Then I gave her my class ring from Tech (it was all I had) and told her it was hers; we were engaged. “It’s too big for you but you can keep it. I’ll have another one for you when you wake up.”
She held it tight in her fist. “I won’t want another one.”
“All right. Now better tell Pete good-by, Picky. I’ve got to go. I can’t wait a minute longer.”
She hugged Pete, then handed him back to me, looked me steadily in the eye even though tears were running down her nose and leaving clean streaks. “Good-by, Danny.”
“Not ‘good-by,’ Ricky. Just ‘so long.’ We’ll be waiting for you.”
It was a quarter of ten when I got back to the village. I found that a helicopter bus was due to leave for the center of the city in twenty-five minutes, so I sought out the only used-car lot and made one of the fastest deals in history, letting my car go for half what it was worth for cash in hand at once. It left me just time to sneak Pete into the bus (they are fussy about airsick cats) and we reached Powell’s office just after eleven o’clock.
Powell was much annoyed that I had canceled my arrangements for Mutual to handle my estate and was especially inclined to lecture me over having lost my papers. “I can’t very well ask the same judge to pass on your committal twice in the same twenty-four hours. It’s most irregular.”
I waved money at him, cash money with convincing figures on it. “Never mind eating me out about it, Sergeant. Do you want my business or don’t you? If not, say so, and I’ll beat it on up to Central Valley. Because I’m going today.”
He still fumed but he gave in. Then he grumbled about adding six months to the cold-sleep period and did not want to guarantee an exact date of awakening. “The contracts ordinarily read ‘plus or minus’ one month to allow for administrative hazards.”
“This one doesn’t. This one reads 27 April, 2001. But I don’t care whether it says ‘Mutual’ at the top or ‘Central Valley.’ Mr. Powell, I’m buying and you’re selling. If you don’t sell what I want to buy I’ll go where they do sell it.”
He changed the contract and we both initialed it.
At twelve straight up I was back in for my final check with their medical examiner. He looked at me. “Did you stay sober?”
“Sober as a judge.”
“That’s no recommendation. We’ll see.” He went over me almost as carefully as he had “yesterday.” At last he put down his rubber hammer and said, “I’m surprised. You’re in much better shape than you were yesterday. Amazingly so.”
“Doc, you don’t know the half of it.”
I held Pete and soothed him while they gave him the first sedative. Then I lay back myself and let them work on me. I suppose I could have waited another day, or even longer, just as well as not-but the truth was that I was frantically anxious to get back to 2001.
About four in the afternoon, with Pete’s flat head resting on my chest, I went happily to sleep again.
CHAPTER 12
My dreams were pleasanter this time. The only bad one I remember was not too bad, but simply endless frustration. It was a cold dream in which I wandered shivering through branching corridors, trying every door I came to, thinking that the next one would surely be the Door into Summer, with Ricky waiting on the other side. I was hampered by Pete, “following me ahead of me,” that exasperating habit cats have of scalloping back and forth between the legs of persons trusted not to step on them or kick them.
At each new door he would duck between my feet, look out it, find it still winter outside, and reverse himself, almost tripping me.
But neither one of us gave up his conviction that the next door would be the right one.
I woke up easily this time, with no disorientation-in fact the F doctor was somewhat irked that all I wanted was some breakfast, the Great Los Angeles Times, and no chitchat. I didn’t think it was worth while to explain to him that this was my second time around; he would not have believed me.