Free The Lost Perception by Daniel F. Galouye Page B

me see things that aren’t there.”
*  *  *
    She began sobbing once more and he poured her another snifter of brandy, then held her close against him until she quieted.
    “You say they wanted to reach me?”
    “Yes. They said they needed bureau personnel with them.”
    “And you agreed to deliver me?”
    “More for your own good than for theirs. You see, they had convinced me that they were going to destroy the bureau. And always their actions were for the same, unvarying purpose—to save the world.”
    “So you arranged to get me over here.”
    Again, she nodded. “Uncle Bill’s accident in the shower was the first opportunity I had.”
    “You knew he hadn’t gone Screamie?”
    “That’s right. Between shouts of pain, his oaths were too coherent for that. So I put in that frantic call over the com-viewer. Kavorba planned to contact you the day after you arrived. But it never occurred to me that you might already know about the cell.”
    She lifted her head from his shoulder and frowned up at his pensive silence.
    “So,” he said, “you pretended you were suddenly interested in marrying me.”
    “Oh no. They didn’t make me think that. I decided it weeks before. But when they told me about the danger you were in, I was all the more determined to make you quit.”
    She stared into the embers of the dying fire. “And then—last Friday—when you let me believe there was someone else—I didn’t know what to do. Besides that, you seemed so dedicated to the bureau that I knew you would never leave it.”
    “There wasn’t, isn’t anybody else,” he said, firming his grip on her shoulder.
    “I know that now. The tricast explained everything—how I was tricked and deluded into a sense of loyalty to the Valorians, how important your work is, how you’ll have to keep on with it until all the cells are destroyed.”
    He simply remained silent, letting her believe that his duties were the only barrier between them, pretending even to himself that the so-close threat of the Screamies didn’t exist.
    “Did you find out anything else about what the cells are supposed to do?” he asked.
    “The important thing now, as I understand it, is to expand and consolidate their position. Oh, of course I knew there were the aggressive cells that had finally armed themselves enough to start attacking bureau outposts. But the rest of us was just starting to organize.”
    It was apparent that Helen, even though her experiences with the cell had been limited, could provide vital information on the aliens’ plans. But how to place that information in the proper hands without implicating her?
    “I suppose the bureau will get around to me eventually,” she said distantly.
    “Maybe not. We’re filling the quarantine compound with prisoners. We won’t be able to question all of them.”
    “I’ll be ready when they come,” she said softly.
    But they wouldn’t come, Gregson promised himself. After all, he should be entitled to some privileges. Radcliff would understand when he explained.
*  *  *
    The next morning Gregson walked into a kitchen delightfully provocative in its savory redolence. Helen, refreshingly composed in contrast to the distress she had shown the night before, wagged a ladle in his face and said, “No breakfast for late risers.”
    But, basting the turkey, she relented. “Of course, we might scrape up enough dressing for, say, half a sandwich.”
    He stood by the door, basking in the warmth of the kitchen and squinting against the glare of brilliant sunlight on a newly-laid mantle of snow. Humming a tune, she spread the dressing and bent the bread back upon itself. It had been ages since he’d seen her so pleasantly disposed. She wore snug snow slacks and the same heavy-knit red sweater whose collar flared up like petals to call attention to naturally rouged cheeks and large, soft eyes.
    “And that,” she said, handing him the half sandwich, “will have to hold you until twelve.”
    Until