The Janus Syndrome | Page 8

much to speak of in the
place; it wasn't required, as I generally didn't stay around for long.
"I understand them all too well -- your idea of humor, however, I prefer
not to understand."
"Good for you."
"Indeed."
He paused while I went and got myself a glass of water; I'm not much
for alcohol. My vices are sex and smoking, no drugs of any sort. Fussy
little me.
Then he said, "In the next one hundred and twenty seconds, mark, you
shall have a visitor." I groaned, loudly. That meant a mission, and, if I
knew Area Fourteen, I'd end up somewhere or other getting shot at, or
ducking spears, or just running like hell with something twice as fast,
twice as heavy, and twenty times as mean right behind me and gaining.
"Your visit was rather short, wasn't it?" he finished.
I looked at the linkscreen for lack of anything else, and grunted
something awkward that roots in Harlem. It served well enough.

I waited Dryly, Area Fourteen said, "I didn't have a mother."
I raised both eyebrows and Uncle Tommed the screen.
"And further more, I don't find your parody of your genetic and
ancestral roots to be very becoming. It makes you look like a sauerkraut
pudding covered in chocolate sauce: most unsavory-looking thing
indeed."
That did it. The combination of droll tone and apparently idiotic
comment cracked me up. I almost doubled up, whooping. I made it to
the bed before falling over, still howling.
Let me tell you, I've never been one for subtle appreciation.
I was starting the downhill slide when the doorboy bleeped. I slapped
the comkey to open the door, and rolled over.
Annabelle Freeman walked in and stopped just inside the door, as it
closed again, hands on her hips; she was wearing one of her white
zip-up jumpsuits, the zipper ring halfway down, probably left there,
forgotten, when she got distracted by something. Annabelle's like that;
never all here. Not a surprising mental state for an expert telepath.
She looked at me for a moment, then said, "What in the hell are you
laughing at?"
I didn't get a chance to answer right away.
Area Fourteen said, "He is displaying the total illogic of his species,
Mademoiselle Freeman." The "Mademoiselle" was as theatrical as
anything else; Anna was classed, like me, as an American. "I shouldn't
really waste any time informing you, as you, too, are of that species."
I sat up, with a Cheshire Cat grin, and turned to Annabelle. "I think he
sounds more like Mr. Spock every time I come up here."
She grinned back. "I suppose you've told him that already."

"Yeah, I have, " I said. I could feel the giggles coming again. "But he
thinks he's Captain Kirk!"
And I collapsed again, shaking with laughter that hurt more with each
shudder.
Annabelle just stood there, shaking her head and grinning at the sight
of me.
Finally, I managed to stop gasping and whooping, and settled back,
breathing deeply to steady myself, wiping my eyes with the back of my
hand.
Area Fourteen, never missing a chance at putting a damper on
something, said, "If you'd continued another half minute, I would have
called sickbay and had you taken away for examination and treatment."
Meaning, I assumed, he wished I'd continued so he could have had me
carted off. Computers are efficient enough, but give them half a chance
and they'll be dissecting everything within reach for new ideas. The
problem is that they don't get queasy or have to eat.
Hooboy, I thought, as my stomach lurched -- that dead dog was still
playing hell with my digestion.
I said, "Sorry I spoiled your fun."
"Hmm," he said. "However, as you are now in control of yourself, I
will leave you with Mademoiselle Freeman."
"You do that. You're just the type to leave us big baaad buck nigger
bastards with a po'liddle white trash girl."
Who is also a black belt in karate, can read minds when she really want
to -- she usually leaves mine alone out of courtesy, although her regular
companion, who looks like a cauliflower, often takes a peep -- and who
could probably flatten me with a mindshot.
Annabelle is also almost as tall as me, shaped nicely, long haired, raven

division, and looks thin-faced; somebody once compared her to a ferret
in looks, although that's a bit extreme. She's not bad looking when you
think about it.
Anna said, "If you ever saw that mythical buck nigger, you'd go so
white the Clorox people would be after you for the secret."
"Yass, Missy," I said, with a grin. "So what has Special Abilities got to
do with me this time?"
She pulled a face and strolled to the wall