This Perfect Day

He was trembling too, knowing he had hurt her. He snatched the pen from her hand, made zigzags over what she had written, and covered it with papers and a nameber book. He threw the pen in the drawer and closed it, took her elbow and pushed her toward the door.

They went out of her room and down the hallway, walking side by side. He kept his hand in his pocket, holding the gun. "Stop shaking," he said. "I won't hurt you if you do what I tell you."

They rode down escalators. Two members came toward them, riding up. "You and them," he said. "And anyone else who comes along."

She said nothing.

He smiled at the members. They smiled back. She nodded at them.

"This is my second transfer this year," he said to her.

They rode down more escalators, and stepped onto the one leading to the lobby. Three members, two with telecomps, stood talking by the scanner at one of the doors. "No tricks now," he said.

They rode down, reflected at a distance in dark-outside glass. The members kept talking. One of them put his telecomp on the floor.

They stepped off the escalator. "Wait a minute, Anna," he said. She stopped and faced him. "I've got an eyelash in my eye," he said. "Do you have a tissue?"

She reached into her pocket and shook her head.

He found one under the gun and took it out and gave it to her. He stood facing the members and held his eye wide open, his other hand in his pocket again. She held the tissue to his eye. She was still trembling. "It's only an eyelash," he said. "Nothing to be nervous about."

Beyond her the member had picked up his telecomp and the three were shaking hands and kissing. The two with telecomps touched the scanner. Yes, it winked, yes. They went out. The third member came toward them, a man in his twenties.

Chip moved Lilac's hand away. "That's it," he said, blinking. "Thanks, sister."

"Can I be of help?" the member asked. "I'm a 101."

"No, thanks, it was just an eyelash," Chip said. Lilac moved. Chip looked at her. She put the tissue in her pocket.

The member, glancing at the kit, said, "Have a good trip."

"Thanks," Chip said. "Good night."

"Good night," the member said, smiling at them.

"Good night," Lilac said.

They went toward the doors and saw in them the reflection of the member stepping onto an upgoing escalator. "I'm going to lean close to the scanner," Chip said. "Touch the side of it, not the plate."

They went outside. "Please, Li," Lilac said, "for the sake of the Family, let's go back in and go up to the medicenter."

"Be quiet," he said.

They turned into the passageway between the building and the next one. The darkness grew deeper and he took out his flashlight.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, "unless you try to trick me again."

'Then what do you want me for?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

There was a scanner at the cross-passage behind the buildings. Lilac's hand went up; Chip said, "No!" They passed it without touching, and Lilac made a distressed sound and said under her breath, "Terrible!"

The bikes were leaning against the wall where he had left them. His blanket-wrapped kit was in the basket of one, with cakes and drink containers squeezed in with it. A blanket was draped over the basket of the other; he put Lilac's kit down into it and closed the blanket around it, tucking it snugly. "Get on," he said, holding the bike upright for her.

She got on and held the handlebars.

"We'll go straight along between the buildings to the East Road," he said. "Don't turn or stop or gear up unless I tell you to."

He got astride the other bike. He pushed the flashlight down into the side of the basket, with the light shining out through the mesh at the pavement ahead.

"All right, let's go," he said.

They pedaled side by side down the straight passage that was all darkness except for columns of lesser darkness between buildings, and far above a narrow strip of stars, and far ahead the pale blue spark of a single walkway light.

"Gear up a little/' he said.

They rode faster.

"When are you due for your next treatment?" he asked.

She was silent, and then said, "Marx eighth."

Two weeks, he thought. Christ and Wei, why couldn't it have been tomorrow or the next day? Well, it could have been worse; it could have been four weeks.

"Will I be able to get it?" she asked.

There was no point in disturbing her more than he had already. "Maybe," he said. "We'll see."

He had intended to go a short distance every day, during the free hour when cyclists would attract no attention. They would go from parkland to parkland, passing one city or perhaps two, and make their way by small steps to '12082 on Afr's north coast, the city nearest Majorca.