CALIPHATE(91)

She thought about that for a minute before asking, "Autos? My great-grandmother wrote that back then almost everyone had a car. Not that she approved of that, mind you."

"No," he shook his head. "Those are kind of rare. I own one, and have since I was twenty-one. But that was because I was in a position where I needed to be able to get around without relying on public transport. Now, of course, I still have one and for much the same reason."

"Could I have one? If I lived there, I mean."

"Probably, if you had the need and could pay the tax and pay for the fuel. Portable fuel is rare, expensive, and rationed. Most of it goes to the government. Most regular people get around by public transportation.

"You could drive mine," he offered. "Once you learned how to drive, anyway. Or at least how to tell the car where to take you."

That was a nice dream. But it was also, possibly, a suggestion of some future relationship together. He's not really thinking about what I am, what I have been. I think I owe it to him not to let him forget, not to let him be taken in by a false picture.

"I had a client who used to take me for drives," she said, "back when I was fourteen and fifteen. But I never saw anything. From the moment he started his car until the moment he stopped it I had to have my head bent over him. He was older than you . . . maybe forty."

Got no words for that one, Hamilton thought, except . . . "Well . . . if I drive you somewhere you won't have to unless you want to."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She chewed for a few moments on her lower lip. Then she said, "You know . . . for you I might just want to. Especially because I won't have to."

"You don't have to do anything now, either," he said.

"I know," she answered, bending her head while reaching down with one hand. "Maybe that's why I want to."

"When do you turn eighteen?" he asked, just before she engulfed him. She didn't answer and he, for a while, lost the ability to think.





Honsvang, Province of Baya, 13 Muharram,

1538 AH (24 October, 2113)


While Hamilton groaned under Petra's ministrations, Matheson's body worked under the guidance of Doctor Richter. The entire apparatus looked something less than professional. Above, on a small table, rested a drip bottle containing ferric ferrocyanide, or Prussian blue dye. This was nontoxic. From the bottle a tube led into the stainless steel pressure cooker, through a hole Bernie had hand cut and then sealed. Exactly beneath the hole, a burner projected, located so that the drip from the tube would drop Prussian blue right onto the flame. The burner had its own oxygen supply, fed in before combustion took place, from a medical bottle.

Another tube led from the top of the stainless steel vessel to a stoppered glass beaker. The tube extended nearly to the bottom of the beaker. Above the level of the end of that tube was the lye he'd obtained at the bakery. A tube above the level of the lye led out through the stopper and to another beaker containing a slurry of charcoal and water. A further tube from that last beaker led to a just- slightly-opened window.

Matheson lit the burner and started the Prussian blue drip.





Castle Noisvastei, Province of Baya, 13 Muharram,

1538 AH (24 October, 2113)


Petra lifted her head away. I don't have anything to offer, she thought, except for this. Maybe it will be enough to make him really want to take me away. Or maybe it will just remind him that I'm a filthy whore. I wish I had more to give. Might as well wish to turn back the clock and change history.

She looked up into Hamilton's eyes, hoping to find that she'd pleased him. Instead she saw a look she had never seen before on any man's face. She really didn't know what it meant.

Nor did Hamilton explain. He just pulled her up along the bed, toward the pillow. Then he spread her legs, and took a position very similar to the one she had held until a few moments before.

This wasn't exactly new to Petra, after all, she and Ling had been lovers for years now. But none of her clients had ever shown any interest.

He's not as good as Ling, she thought, dreamily, but he's better than any man who's ever had me. And . . . he smells more . . . right than Ling does.





Honsvang, Province of Baya, 14 Muharram,

1538 AH (25 October, 2113)


Bernie was a mere observer as Richter stopped the drip and then turned off the burner. Almost immediately, gaseous bubbles that had been rising in both of the beakers stopped. In one beaker, bathed in lye, was a layer of whitish crystals. He shared minds, to a degree, with Richter and knew that these were hydrogen cyanide, harmless in the current form. The crystals Richter separated out, storing them in one of the larger glass jars. The used lye was thrown away and replaced. The charcoal-water slurry likewise went down the toilet and a new batch was added to the second beaker.