and the Marxes, they’re giving a concert in support of more payload deliveries for us—there’s even a chance they’ll come through and play here for the celebrations, if the memory thing can be beaten in time. Here in the main Hall, live.”

Larsen shook his head. “However did we become worthy of such an honour?” he asked with a painful effort at levity.

“Well, don’t get too worried, nobody would
make
you come and watch.”

“Not today. Let’s hope we still have such freedom when your musicians finally arrive.”

Larsen made a show of returning to his computer, turning away from both Chris and Elinda, and leaving her with a handful of unanswered questions.

At lunchtime, Elinda met Charley at the tavern. Charley had bought a sandwich—“Your pseudo-cheese, plus my own sprouts from my own window box”—and Elinda bought a bowl of onion soup and some crackers. They sat at a corner table facing the doors and the Tree as it undulated gently outside in the wind.

“I didn’t have time to make sandwiches this morning,” Elinda said. “And last night, something happened.” She described her encounter with Osmon, without mentioning Larsen or what had happened to Grebbel.

“For Christ’s sake,” Charley said. “You let him walk you up past the woods? What in hell were you thinking of?”

“I don’t know. It just seemed impossible to . . .” She shook her head. “Anyway, the point is, what can I do about it?”

“You could stop going for walks by yourself at night till you get some common sense into you.”

“That’s just it. I think I may need to do more of that—and I don’t want my freedom of movement restricted in any case.”

“Of course you don’t.” Charley said, and frowned. “Well, you
could
lodge a complaint, your word against his. . . .”

“But—?”

“Exactly. There’s been some strange rulings lately. I can’t tell what will be followed up and what won’t any more. Gordie, on the desk, he’s a decent sort, but I get the feeling he doesn’t have as much say in things as he wants us to believe. If you made a formal complaint, you might wind up charged with mischief yourself, for all I know.”

“Shit. I haven’t got time for that. What, then?”

“Learn some self-defence.”

“I haven’t got time for that, either.” Elinda brushed cracker crumbs from her sleeve, then looked at Charley. “I need a weapon, don’t I?”

Charley spread her fingers on the table and stared at them. “What do I say? I enforce laws restricting private weapons. It’s my job. I don’t know. If you went around with a large kitchen knife in your coat pocket, you could be charged. And I don’t think a knife would be what you really need anyway. If we found an unregistered gun on you, we’d have to charge you, and you’d be in serious trouble. I can’t see you getting permission for a firearms certificate either—at least, it would almost be quicker for you to learn tae kwon do. I’ll tell you, we know there are unregistered weapons circulating here, including some small handguns; and someone who wanted one could probably get her hands on one if she tried, but that’s all I can say.”

Elinda considered. “Okay,” she said finally. “I guess I’ll have to live with that.”

The fog began to clear from Grebbel’s mind. He stared about him, tested his thoughts for the blurring of the drugs, and trusted himself to ask, “How long have I been here?”

The nurse turned to him with a faint smile. “You’ve asked me that every day for the last week,” he said. “Sometimes twice a day. But now you look as though you’ll remember. This is the end of your second week. There were some complications, but the worst’s over now. You should be on your feet tomorrow, I’d say, and then we’ll probably let you out for a few hours each day, for the next two or three days, to see how you cope.”

His jaw still ached. He mumbled, “How long before I can use my arm again?” He tried to test his muscles in the sling and the cast. “I’ve been driving a truck,” he added. “Can’t do that with one arm.”

“We’ve been giving you electrotherapy to encourage the bones to knit. For your head too. You had a nasty contusion there—hairline fracture as well. It’s well on the way now, but we had to keep you doped—you kept tearing the electrodes off. The bones should be able to look after themselves about now. They’ll be a bit delicate for another ten days or so, but then you’ll hardly know anything happened to them.”

“You said I’d be let out on parole for a few days. When do I get out for good?”

“Within a week, I’d imagine, provided you keep testing clear of brain damage.”

“Right.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Your reflexes look good. Any problems you’re aware of? You are an amnesiac, aren’t you? I thought so. It might be harder for you to tell then—but you don’t notice any changes in your memory? No gaps you can’t explain, no scrambled connections?”

“No. My memory’s as good as it ever was.”