Conscience of the Beagle Read Online Free PDF

genius at statistics, but I’m the psychic. Don’t you try to tell me who to trust.”
    Szabo’s overreaction is so incongruous that it had to be planned. I understand now. Beagle and Szabo have already joined forces against me.
    I get to my feet. “Beagle? Find out all you can about Paulie Hendrix. Get it to me by morning.” The pair pretend to be startled wordless. “I’m tired. I’m still recovering from the Jump. Stay down here and fight this out if you want.”
    I walk through the darkening lobby through the lonely cries of the peacocks. By the time the lift comes, the other three have caught up. Arne is yawning.
    In the silence of my room, I turn the Wall to a scene of a summery meadow. The digitized flowers are so detailed they look real. Lila, sunshine person and warm-weather lover, would have liked it.
    Still dressed, I stretch out on the bed. From the speakers comes a querulous tu-wit, tu-wit and a whistle, as clear as a piccolo.

    * * *

    I’m at a beach. To my left is a scimitar of flat, amber sand. To my right are mountains with dun-colored outcroppings and dense purple shadows. It’s a computer-generated paint-by-number place.
    At the edge of the sand a young boy urinates into the #3 blue of the waves. Next to me, Lila says, “Oh look!” in a charmed touristy voice.
    I’m embarrassed and uncomfortable. The beginnings of fear, like the start of a bad headache, pound at the base of my brain. “Don’t look.”
    The boy pisses in an endless yellow stream. Lila, excited, is bouncing on her feet. “Look,” she says.
    I can’t. Instead, I glance up the cliff and see, perched on the crumbling beige shale, a vast, decaying mansion. The building poises at the edge of doom like a deluded bird about to attempt disastrous flight. Its rococo facade is all curlicues and dark secret recesses, and there is something about the house that fills me with a hot, terrible dread; a cold, cramping pity.
    “Look at me,” Lila says.
    I start to turn, realizing that turning is a mistake. But my head continues left as though destiny has given me a push.
    “Look.”
    My head swivels notch by notch. I feel a scream burble up my throat. Anguish rushes into my mouth like a fountain.
    I look —I look—oh God, I look down.
    There are two red daisies in her palm.

    * * *

    “ — oway?”
    Wake with a gasp. The meadow is gone. A young dark-haired man’s face fills the Wall. I can see every pore, every minute imperfection of his skin. That close, that huge, he’s grotesque.
    “Major Holloway?”
    He’s peering toward a spot past my left shoulder. I turn. Only blank wall to my back. The colonial has been polite enough to set the viewscreen to one-way.
    My lips feel gummy. I slide them against each other . “Yes?”
    The foot-wide eyes stare at the place where he assumes he’ll find me. “There’s been another explosion, sir. Minister Vanderslice wants to know if your team would like to come down. We have a programmed cab waiting at the front of the hotel for you.”
    Swinging my legs out of bed, I sit, shoulders hunched, head in my hands.
    “Major?”
    “Yes. Yes. Right away.”
    The man blinks out. The meadow returns. By the light of the Wall I dress, then walk down the corridor to Beagle’s room.
    Beagle answers my first knock. When I enter, I see his workstation is up and running.
    “What time is it?” I ask.
    Without hesitation, he answers, “Ten thirty p.m., Hebron time.”
    “There’s been another bombing.”
    Beagle’s room lights are on, but his Wall is set to a night scene of a lake. The moon rides high over the water. From the far shore a loon chuckles.
    That’s right. I was dreaming that Lila was with me. A boy was pissing in the ocean.
    Pissing in the ocean, Lila said once. Fighting against Colonel Yi and the establishment is like pissing in the ocean. Can’t you just pretend to agree with him and then do what you want? It’s what I do with you.
    “Don’t you think we should go?” Beagle