Anasazi by Dean Ing

Author:Dean Ing [Ing, Dean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Anthologies
ISBN: 9780441022601
Google: rZo5AAAACAAJ
Amazon: 1511397500
Goodreads: 602931
Publisher: Ace
Published: 1980-02-15T08:00:00+00:00

DEVIL YOU DON’T KNOW

Maffei, brushing at his cheap suit, produced his papers with confidence. They were excellent forgeries. “I dunno the patient from whozis,” he said. “Will she need sedation? A jacket?”

The receptionist was your standard sanitarium model: stunning, crisp, jargony, her uniform a statement of medical competence as spurious as Maffei’s authorization. “Dina Valerie Clarke,” she read. “I did an ops transfer profile on her. If I may see your ID, sir?” It was not really a question.

Both driver’s license and psychiatric aide registration were genuine enough. Neither card hinted that this stocky aide, Christopher Maffei, was also MD, PhD, and in his present capacity, SPY. To stay in character he rephrased his question while surrendering the cards. “Will the kid need restraint?”

“It doesn’t say,” she murmured, returning his ID. “We can sign her over to you after your exit interview.”

“My interview? Lady, I’m just the taxi to some clinic in Nebraska.”

“It’s only a formality,” she purred, fashioning him a brief bunny-nose full of sexual conspiracy.

Maffei avoided laughing. In three years of residency and five of research, he had observed enough morons to be a passable simulacrum on his own. “I never done that before,” he lied. He had listened to these sales pitches only too often. “Can I use your phone? Dr. Carmichael can talk to you from Springfield …”

“Sign here, please, and here, and there,” in ten-below tones.

Maffei smiled and signed. You’re beaten by invincible ignorance, he thought. Maybe we should start a club. He straightened and looked around, realizing that the receptionist had buzzed for Val Clarke.

She came toward him slowly at first down the long hallway, made smaller by her outsized luggage. It was very expensive luggage, the guilt-assuaging hardware a wealthy parent would provide for an unwanted child. Chris still chafed at what it had cost him.

As Val neared him, he saw that her hair had been shorn almost to the scalp. Lice, probably. Her height was scarcely that of a ten-year-old. The frail angular body, still too large for her head, was yet too small for its oddly misaligned and bovine eyes. She wore the same white ankle socks, slippers, and trousers she’d had when entering Nodaway Retreat two weeks before. Her smiling gaze swept up to his, then past, and she broke into a stumbling skip toward the entrance.

“You must be Valerie Clarke,” Maffei said with forced gaiety, catching gently at her pipestem wrist.

The vacant smile foundered. A silent nod. No more skipping; the girl stood awaiting whatever this vast authoritarian world might dictate.

“Let’s get you to an ice-cream cone,” Maffei said, letting her bring the suitcases. He maintained the running patter while strapping her into his electric four-seater and stowing the luggage behind. “I bet you’d like a Frostylite, hm?”

Tucking his slight paunch under the steering wheel, Maffei whirred them toward the automatic gate. It slid aside, then back, as they emerged onto the highway. Val Clarke slumped in her seat with a lip-blubbering parody of released tension. “Oh come on, Val, it can’t be that bad,” Maffei smirked.

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