Greg Bear - Mariposa

The men in padded suits surrounded Quinn where he had backed himself up against the bare wall. Quinn looked them over with little head jerks, like a cartoon fly.

Then he fastened his eyes on Rebecca. They were sharp as needles. Another flick of his head, and he looked askance, as if staring at her was like staring at the sun.

"If you're here to listen, that's terrific," he said. "Find out what went wrong. Because before all this happened, it worked. It really worked great."

One of the guards carried in a folding plastic chair and stood beside it as Rebecca sat. She took out her notepad and switched on the record function in her new spex.

"Cute glasses," Quinn said. "Never got used to them. Beth-Anne was going to buy a pair, for travel."

"My name is Rebecca Rose," she began.

"Son and daughter-okay?" Quinn asked.

"They're fine," Rebecca said. "I'm here on behalf of the president. I'd like to ask some questions."

"Wish her all the best," Quinn said. "Everything smoothes over. The past can be made to go away. Or at least you don't feel it."

"We'd all like to finish this sooner rather than later, ma'am," the senior lead said. "He'll talk and talk if you let him."

"Ask away," Quinn said.

"The president has instructed me to investigate the circumstances leading up to-"

"Beth-Anne." Quinn frowned until his eyebrows met and looked earnestly at her.

"You remember everything?" she asked.

"Yes. A mistake."

"Why did you do it?"

"Testing. Tried other things first. Experiments."

"What sort of experiments?"

Quinn continued in a light, conversational tone. "Hid things. Rearranged desk drawers after the staff had gone home for the evening. Pulled pranks. Put a pin-P-I-N, sharp-on a seat. Heard the office secretary Francine yelp when she sat on it. Didn't laugh-nothing."

"What did you learn from your experiments?"

"Could do anything without guilt or even embarrassment."

"What else?"

"Told lies during hearings. Aides to senators caught them, then the press. Got concerned reports from staff. Politicians always misspeak. A true Washington animal. At night, when everyone was asleep, sat in the office chair in the observatory. Went exploring through the past-very clear. Could remember events but they all seemed out of context, like someone else had lived them. Realized there was no need to worry. The worries went away. Erased them. But it's not disease that kills a leper, it's because he keeps hurting himself but feels no pain-no consequences. Losing a conscience, that's like having leprosy. Conscience gone-how much damage?"

"Hurry it up," the senior lead said. "He'll go on and on. Ask him what you need to know. We all have other duties."

The fact that she had gotten into Cumberland at all gave Rebecca confidence that she could take her own sweet time. "How did you compensate for having no conscience?"

Quinn smiled. "Each morning, with coffee, read from a handwritten list of things to feel guilty about, just to stay human, you know, for the day's events. Didn't want to act like an arrogant prick. And then… different handwriting."

"How?"

"Looked at the old signature from signed documents. New signature, different. Caused concern-intellectually. But it didn't frighten. Becoming fearless is even more dangerous than not feeling guilt."

"Nothing frightened you?"

"Could imitate fear for a little while, thinking of really bad things that might happen. But then…" He shrugged.

"Is it possible this condition began when you were in Iraq?"

"Felt fear in Iraq, just like everybody else," Quinn said. "Normal."

"After you got home, did the fear return unexpectedly?"

Quinn focused. "Afraid all the time."

"Flashbacks?"

"Worse. Dreamed things that never happened. Very bad things."

Rebecca relaxed her jaw. She had been clamping her teeth as Quinn answered. "Were you suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?"

Quinn shrugged.

"You knew there were treatment programs, didn't you?"

Quinn's voice turned rough. He sounded as if he were quoting: "'Cowards and fools don't get elected.' Saw how officers looked at the broken soldiers. Disgusted. Wanted them out of the barrel before they contaminated the others."

"I can't find any record of your being treated," Rebecca said. "Yet you admit that you experienced classic symptoms of PTSD."

"Right," Quinn said. "Pure Terror, Surely Damned."

"You must have found some way to control it, like you do now. Taking charge of your life."

Quinn shrugged again.

"Did you seek advice?"

He looked away.

"Are you feeling guilty now?" Rebecca asked.

"Yeah," Quinn said. "Maybe. Damn." He grinned like a boy caught stealing cookies.

"You say you can control all of your emotional reactions."

"Sometimes it takes a day or two."

"If I come back later, will you answer my question?"

"Which question?"

"About seeking help for your illness."

Quinn looked down, shrugged.

"This is a sham." Rebecca folded her notebook and removed her spex. "No personal pronouns. That's pretty on the nose, don't you think? Your attorney coached you."

Blake started to protest.

Quinn lifted his broken arm. "Bullshit. Better, quicker, stronger. If I… there! If I had felt this way when I was in Iraq, would have been a better soldier-an excellent soldier. Would have come home ready to be with the family-no nightmares, no flashbacks. Look at… me." He tapped his chest with his cast. "Training so hard now," thump, "snapped this arm. Does that sound like something a lawyer would tell… me to say? Lawyers aren't that creative."

"I don't believe you could accomplish all that on your own."

"Well, score one for you."

"Then you sought treatment. Discreet treatment."

"If you say so."

"Where?"

"Cowards don't get elected."

Blake folded his arms, more confident than ever.

"You've always wanted to serve in public office," Rebecca said. "That's over. There's nothing left to lose."

Quinn lifted his eyes to the grill-covered light.

"Did you practice before you killed your wife?"

Quinn's smile was more of a spasm. "Score two. Birds, squirrels, cats," he said. "Couldn't feel it. The ultimate test had to be someone… I thought I loved…once." Quinn leaned his head to one side.

Rebecca stood and moved behind the plastic chair. "Tell me where you went for treatment."

Quinn lost himself. His lips turned up at the corners and his eyes half closed, as if he was having an orgasm. "Guilt! So little goes such a long way. Almost make believe… I did something wrong. But now I'm doing something right."

Rebecca touched her spex. "We're done," she said to the guards.

"It'll all be over as soon as the Secret Service withdraws," Quinn said. "That's why they moved… me to Cumberland. Guards here under contract… outside. Best to hurry."

"Why bother?" Rebecca said, flashing him a look. "You're hiding something, but you'll never give it up."

"Doing it right."

"Doing what?"

"Not talking."

"Right for who?"

"For my son and daughter," Quinn said.

"Fat good that does Beth-Anne."

Blake's face worked. As if he could think of nothing better, he smiled.

"You're useless," Rebecca said to Quinn. "Useless to the president-useless to everybody."

She turned to leave.

"Now that's freedom!" Quinn shouted as the guards withdrew, carrying away the chair.

The door to Quinn's cell closed with a heavy gasp.

Down the long hall, Blake accelerated to keep up with Rebecca. She was walking quickly, ignoring her ankle's protests.

Blake watched with concern. "Quinn's certifiable, but he isn't paranoid," he said. "I didn't coach him. I hope you think I have a modicum of smarts. The pronoun bit-that showed up yesterday."