(18 months post-The Telling)
"Er, spending a lot of time down here, aren't you Jack?" asked Sloane several weeks later. Jack lay on the table in front of him, being hooked up again to Il Dire. It had not escaped Sloane's notice that Jack spent almost every waking hour in here now. And looked it, thought Sloane critically, taking in Jack's gaunt appearance.
"Being your radar is not a part-time job, Arvin. Particularly now," was Jack's terse response.
Sloane surveyed the recumbent form of his best friend with satisfaction. Phase 2 was complete; Jack was now totally dependent on Il Dire. Still, the time Jack was spending seemed excessive.... "The doctors are concerned about too much cumulative exposure to Il Dire," Sloane began cautiously. "They're not confident that they understand the physiological effects. I think you should limit the amount of time you spend on the device each day." There, Sloane thought to himself virtuously. He had warned him.
"I'll try," came back the non-committal response. As if he cared, thought Jack. He only needed to last another 8 months. And if he needed to spend every hour in here to make sure that they all arrived at that one critical point for Sydney, he would do so.
Sloane felt a brief impulse to tell Jack the truth. That Il Dire, at the exposure levels that Jack was utilizing, would create a psychological and physical dependence equivalent to heroin. Sloane shrugged. Jack was choosing to be here of his own free will. And the more time Jack spent down here, the better the protection he received. It was difficult to argue against that.
**
Jack looked at the calendar without enthusiasm. 4 weeks. It was time to visit Sydney again. Pointless, really. There would be no change. 12 hours there, 12 hours back. He could do more for her here with Il Dire.
A wave of misery swept over him as he realized that he would never again see her smile, hear her laughter. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a well-worn photo of her when she was 5. He propped it up on his desk. There. That was the way he wanted to remember her.
He cancelled his flight to Hong Kong.
**
"You're sure?" Irina challenged her courier.
"Absolutely. He hasn't visited the restaurant in 8 weeks."
"And that communication channel hasn't been compromised?"
"No."
Irina bit her lip. Jack was alive, she knew. He had been sighted in the last week. Why had he stopped sending her updates on Sydney? Was he trying to cut her out of the loop in some misguided effort to keep her safe? If so, she'd have to help him think again.
"Er, spending a lot of time down here, aren't you Jack?" asked Sloane several weeks later. Jack lay on the table in front of him, being hooked up again to Il Dire. It had not escaped Sloane's notice that Jack spent almost every waking hour in here now. And looked it, thought Sloane critically, taking in Jack's gaunt appearance.
"Being your radar is not a part-time job, Arvin. Particularly now," was Jack's terse response.
Sloane surveyed the recumbent form of his best friend with satisfaction. Phase 2 was complete; Jack was now totally dependent on Il Dire. Still, the time Jack was spending seemed excessive.... "The doctors are concerned about too much cumulative exposure to Il Dire," Sloane began cautiously. "They're not confident that they understand the physiological effects. I think you should limit the amount of time you spend on the device each day." There, Sloane thought to himself virtuously. He had warned him.
"I'll try," came back the non-committal response. As if he cared, thought Jack. He only needed to last another 8 months. And if he needed to spend every hour in here to make sure that they all arrived at that one critical point for Sydney, he would do so.
Sloane felt a brief impulse to tell Jack the truth. That Il Dire, at the exposure levels that Jack was utilizing, would create a psychological and physical dependence equivalent to heroin. Sloane shrugged. Jack was choosing to be here of his own free will. And the more time Jack spent down here, the better the protection he received. It was difficult to argue against that.
**
Jack looked at the calendar without enthusiasm. 4 weeks. It was time to visit Sydney again. Pointless, really. There would be no change. 12 hours there, 12 hours back. He could do more for her here with Il Dire.
A wave of misery swept over him as he realized that he would never again see her smile, hear her laughter. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a well-worn photo of her when she was 5. He propped it up on his desk. There. That was the way he wanted to remember her.
He cancelled his flight to Hong Kong.
**
"You're sure?" Irina challenged her courier.
"Absolutely. He hasn't visited the restaurant in 8 weeks."
"And that communication channel hasn't been compromised?"
"No."
Irina bit her lip. Jack was alive, she knew. He had been sighted in the last week. Why had he stopped sending her updates on Sydney? Was he trying to cut her out of the loop in some misguided effort to keep her safe? If so, she'd have to help him think again.