Джек Макдевитт - A Voice in the Night

He picked up a Herald and sat down alone at a corner table. Aggie took his order, for a tuna and French fries, and Arnold glanced at the newspaper. He literally hid behind it, and Aggie had to ask him to move it when she brought his lunch. “You okay?” she asked, hovering over him.

He liked Aggie. Always had. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“If you don’t mind my asking—.” She kept her voice down. “—What happened last night?”

He looked at her. What had happened last night? “Hard to explain,” he said. I’m going to have to move.

“You need any help,” she said, “I’m here.”

Later, as he worked his way through the last of the fries, Floyd appeared beside him. “Listen,” he said, “I’m sorry about how things went, but it wasn’t my fault.” His long, thin face was a mask.

Arnold met his eyes. “Forget it.”

Floyd looked away. Then spoke to the floor. “I did what I could.” He caught his face in his hands. “Well, dammit, what do you expect with a story like that?” He sat quivering with anger, as if somehow Arnold had betrayed him. Then he got up and without another word dropped money on his table and stalked out the door.

Midnight on the western loop of the windscreen.

“We should not be meeting like this, Arnold.”

His car was parked in the lot behind the bus plant, well out of sight. “Now you’re willing to speak. Where were you when I needed you?”

“I have nothing to say to a mob.”

“I’m sorry you’re bound by all these rules. But the whole town thinks I’m crazy.”

“I thought we’d agreed that you wouldn’t say anything about this.”

Arnold shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “I’m sorry. All right? I made a mistake. But now I’m going to have to move. You know that? I can’t possibly stay in Fort Moxie after this.”

“I think you’re overreacting.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“Listen, Arnold. Do you have any idea what would have happened if I’d said hello to that crowd last night?”

“Half the town might not think I’m crazy.”

“They might think worse things of a man who talks to voices in the woods. Voices that talk back.”

“Well, whatever,” grumbled Arnold. “It’s done.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.”

“I thought about staying away. If I get caught here, things will get worse.”

“I think it would be a mistake to change your pattern.”

“There’s no one around now, is there?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? They sneaked up on you pretty good last night.”

“I was distracted.” Long pause. “When are you planning to move?”

“As soon as I can sell the Lock ‘n’ Bolt.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Fargo.”

“Where is that?”

“About a hundred fifty miles south.”

“How far is a mile?”

Arnold got up, and walked to the outer edge of the trees. They could see the river, curving in from Canada, and, off in the distance, the border station. He pointed. “Those buildings are about five miles.”

“Fargo seems close.”

Arnold sensed a reproach. “What would you suggest?”

“A place further away than just over the curve of the horizon.”

“Whatever.”

“You sound bitter.”

“Well, what do you expect? Worst thing that ever happened to me was meeting you. You’re right, you know: You shouldn’t say a word. Not to anybody. Not ever.”

The branches stirred.

“Why did you tell Floyd?”

Arnold leaned against a box elder. A single car had just pulled out of the border station, and was starting south on I-29. He watched its headlights for a while. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. But he was a friend. At least I thought he was. He promised not to let it go any further.”

“Do you people not honor your commitments?”

“Not all of us.”

“Yet it is the tradition, I assume? To honor them?”

“You could say that. You know what I’d like to do: You and I go over to his house and scare the hell out of him.” Arnold was staring at the ground. It was difficult talking to someone you couldn’t see. You never knew where to look. “I don’t suppose you’d consent to that, would you?”

“You’re vindictive, Arnold.” The wind off the prairie was picking up. Leaves were pouring out of the trees. “No. I would not.”

“That’s what I thought.” The evening was cooling off, and Arnold was thinking he wouldn’t stay long. “Do you feel the cold?”

“Not at this level. I’m able to generate internal heat. But at the height of your winter, yes. It is too cold for me.”

“This whole business is my own fault.”

“I’m glad you can see that.”

“But I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Forget it. Your friends will.”

A tractor-trailer rumbled north on the expressway. “Easy for you to say.”

“Arnold, does it matter so much to you to be able to prove that I am here?”

“Yes. Damn it, it does. I’d like these people to know I’m not a nut.”

“And that is seriously important to you?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then. I’ll do it.”

“You’ll talk to someone?”

“Yes.” The word hung there, in the moonlight.

“I’ll bring Floyd up here tomorrow.”

“No. Not Floyd.”

Oh, yes, please. Floyd. Let me rub his nose in the truth. Speak to him the way you spoke to me. Spook him. Send him running out of the tree belt. Is it so much to ask? “I would really like it to be Floyd.”

“There is a young woman who sits each day in the park at the library.”

“Linda.” A sense of unease crept over Arnold.

“She is quite attractive. By simian standards.”

“What of her?”

“I will speak to her.”

“Are you crazy? I don’t know her. What’s the point?”

“She is important to you. She fulfills your requirement.”

“That’s not true. I don’t even know the woman.”

“That’s my offer.”

“You’ve been spying on me.” The sudden realization irritated him.

“I happened to be there.”

“Sure. And you want me to approach a strange woman, and ask her to go for a walk in the woods, so an invisible thing can talk to her?”

“I am not as you portray me.”

“Forget it.”

“As you wish, Arnold.”

“Listen, Traveler, try to understand the problem here.” He adopted what he hoped was a reasonable tone. “I’ve been moderately successful with women during my time. But you’re asking me to pick up a woman I’ve never met. I’m not good at that. It’s not my style. If you don’t like Floyd, how about if I bring up, say, Tom Pratkowski? He was here the other night. A little out of line, then. But he’s okay. I like him. He’s important to me.”

“The woman. Linda. Nobody else.”

His first customer in the morning was Robert Schilling. Rob was the town’s resident model train hobbyist, a retired customs inspector who came by the store occasionally to pick up wire and screws and plaster of Paris. Rob was in his eighties, and moved, as one might say, with great deliberation. Arnold didn’t believe the depleted energy levels were a function of his age. Even when Arnold and Rob had been relatively young, he had not been the man you would want to lead the escape from a burning theater. But today, he entered the Lock ‘n’ Bolt in a state of considerable excitement.