“Did you tell her who you were?”

“The corridors diverged before we got to that. But she was startled and disoriented. I don’t think she had any idea where she was or what was happening.”

“Does anyone else know about this?”

“No one.”

Parmenter immediately scrolled to the readings he’d obtained in the coffee shop. “During her levitation she deflected the Delta 29 degrees and I thought thatwas extreme.”

“She only deflected 17 during the Wallace performance, but collectively there was a trend outward.” Moss shook his head grimly. “She’s becoming very adroit at this, to the point that her inputs have priority over ours.”

Parmenter sighed, sharing the frustration. “We set, she resets, we reset, she resets again. She’s getting so we can’t keep up with her.”

“And she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. This latest event was clearly involuntary, which confirms for me that many of the events we’ve observed were also involuntary, triggered by emotions, her subconscious, maybe stress …”

“Maybe even … her spirit?”

Moss paused to weigh that. “If there is such a thing, it would correspond to what we’re observing, yes.”

“To a substantial degree, I would say. It’s a niggling question we try to avoid, but we’re not dealing with a lab rat here, or even a monkey. I believe there are aspects of Mandy Eloise Whitacre that our science can never touch or control.”

Moss considered that. “And that would provide an explanation for her behavior and these events.”

“Yeah, well, DuFresne and the others are never going to buy it, but here’s my take on it: we’ve stolen her away and she’s trying to find her way back. We can alter and revert every atom of her being, but at a certain level beyond our reach, she knows who she is and where she belongs.”

Moss sighed, visibly burdened. “So we’ve crossed the line.”

“Oh, we did that a long time ago.”

Moss looked away. “And not with impunity.”

Parmenter felt a visceral response: fear for his friend. If Mandy Whitacre’s corridor passed through the staff room only ten feet from him and only a few yards from the Machine …

“Loren, are you all right?”

Moss only looked at him, the answer in his eyes.

“Oh, no …”

“I remember everything.”

Parmenter’s hands went to his face.

“I remember volunteering and everything that happened before that: the first experiments on the lab animals, the installation of the additional mass, working with you on the Kiley/Baker protocol. All of it. A whole year.”

“We’ll have Kessler examine you.”

“The cancer’s back. I can feel it. It was a pronounced and sudden change, quite noticeable.”

The worst had occurred. Neither man could speak for a moment.

Moss offered, “The deflection of her corridor encroached on mine and overwhelmed it. Similar to what happened to the soldier, Dose.”

Parmenter looked at the computer. All the data that once promised discovery now confirmed failure. It was like reading a postmortem report.

“We saw this coming,” said Moss.

The elder scientist agreed. He just couldn’t bring himself to say it, not yet.

But Moss had had time to think about it—and now had nothing to lose. “The early models all predicted inexorable return to equilibrium, and sure enough, all the inanimates, and then the rats, and then the monkeys retraced. We could push the deflection debt ahead of us, but …”

Parmenter nodded ever so slowly, scrolling through the data on his screen. “But you can only stretch the universe so far. Looking through the lens of dead rats and monkeys—”

“ Anda retraced soldier anda retraced scientist,” Moss reminded him.

“These figures all make sense.”

“And all proverbial hell is going to break loose with Mandy Eloise Whitacre thepivotal factor.”

Parmenter hated being so cornered. “And DuFresne and Carlson in sole possession of the ears and pockets of the military.”

“I don’t suppose a moral argument will work?”

“Coming from us?” That made Parmenter chuckle in bitterness. “We’ve already explained our way around the data, disposed of the rats, incinerated the monkeys, held back what we were really thinking—that we were exploiting and jeopardizing human lives.” The moral question had always been clouded by bitter divisions over secrecy, propriety, national security, and the omnipresent god of funding, but now it was as clear as the data on the screen—and the dying scientist sitting across from him. “It’s going to be a terrible note to end on, wouldn’t you say?”

Moss sighed and rubbed his eyes. “You could say that.”

chapter

30

That evening, Eloise knocked on Sally and Micah Durham’s door. It had been so long, and the Durhams were so happy to see her. Yes, Rhea was still doing hair. Darci had moved back to Sioux Falls, Iowa, and was engaged. Two new girls, Shelly and Doris, were staying in the home as part of their probation. Sally and Micah were fine. Micah had a job with flexible hours, so he could help out more.

And how was Eloise? Once she got past “Fine,” “Doing all right,” and “Staying busy,” she sat with them in the cozy living room and got down to the main purpose of her visit: “I’m ready to tell you now. I haveto tell you. Eloise is actually my middlename… .”

The Monday after the New Year’s weekend, Arnie Harrington, fresh up from Vegas, got his first look at the Collins-Kramer-Morgan Magic Theater. “I’ll be jiggered!”

For a training stage built in one end of a shop building, the stage was one impressive piece of work. It had footlights fashioned from work lights, movable access stairs, backdrops that rolled into place on casters or lowered into place on cables, teaser curtains, a rack of lights Dane bought secondhand from a concert promoter, a spotlight, and one main curtain operated by a revamped garage door opener.

“The birthplace of exciting new talent and many new wonders to come, I trust,” said Dane.

Wow. If Eloise Kramer’s act had benefited from the same Dane Collins touch… “So where’s our magician?”

“I think I heard her Bug coming up the driveway.”

The shop door opened and she stepped in wearing a hooded parka and pulling off her gloves. “Well, hi!”

“Hi there!” said Arnie. What a picture. The Gypsy Hobett Coffee Shop Girl had an entirely different air about her in this place. You’d think she grew up here.

Dane exchanged a warm smile with her and a thumbs up.

She made a whimsical, tentative kind of face and pulled back the hood of her parka.

Dane became frozen in time.

Arnie stared unabashedly.

Her hair was blond, golden through and through. She cast them a little sideways glance as she hung up her parka and pulled off her boots, but said not a word.

“What’s this?” Arnie asked.

“You did it,” said Dane.

Her hand went to her hair, fingers combing, fiddling with it. “I did. I had my girlfriend put me back the way I was.”

“The way you were?” Arnie asked.

“She’s naturally blond,” said Dane, and he loved how it looked, it was rather obvious.

“Huh.” Arnie was still staring, getting a little message. “How ’bout that.”

“The roots were growing out anyway, and it just came time to be myself,” she explained.

Arnie nodded and forced a smile—it wasn’t a very good one; he was trying to hide a gut feeling.

“Anyway,” she said, offering her hand, “it’s wonderful to see you again.”

“Yeah,” he replied as he shook her hand with a sideways glance at Dane. “I guess it’s been a long time.”

Arnie sat in a folding chair just ten feet from the stage, the Kubota tractor at his back. Dane manned the lights and curtains, Shirley doused the shop lights and cued the music, and Eloise Kramer, in her one and only stage costume, did her show with playful, high-energy confidence, performing for Arnie as if he were the only one there. She made eye contact, she dazzled, she teased, she mugged, and most of all, she wove the wonder through everything she did.