Fifty Degrees Below. Kim Stanley Robinson

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СКАЧАТЬ with its salvaged harmonium, catwalks to the separate bedrooms on their branches, open windows on all four sides …

      His current aerie was a very modest version of that fantasy, of course. Just the basics; a ledge bivouac rather than the Swiss family mansion, and indeed his old camping gear was well-represented around him, augmented by some nifty car-camping extras, like the lantern and the foam mattress and the pillows from the apartment. Stuff scavenged from the wreckage of his life, as in any other Robinsonade.

      The tree swayed and whooshed in the wind. He sat on his thick foam pad, his back holding it up against the trunk. Luxurious reading in bed. Around him laptop, cell phone, a little cooler; his backpack held a bathroom bag and a selection of clothing; a Coleman battery-powered lantern. In short, everything he needed. The lamp cast a pool of light onto the plywood. No one would see it. He was in his own space, and yet at the same time right in the middle of Washington D.C. One of the ferals in the ever-encroaching forest. ‘Oooop, oop oop ooooop!’ His tree swayed back and forth in the wind. He switched off his lamp and slept like a babe.

      

      Except his cell phone rang, and he rolled over and answered it without fully waking. ‘Hello?’

      ‘Frank Vanderwal?’

      ‘Yes? What time is it?’ And where am I?

      ‘It’s the middle of the night. Sorry, but this is when I can call.’ As he was recognizing her voice, she went on: ‘We met in that elevator that stuck.’

      Already he was sitting up. ‘Ah yeah of course! I’m glad you called.’

      ‘I said I would.’

      ‘I know.’

      ‘Can you meet?’

      ‘Sure I can. When?’

      ‘Now.’

      ‘Okay.’

      Frank checked his watch. It was three in the morning.

      ‘That’s when I can do it,’ she explained.

      ‘That’s fine. Where?’

      ‘There’s a little park, near where we first met. Two blocks south of there, a block east of Wisconsin. There’s a statue in the middle of the park, with a bench under it. Would that be okay?’

      ‘Sure. It’ll take me, I don’t know, half an hour to get there. Less, actually.’

      ‘Okay. I’ll be there.’

      The connection went dead.

      Again he had failed to get her name, he realized as he dressed and rolled his sleeping gear under the tarp. He brushed his teeth while putting on his shoes, wondering what it meant that she had called now. Then the ladder finished lowering and down he went, swaying hard and holding on as he banged into a branch. Not a good time to fall, oh no indeed.

      On the ground, the ladder sent back up. Leaving the park the streetlights blazed in his eyes, caged in blue polygons or orange globes; it was like crossing an empty stage set. He drove over to Wisconsin and up it, then turned right onto Elm Street. Lots of parking here. And there was the little park she had mentioned. He had not known it existed. It was dark except for one orange streetlight at its north end, near a row of tennis courts. He parked and got out.

      Mid-park a small black statue of a female figure held up a black hoop. The streetlight and the city’s noctilucent cloud illuminated everything faintly but distinctly. It reminded Frank of the light in the NSF building on the night of his abortive b-and-e, and he shook his head, not wanting to recall that folly; then he recalled that that was the night they had met, that he had broken into the NSF building specifically because he had decided to stay in D.C. and search for this woman.

      And there she was, sitting on the park bench. It was 3:34 AM and there she sat, on a park bench in the dark. Something in the sight made him shiver, and then he hurried to her.

      She saw him coming and stood up, stepped around the bench. They stopped face to face. She was almost as tall as he was. Tentatively she reached out a hand, and he touched it with his. Their fingers intertwined. Slender long fingers. She freed her hand and gestured at the park bench, and they sat down on it.

      ‘Thanks for coming,’ she said.

      ‘Oh hey. I’m so glad you called.’

      ‘I didn’t know, but I thought …’

      ‘Please. Always call. I wanted to see you again.’

      ‘Yes.’ She smiled a little, as if aware that seeing was not the full verb for what he meant. Again Frank shuddered: who was she, what was she doing?

      ‘Tell me your name. Please.’

      ‘… Caroline.’

      ‘Caroline what?’

      ‘Let’s not talk about that yet.’

      Now the ambient light was too dim; he wanted to see her better. She looked at him with a curious expression, as if puzzling how to proceed.

      ‘What?’ he said.

      She pursed her lips.

      ‘What?’

      She said, ‘Tell me this. Why did you follow me into that elevator?’

      Frank had not known she had noticed that. ‘Well! I … I liked the way you looked.’

      She nodded, looked away. ‘I thought so.’ A tiny smile, a sigh: ‘Look,’ she said, and stared down at her hands. She fiddled with the ring on her left ring finger.

      ‘What?’

      ‘You’re being watched.’ She looked up, met his gaze. ‘Do you know that?’

      ‘No! But what do you mean?’

      ‘You’re under surveillance.’

      Frank sat up straighter, shifted back and away from her. ‘By whom?’

      She almost shrugged. ‘It’s part of Homeland Security.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘An agency that works with Homeland Security.’

      ‘And how do you know?’

      ‘Because you were assigned to me.’

      Frank swallowed involuntarily. ‘When was this?’

      ‘About a year ago. When you first came to NSF.’

      Frank sat back even further. She reached a hand toward him. He shivered; the night seemed suddenly chill. He couldn’t quite come to grips with what she was saying. ‘Why?’

      She reached farther, put her hand lightly on his knee. ‘Listen, it’s not like what you’re thinking.’

      ‘I СКАЧАТЬ