From what Elaine had said, he apparently was not as yet publicly identified as the man who had fled the hospital. But within hours the story would be out. Then his face would be staring from every printed page and would be on dimensino. In such a case he could not hope to escape being recognized. Either Thinker or Quester could take over the body, of course, and then there’d be no face to recognize, but either one of them would have to stay even more strictly out of sight than he. The climate was against them – too cold for Thinker and too hot for Quester, and there was the further complication that it was up to him to absorb and store up the energy that maintained and powered the body. There might be food that Quester could handle, but to determine it, research and testing would be needed. There were places, close to power sources, where Thinker could suck in energy, but they’d be hard to find and still stay undetected.
Would it be safe, he wondered, to try to contact Daniels? Thinking about it, he decided that it would be most unsafe.
He knew the answer he would get – return to the hospital. And the hospital was a trap. There he would be subjected to endless interviews and further medical probing and, perhaps, a psychiatric treatment. He would not be in charge of himself. He would be politely guarded. He’d be a prisoner. And while man might have fabricated him, he fiercely told himself, he was not owned by man. He must remain himself.
And what about that self? Not man alone, of course, but man and two other creatures. Even if he wished, he never could escape those other minds that, with him, held joint ownership to this mass of matter which did service as their bodies. Now that he thought about it, he knew he did not wish to escape those minds. They were close to him, closer than anything else had ever been or could be. They were friends – well, perhaps not exactly friends, but collaborators existing in the common bonds of a single flesh. And even if they had not been friends and collaborators, there was yet another consideration he could not ignore. It had been through his agency that they were in this mess and, in light of that, he had no course but to stick with them to the end.
Would she come, he wondered, or would she turn her information over to the police or hospital? He could not bring himself to blame her, he told himself, if she did turn him in. How could she know that he was not mildly mad, or perhaps more mad than mildly? She might very well believe that she would be acting in his interest if she informed upon him.
Any moment now a police cruiser might come shrieking up and disgorge a freight of cops.
-Quester, Changer said, we may be in trouble. It’s taking her too long.
-There are other ways, said Quester. If she fails us, we will find other ways.
-If the police show up, said Changer, we’ll have to shift to you. I’d never be able to outrun them. I can’t see too well in the dark and my feet are sore and…
-Any time you say, said Quester. I’ll be ready. Just give me the word.
Down in the wooded valley a raccoon whickered. Blake shivered. Ten more minutes, he thought. I’ll give her ten more minutes. If she doesn’t show by that time, we’ll get out of here. And he wondered how he was to know, without a watch, when ten minutes had gone past.
He crouched, miserable and shaken, lonely. An alien thing, he thought. Alien in a world of creatures of which he bore the shape. Was there any place, he asked himself, not only on this planet, but in the universe, for him? I’m human, he’d told Thinker; I insist on being human, he’d told Thinker; I insist on being human. But by what right did he insist?
-Steady, boy, said Quester. Steady. Steady. Steady.
Time wore on. The raccoon was silent. A bird twittered somewhere in the woods, wakened and disturbed by what prowling danger or what imagined threat?
A car came cruising slowly up the strip of paving. It pulled up to the curb opposite the phone booth. The horn bleated softly.
Blake rose from behind his bush and waved his arm.
‘Over here,’ he yelled.
The door of the car came open and Elaine stepped out. In the faint light of the weak bulb of the booth, he recognized her – the small oval of her face, the dark beauty of her hair. She carried a bundle in her hand.
She walked past the phone booth and moved towards the bush. Ten feet away she stopped.
‘Here, catch,’ she said, and tossed the bundle.
Fingers stiff with cold, Blake unwrapped the bundle and got into the clothes. The sandals were stout, the robe of black wool and with a cowl attached.
Dressed, he stepped out and walked forward to join Elaine.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I was nearly frozen.’
‘I’m sorry that it took so long,’ she said. ‘I kept thinking of you hiding out here. But I had to get the stuff together.’
‘Stuff?’
‘Things that you will need.’
‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
‘You said you were on the run. You’ll need more than clothes. Come on and get inside the car. I have the heater on. It is warm in there.’
Blake drew back. ‘No,’ he told her. ‘Don’t you understand? I can’t let you involve yourself any further than you have. Not that I’m not grateful …’
‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘You’re my good deed for the day.’ He pulled the robe closer about himself., ‘Look,’ she said, ‘you’re cold. Get into the car.’ He hesitated. He was cold and the car was warm. ‘Come on,’ she said.
He went with her to the car, waited while she got in and slid behind the wheel, then got in and closed the door. A hot blast struck his ankles.
She shifted a gear lever and the car moved forward. ‘I can’t stay parked,’ she said. ‘Someone would report me or investigate. So long as I keep moving, I am legal. Is there any place you would like to go?’
He shook his head. He hadn’t even given thought to where he meant to go.
‘Out of Washington, perhaps?’
‘That is right,’ he said. Out of Washington was at least a start.
‘Can you tell me about it, Andrew?’
‘Not much,’ he said. ‘If I told you’d probably stop the car and throw me out.’
She laughed. ‘Don’t try to dramatize it, whatever it may be. I’m going to swing round and head west. Is that OK with you?’
‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘There’ll be places I can hide.’
‘How long – I mean how long do you think you’ll have to stay in hiding?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said.
‘You know what I think? I don’t believe you can hide at all. Someone will root you out. Your only chance is to keep moving around, not staying long at any place.’
‘You’ve thought a lot about it?’
‘No. It just makes common sense. That robe I brought for you – one of Daddy’s wool ones that he is so proud of – is the kind of get-up that roving students wear.’
‘Roving students?’
‘Oh, I keep forgetting. You aren’t caught up yet with all that’s going on. They aren’t really students. They’re artistic bums. They wander around and some of them do paintings, some of them write books and some of them write poetry – you know, artistic stuff like that. There aren’t many of them, but enough so they are recognized for what they are. And no one, of course, pays attention to them. You can pull up the hood of your robe and no one will get a good look at your face. Not that anyone would look.’
‘And you think I should be a roving student?’
She ignored the interruption. ‘I found an old knapsack for you. It’s the kind of thing they use. Some pads of paper and some pencils and a book or two for you to read. You’d better take a look at them, so you know what they are. Whether you like it or not, you see, you will be a writer. First chance you get you scribble down a page or two. ‘So that if anyone should question you, you will look authentic.’
He huddled in the seat, soaking up the warmth. She had swung the car around to another street and was heading west. Great towering blocks of apartments rose against the sky.
‘Reach into that compartment to your right,’ she said, ‘I suppose that you are hungry. I fixed up some sandwiches and a Thermos full of coffee.’