A Different Light (23 page)

Theo went in with all his considerable mental energy and talent, through the bitter smoke, into the place of pain. He brought in what it felt like to have your mind chipped to bits like plaster. What it meant to be dying at thirty-one while the children around you could expect to live to be a hundred. He brought in Jimson's anger:
Where were you for fourteen years!
And he brought in the loss:
We didn't get to say goodbye. I love you. I will miss you.
He whipped it through and through Russell's mind, and fueled the lash with all the frustrated, knotted down, held back, self-controlled sexual energy he had ever seen or felt.

He took one step closer to Russell.

And waited for the explosion, as a lightning rod waits for the lightning.

* * *

THEO.

Morning. Sunlight striped the floor, the pillows on the floor, the bed, and Theo's chest. He stretched into the warmth.
Um.
He was not quite awake.

Jimson's voice reached to him again out of its recess in his mind. THANK YOU.

Theo grinned reminiscently.
Thank you!
There was a note for him on the desk, but he knew what it said; he had been linked, very gently, with Russell as he wrote it.
Theo—Thanks. And goodbye. Please give my love to Ysao.
He rolled out of bed, yawning, and went to look at it. There was no signature, just a whorled scribble at the bottom of the page, which could have been the letter "R" and could have been someone checking out a pen, to see if it would write. The handwriting was tiny and meticulous as print.
I'd never have guessed him to write so neatly.

RUSSELL CAN BE VERY PRECISE ABOUT SOME COMMUNICATION.

My god, yes,
Theo said. He went looking for his clothing. His pants had ended up in a corner. He put them on. His shirt had been carefully hung on the back of the desk chair, turned inside out.
Well, that happens in the dark.
He combed out his hair with his hands till it stood on end.

AND NOW?

Now I get a vacation.
For two months he could travel around the Living Worlds, drawing on his salary. Then he had to return to Psi Center to earn the money he'd spent.

WHERE CAN THEY SEND YOU?

Anywhere
, said Theo.
Whichever sector they are exploring now.

DON'T YOU CARE? AREN'T YOU CURIOUS?

I never was before.

BROTHER, YOU WILL BE NOW!

Theo grinned. He was more concerned with his vacation. He had never been in the Hype except as a tourist. But telepaths were accepted everywhere.

LIKE CROW.

In the Hype he could wear the bright colors he loved, and no one would laugh at him. Red and orange and sunburn brown.

AND YOU SHOULD TRY SOME GOLD GLITTER IN YOUR HAIR.

I might even meet up again with Russell.

YOU MIGHT.

Damn it, what'd I do with the letter? It had slipped out of his hands somehow.... He pummeled the pillows and waved the sheets like valedictory flags. It fluttered to the floor, and he picked it up and took it to the desk and smoothed it out against the desktop. I
must remember to show it to Ysao.

DO YOU THINK YSAO KNOWS THE TRUTH?

About you? No. What I told him was very close to the truth—could easily have been the truth.

SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE TRUTH?

No,
Theo said. He was surprised at the firmness of his own response.
Really. I'm getting used to you. I don't mind.

I AM GLAD.

Theo mused to himself. I wonder if the pattern-impress worked for the others. They're dreaming differently. Maybe they're seeing differently too. It may take years before we know for sure.

MEAN-WHILE, Jimson said, being Goryn again, THE EX-PER-I-MENT FAILED.

No
, protested Theo.
It just had an unexpected result. Us.

There were four pens lying on the desk, and the pieces of the one that had snapped in Russell's hands. The ink had soaked in, making a tentacled blot on the wood. Theo picked up a pen and tried to inscribe a T in the wood. The point promptly broke off the pen.

CLOD, Jimson said wrathfully. THOSE ARE MINE, AND THEY'RE DELICATE!

Sorry.
Theo gathered them up and stuck them in his pocket, first checking the points to make sure the caps were on tightly. He said aloud, "No sense in getting ink all over my sexiest shirt!"

I WANT TO DRAW A PICTURE.

"What?" Theo's chest tightened.
I thought we had an agreement, he said. You were going to stay back there where you are, and leave the work of the body to me. It's my body. I don't plan to share it. I'm not willing to. And I can't draw. But YOU can.

Jimson withdrew, back into the corner of Theo's mind that the telepath could not quite get to. But then Theo felt him again. YOU DON'T REALLY UNDERSTAND, he said. YOU'RE A TELEPATH. YOU'RE THINKING IN TERMS OF CONTROL, OF ME TAKING OVER YOUR MIND. I CAN'T DO THAT. I DON'T KNOW HOW. YOU'RE THE TELEPATH, THEO. I'M JUST RIDING HERE, I'M A GHOST. YOU HAVE ACCESS TO ME. I'M NOT JIMSON ALLECA. I'M A PART OF YOUR BRAIN. THINK OF ME LIKE THAT. USE ME.

Theo considered.
All right
, he said.
I'll try it. How do I reach to you? You're pretty far back there.

HERE, said Jimson. I'M HERE!

Theo felt the barriers drop away. This is how it should have been the first time, he thought. Without suppressants, without fear, without the treacherous and broken body fighting him off, the union was easy. Yes, he thought triumphantly, there. There.

He looked for paper. He took out Russell's letter and turned it backside up. He had a pen. There were four of them in his pocket. He felt for the one he wanted, the fine-nibbed one, the OOO. He visualized a subject. Jimson Alleca had never drawn this portrait, because it hurt too much. But now, Theo thought, he can. We can.

He set the pen to the paper. The portrait grew slowly. Hair like a mane framed aquiline features. The mouth curved in a familiar grin. One hand reached out in welcome.... Theo put the pen down and scratched his jaw. He didn't know what to think. The sketch did not resemble Jimson Alleca's style in the least. It was flamboyant, almost brutal. A thought wandered into Theo's consciousness: IT NEEDS ROUGH EDGES. NEXT TIME WE'LL GET SOME CHARCOAL.

Is it any good?
Theo stared uneasily down at the portrait of Russell.

Jimson searched for the word. Found it—flung it at Theo like a shooting star.

PER-FECT!