I waited just a moment, savoring the painless peace. Then, finally, I
moved.
I was bent double, but I got from the floor to the chair and found
my notebook and orb-point in my hands. I found I couldn't focus both
my mind and my eyes through the electric flashes of agony, so I
concentrated on Doc's voice and trusted my hands would follow their
habit pattern and construct the symbols for his words. They were
suddenly distinguishable.
"_Outsider_ ... _Thoth_ ... _Dyzan_ ... _Seven_ ... _Hsan_ ...
_Beyond Six, Seven, Eight_ ... _Two boxes_ ... _Ralston_ ... _Richard
Wentworth_ ... _Jimmy Christopher_ ... _Kent Allard_ ... _Ayem_ ...
_Oh, are_ ... _see_...."
* * * * *
His voice rose to a meaningless wail that stretched into non-existence.
The pen slid across the scribbled face of the notebook and both dropped
from my numb hands. But I knew. Somehow, inside me, _I knew_ that these
words were what I had been waiting for. They told everything I needed
to know to become the most powerful man in the Solar Federation.
That wasn't just an addict's dream. I knew who Doc was. When I got
to thinking it was just a dream and that I was dragging this old man
around North America for nothing, I remembered who he was.
I remembered that he was somebody very important whose name and work I
had once known, even if now I knew him only as Doc.
Pain was a pendulum within me, swinging from low throbbing bass to high
screaming tenor. I had to get out and get some. But I didn't have a
nickel. Still, I had to get some.
I crawled to the door and raised myself by the knob, slick with greasy
dirt. The door opened and shut--there was no lock. I shouldn't leave
Doc alone, but I had to.
He was starting to cry. He didn't always do that.
I listened to him for a moment, then tested and tasted the craving that
crawled through my veins. I got back inside somehow.
Doc was twisting on the cot, tears washing white streaks across his
face. I shoved Doc's face up against my chest. I held onto him and let
him bellow. I soothed the lanks of soiled white hair back over his
lumpy skull.
He shut up at last and I laid him down again and put his arm back
across his face. (You can't turn the light off and on in places like
that. The old wiring will blow the bulb half the time.)