demonstration—and even then they might say it was a trick.
Brains—why did it have to be brains? Had some human self-hatred bubbled up out of the dark to give Dierdre the ability to rip out the pride of human rationality? Worse had already happened a long time ago; the world did not need Dierdre to torment itself. Everywhere human brains were being blown out by bullets and explosives; empty-headedness ruled from cradle to grave in the service of the few.
The city shifted around him as he hurried home, and the only certainty he felt was that Dierdre should not have chained him to a brass bed.
11
She knocked on the door to Frank Gibney’s office. The wood and frosted glass door rattled gently. She waited for an answer. She looked to her right and left and listened, but the entire floor was quiet at a few minutes past noon, as she had hoped it would be; city workers took their lunchtime seriously, but the higher-ups often went out later. She heard someone cough inside the office.
She knocked again.
“Come in,” a man’s voice finally called out from within.
She opened the door and stepped inside. An empty steel desk stood to the right of an open door.
“In here,” the man called. “My assistant is out to lunch.”
She went into the next office and saw a heavyset, balding man eating a sandwich at a wooden desk. He stared up at her, his eyes demanding what she wanted of him, then frowned and looked puzzled by what she was carrying.
“Going bowling?” he asked, pointing at her bag.
“Yes,” she replied, setting it down. “May I talk to you?”
He nodded and continued eating. “Pull up that chair.”
“Thanks, but I won’t take much of your lunchtime,” she said, smiling at him.
“Nice business suit,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“What’s this about?” he asked, setting down his sandwich.
“You are Frank Gibney?” she asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“I have to be sure,” she said, stepping forward and continuing to smile at him as she constricted her abdomen in readiness. “Detective Benek sent me to tell you he thinks he’s solved the mystery of the empties.”
“Oh?” Gibney asked. “And who are you?”
“We’ve been going out lately.”
“Good! He’s such a loner. I’m glad to hear he’s coming out of himself.” He leaned back, then smiled, looking more friendly. “He’s a good-hearted man, you know. Likes to read the ancient historians. I had no idea he discussed his work with anyone else.”
“My father’s name was Frank,” she said as he supplied her missing laugh. She reached into him with difficulty, her exertion lasting longer than expected. The old man’s brain came out hard, hanging for a moment on the outside of his skull like a skinned fruit, then hit the floor next to his chair as he slumped forward into his lunch.
She felt a moment of disappointment with her effort, then took a deep breath and picked up her bowling bag. Opening it, she took out two heavy cotton towels and threw one over the bloody mass on the floor. Bending down, she gently picked up the soft organ and put it in the bag, then cleaned up the mess with the other towel and dropped it in the bag, zipping it up quickly. In a moment she was at the door.
Opening it slowly, she saw that the hallway was still empty and slipped out, closing the door gently behind her. Ten quick steps, and anyone who might see her would not be able to tell out of which door she had come.
She hurried down the hall toward the street exit, right hand grasping the bag, smiling at how she would present it to Benek. She had made practical use of her power after all, in defense of her own future.
She was very tired by the time the taxi brought her home. She put the bag on the floor by the door, staggered to the sofa and lay down, unable to consider why her fatigue had taken hold in less than half an hour after
Brains—why did it have to be brains? Had some human self-hatred bubbled up out of the dark to give Dierdre the ability to rip out the pride of human rationality? Worse had already happened a long time ago; the world did not need Dierdre to torment itself. Everywhere human brains were being blown out by bullets and explosives; empty-headedness ruled from cradle to grave in the service of the few.
The city shifted around him as he hurried home, and the only certainty he felt was that Dierdre should not have chained him to a brass bed.
11
She knocked on the door to Frank Gibney’s office. The wood and frosted glass door rattled gently. She waited for an answer. She looked to her right and left and listened, but the entire floor was quiet at a few minutes past noon, as she had hoped it would be; city workers took their lunchtime seriously, but the higher-ups often went out later. She heard someone cough inside the office.
She knocked again.
“Come in,” a man’s voice finally called out from within.
She opened the door and stepped inside. An empty steel desk stood to the right of an open door.
“In here,” the man called. “My assistant is out to lunch.”
She went into the next office and saw a heavyset, balding man eating a sandwich at a wooden desk. He stared up at her, his eyes demanding what she wanted of him, then frowned and looked puzzled by what she was carrying.
“Going bowling?” he asked, pointing at her bag.
“Yes,” she replied, setting it down. “May I talk to you?”
He nodded and continued eating. “Pull up that chair.”
“Thanks, but I won’t take much of your lunchtime,” she said, smiling at him.
“Nice business suit,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“What’s this about?” he asked, setting down his sandwich.
“You are Frank Gibney?” she asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“I have to be sure,” she said, stepping forward and continuing to smile at him as she constricted her abdomen in readiness. “Detective Benek sent me to tell you he thinks he’s solved the mystery of the empties.”
“Oh?” Gibney asked. “And who are you?”
“We’ve been going out lately.”
“Good! He’s such a loner. I’m glad to hear he’s coming out of himself.” He leaned back, then smiled, looking more friendly. “He’s a good-hearted man, you know. Likes to read the ancient historians. I had no idea he discussed his work with anyone else.”
“My father’s name was Frank,” she said as he supplied her missing laugh. She reached into him with difficulty, her exertion lasting longer than expected. The old man’s brain came out hard, hanging for a moment on the outside of his skull like a skinned fruit, then hit the floor next to his chair as he slumped forward into his lunch.
She felt a moment of disappointment with her effort, then took a deep breath and picked up her bowling bag. Opening it, she took out two heavy cotton towels and threw one over the bloody mass on the floor. Bending down, she gently picked up the soft organ and put it in the bag, then cleaned up the mess with the other towel and dropped it in the bag, zipping it up quickly. In a moment she was at the door.
Opening it slowly, she saw that the hallway was still empty and slipped out, closing the door gently behind her. Ten quick steps, and anyone who might see her would not be able to tell out of which door she had come.
She hurried down the hall toward the street exit, right hand grasping the bag, smiling at how she would present it to Benek. She had made practical use of her power after all, in defense of her own future.
She was very tired by the time the taxi brought her home. She put the bag on the floor by the door, staggered to the sofa and lay down, unable to consider why her fatigue had taken hold in less than half an hour after
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