When I feel this way I don't feel sad. It's not loss, but escape-it's not whether, but when and how.
I guess after I lose Amelia is the "when." The only "how" that appeals to me is to do it while jacked. Maybe take a couple of generals with me. I can save the actual planning for the moment. But I do know where the generals live in Portobello, Building 31, and with all my years jacked it's nothing to slide a comm thread to the soldierboys who guard the building. There are ways I can divert them for a fraction of a second. Try not to kill any shoes on my way in.
"Yoo-hoo. Julian? Anybody home?" It was Reza, from the other table.
"Sorry. Thinking."
"Well, come over here and think. We have a physics question that Blaze can't answer."
I picked up my drink and moved over. "Not particle, then."
"No, it's simpler than that. Why does water emptying out of a tub go one direction in the Northern Hemisphere and the other in the Southern?"
I looked at Amelia and she nodded seriously. She knew the answer, and Reza probably did, too. They were rescuing me from the war talk.
"That's easy. Water molecules are magnetized. They always point north or south."
"Nonsense," Belda said. "Even I would know it if water were magnetized."
"The truth is that it's an old wives' tale. You'll excuse the expression."
"I'm an old widow," Belda said.
"Water goes one way or the other depending on the size and shape of the tub, and peculiarities of the surface near the outlet. People go through life believing the hemisphere thing without noticing that some of the basins in their own house go the wrong way."
"I must go home and check," Belda said. She drained her glass and unfolded slowly out of the chair. "You children be good." She went to say good-bye to the others.
Reza smiled at her back. "She thought you looked lonely there."
"Sad," Amelia said. "I did, too. Such a horrible experience, and here we are bringing it up all over."
"It's not something they covered in training. I mean, in a way they do. You get jacked to strings recorded while people died, first in a light jack and then deeper."
"Some jackfreaks do it for fun," Reza said.
"Yeah, well, they can have my job."
"I've seen that billboard." Amelia hugged herself.
"Strings of people dying in racing accidents. Executions."
"The under-the-counter ones are worse." Ralph had tried a couple, so I'd felt them secondhand. "Our backups who died, their strings are probably on the market by now."
"The government can't – "
"Oh, the government loves it," Reza broke in. "They probably have some recruitment division that makes sure the stores are full of snuff strings."
"I don't know," I said. "Army's not wild about people who are already jacked."
"Ralph was," Amelia said.
"He had other virtues. They'd rather have you associate the specialness of being jacked with being in the army."
"Sounds really special," Reza said. "Somebody dies and you feel his pain? I'd rather – "
"You don't understand, Rez. You get larger in a way, when somebody dies. You share it and" – the memory of Carolyn suddenly hit me hard – "well, it makes your own death less earthshaking. Someday you'll buy it. Big deal."
"You live on? I mean, they live on, in you?"
"Some do, some don't. You've met people you'd never want to carry around in your head. Those guys die the day they die."
"But you'll have Carolyn forever," Amelia said.
I paused a little too long. "Of course. And after I die, the people who've been jacked to me will remember her too, and pass her down."
"I wish you wouldn't talk like that," Amelia said. Rez, who had known for years that we were together, nodded. "It's like a boil you keep picking at, like you were getting ready to die all the time."
I almost lost it. I literally counted to ten. Rez opened his mouth but I interrupted. "Would you rather I just watched people die, felt them die, and came home asking 'What's for dinner?'" I dropped to a whisper. "How would you feel about me if that didn't hurt me?"
"I'm sorry."
"Don't. I'm sorry you lost a baby. But that's not what you are. We go through these things, and then we more or less absorb them, and we become whatever we are becoming."
"Julian," Reza said in a warning tone, "perhaps you ought to save this for later?"
"That's a good idea," Amelia said, rising. "I have to go on home anyhow." She signaled the wheelie and it went for her coat and bag.
"Share a cab?" I asked.
"It's not necessary," she said in a neutral tone. "End of the month." She could use leftover entertainment points for a cab ride.
Other people didn't have points left over, so I bought a lot of wine and beer and whiskey, and drank more than my share. Reza did, too; his car wouldn't let him drive. He came along with me and my two bodyguard shoes.
I had them drop me at the campus gate, and walked the two kilometers to Amelia's through a cool mist of rain. No sign of any newsies.
All the lights were out; it was almost two. I let myself in through the back and belatedly thought I should have buzzed. What if she wasn't alone?
I turned on the kitchen light and harvested cheese and grape juice from the refrigerator. She heard me moving around and shuffled in, rubbing her eyes. "No reporters?" I asked.
"They're all under the bed."
She stood behind me and put her hands on my shoulders. "Give them something to write about?" I turned around in the chair and buried my face between her breasts. Her skin had a warm, sleepy smell.
"I'm sorry about earlier."
"You've been through too much. Come on." I let her lead me into the bedroom and she undressed me like a child. I was still a little drunk, but she had ways of getting around that, mostly patience, but other things, too.