Descending Road - SO MUCH LIKE HIS OWN by Dana W. Paxson

SO MUCH LIKE HIS OWN

1562 4D

“It’s useless! Completely useless to me!” Arlen, badly disappointed, bent to put his face an inch from that of Progarnes, and brandished the datasheet that bore the transcript of the interrogation. “I wanted his information on the ore he found, and all you’ve given me is a collection of free associations and a few guesses. He knows, I tell you. He’s hiding it from me because he knows what it’s really worth.”

Progarnes just stared at him, not moving, as if he had no nerves at all. “You wanted to get all he had in him. You have it. I can assure you he’s got nothing underneath what he’s said. He’s dumped everything he knows, and I analyzed all the underlying connections, and there’s nothing.” Progarnes shrugged. “I can make him say anything you want, but I can’t help him manufacture the objective truth. This isn’t political.”

“I understand that,” Arlen snapped. He turned away from Progarnes and looked at the stair down to the chamber where Luce waited. “I want you to try again. Something’s there, and he’s — wait. You said he dreamed about singing?”

“Yes. The analysis showed it had no relationship to the other associations. It was just a dream, even if it was an especially vivid one. He mentioned it in the middle of other things, late in our conversation, saying he’d never heard music like that, it made him want to stay in it forever.”

Arlen swung back to face Progarnes. “When did this start? I mean, when did he first have this dream?”

“It was of no importance to your original request. I didn’t pursue that.” Progarnes paused. “Is it now important?”

“It is. Please pursue it. You can begin tomorrow; I’d like him to ripen down there just as he is, overnight.” Arlen wheeled and strode for the lift.

“Did the labs report back anything unusual?” Progarnes asked.

“Nothing,” Arlen spat, his frustration surfacing again. “He’s as ordinary as they come.” The labs rarely had anything worth reporting, and this was no exception. “Whatever is setting off the detectors isn’t part of his body. They couldn’t even find anything on his clothes.”

“This will entail certain delays in the Tariall project,” Progarnes called after him.

“It will take as much as it needs,” Arlen said, not stopping. Always there were delays. “This takes priority. I’ll be back here tomorrow at midday, and if I don’t hear what I’m looking for, I’m going to do this my own way.” He slammed the lift shut and ascended. Progarnes was infuriating, but still the best he’d ever seen. He’d find what Arlen wanted, even if he had to cut Luce into a million burning pieces. If not, Arlen would get a chance to try his own hand. He smiled; there was always the family, to help in this process: a lovely wife and children. Luce would do or say anything for them, and that could be used to break him. And then he could try the gene transformers — Andrew wouldn’t be happy seeing his children turn into grotesques day by day.

Maybe the music would come back. Amazing, how one’s feelings and ideas intruded on one’s image of the world and distorted its appearance. Luce‘s description of the music had sounded so much like his own.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	SO MUCH LIKE HIS OWN 1562 4D “It’s useless! Completely useless to me!” Arlen, badly disappointed, bent to put his face an inch from that of Progarnes, and brandished the datasheet that bore the transcript of the interrogation. “I wanted his information on the ore he found, and all you’ve given me is a collection of free associations and a few guesses. He knows, I tell you. He’s hiding it from me because he knows what it’s really worth.” Progarnes just stared at him, not moving, as if he had no nerves at all. “You wanted to get all he had in him. You have it. I can assure you he’s got nothing underneath what he’s said. He’s dumped everything he knows, and I analyzed all the underlying connections, and there’s nothing.” Progarnes shrugged. “I can make him say anything you want, but I can’t help him manufacture the objective truth. This isn’t political.” “I understand that,” Arlen snapped. He turned away from Progarnes and looked at the stair down to the chamber where Luce waited. “I want you to try again. Something’s there, and he’s — wait. You said he dreamed about singing?” “Yes. The analysis showed it had no relationship to the other associations. It was just a dream, even if it was an especially vivid one. He mentioned it in the middle of other things, late in our conversation, saying he’d never heard music like that, it made him want to stay in it forever.” Arlen swung back to face Progarnes. “When did this start? I mean, when did he first have this dream?” “It was of no importance to your original request. I didn’t pursue that.” Progarnes paused. “Is it now important?” “It is. Please pursue it. You can begin tomorrow; I’d like him to ripen down there just as he is, overnight.” Arlen wheeled and strode for the lift. “Did the labs report back anything unusual?” Progarnes asked. “Nothing,” Arlen spat, his frustration surfacing again. “He’s as ordinary as they come.” The labs rarely had anything worth reporting, and this was no exception. “Whatever is setting off the detectors isn’t part of his body. They couldn’t even find anything on his clothes.” “This will entail certain delays in the Tariall project,” Progarnes called after him. “It will take as much as it needs,” Arlen said, not stopping. Always there were delays. “This takes priority. I’ll be back here tomorrow at midday, and if I don’t hear what I’m looking for, I’m going to do this my own way.” He slammed the lift shut and ascended. Progarnes was infuriating, but still the best he’d ever seen. He’d find what Arlen wanted, even if he had to cut Luce into a million burning pieces. If not, Arlen would get a chance to try his own hand. He smiled; there was always the family, to help in this process: a lovely wife and children. Luce would do or say anything for them, and that could be used to break him. And then he could try the gene transformers — Andrew wouldn’t be happy seeing his children turn into grotesques day by day. Maybe the music would come back. Amazing, how one’s feelings and ideas intruded on one’s image of the world and distorted its appearance. Luce‘s description of the music had sounded so much like his own.