Free Alternities by Michael P. Kube-McDowell Page A

reminder that the maze killed.
    For, except for the odd mole or two killed in a random traffic accident or caught up in a riot, everyone on the list had disappeared between gates. Crackers lost probing the maze, runners who never completed a routine transit, ferrymen who failed to deliver themselves and their packages to the other side. Gee, R.W., you could have been one of the exceptions—
    Wallace shivered and tore himself away before his imagination put his own name on the plaque. “Ready for the engraver.” That was the Guard’s joking euphemism for death. It was an honor he had come close to earning himself, an honor he could do without.
    For more than twelve hours, the suggestion that he had screwed up had been eating at Wallace. As he left the change-out room, the only way he could think to rid himself of the bilious taste of that thought was to get a good run under his belt, as soon as possible.
    The dispatcher on duty behind the assignment desk was Deborah King, a familiar if not friendly face. More than a year ago Wallace had made the mistake of innocently flirting her up with his wedding ring resting in his locker. The scolding she had given him when she discovered he was married had been hot enough that his ears still burned when he thought about it.
    It had been impossible, then or since, to persuade her that he had not been looking to cheat on his wife. Worse, at a yard party a few weeks later at Jason’s, Deborah had made a point of seeking out and befriending Ruthann. Seeing them sitting together, but not knowing what they were talking about, had made for a miserable afternoon.
    Which was exactly what Deborah intended. “I didn’t tell her anything,” she had said just before leaving. “I just thought you needed to squirm a little.” The only comfort Wallace could take was that her ferocious reaction meant that she might have said yes if the proposition had come. And there was at least some balm for the ego in that.
    “ ’Lo, Deb,” he said, approaching the desk. “21618—Red released me. Mark me clear and tell me what you have.”
    “Some kind of release. Your Red certification’s been suspended.”
    “I know. It’s protective, not punitive. I’m still okay on Blue and Yellow. What’s the rotation look like?”
    “Normal. Eight or ten names ahead of you on each. Not that—”
    Eight or ten names was a two-hour wait, at least. “I can do ferry runs.”
    “Not that it matters,” she repeated. “You also have a three-day medical hold from Dr. Glass.”
    “What?”
    She reached for a clipboard and showed him the order.
    “So what does this mean?” he asked, glancing at the paper and looking up. Nice eyes —
    “It means you’re going home. Did you even call your wife last night?”
    “No,” he admitted, realizing.
    “Figures. Well, you’ve got a couple of days to make it up to her. Give the little one a hug for me.”
    That was the most annoying fallout of all, Deborah King’s self-appointed, proprietary interest in the happiness of the Wallace household. But this time Wallace barely noticed, realizing for the first time how close he had come to never seeing his daughter Katie again.
    “Yeah,” he said with a crooked smile. “I’ll try to work an extra one in.”

ANOMALY REPORT 23
    Transit Log Number: 61
Transit Date: March 18, 1968
Transit Agent: Donald Freepace
    Abstracted from Transit Report 061868-8
    Who else was out there? Were you running some sort of test?… I wasn’t alone, that’s what I mean. Yes, on the return. I was right in the channel, looked on the gate, and all of a sudden there was something between me and the gate. I could feel it. I could feel the break. No, I didn’t see anything. A shadow, the most it was was a shadow. How could I describe it anyway? It’s not normal sight. It’s not the kind of seeing we do out hare. Not like you standing between me and the door. I see you instead of the door. This was different. Just—a break. I stopped… I