Fixed by Beth Goobie Page B

they were engaged in an archaeological dig. Huddled before the various exhibits, tourists conversed in low tones. Funny, thought Nellie as she scanned the area for a staircase leading to the first floor, how people instinctively whispered in the dark, even in familiar places. Her eyes fell on a side stairwell, and she nodded slightly before turning back to the room. Which of these men, women and children looked like the most appropriate recipient for the gift of light? Who would the Goddess wish Nellie to choose for this honor?
    Behind her the elevator doors hissed open and a small group emerged — a girl, two younger boys and a woman. Yelping eagerly, the boys tore off toward the nearest skeleton but the girl paused, hesitant. Rifling through her purse, the woman stopped beside her.
    “Now where did I put my pen?” she muttered. “I want to write down that phone number before I forget.”
    “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll remember,” the girl said casually. Unlike most of the people in this gloomy place, she wasn’t whispering. “You know I always remember phone numbers.”
    “You might forget,” said her mother. “And it’s an unlisted number.”
    “Mom!” said the girl, insulted. Eight or nine years old, she was chubby, with glasses, the kind of kid who looked as if she collected postage stamps for a hobby. Or played the violin — terribly. Nellie’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and then she rejected the pair. The girl remembered phone numbers, and that put her in a risky category. Too smart. Way too smart. Checking her watch, Nellie moved on. Seven minutes, time to spare.
    To her right a couple leaned against a rail, studying a large skeleton. The man’s suit pocket gaped casually at his hip, and the woman’s purse hung forgotten from her shoulder. Nellie paused, glancing around the room for anyone who might be watching, then moved on as a security guard came around the corner. Six minutes. Time began to tick loudly inside her head.
    Then she caught sight of an elderly woman watching the crowd from a bench on the far side of the room. Several well-worn carrying bags were piled at her feet — she was obviously a collector of bottles and odd scraps, though she wasn’t dressed like a derelict. Old people got like that, Nellie thought, remembering something from her Psychology class. They went senile and forgot their caste, even upper caste members like the Masters and the priests. Sometimes they went about collecting street waste and cashing in bottles as if they needed it to survive.
    Well, whatever caste the old woman belonged to, there was no question she would go for the pen. Praise be to the Goddess, today’s recipient of the gift of light had been found. Quickly Nellie crossed the room and settled onto the bench beside the elderly woman. Then she took the pen and a small notebook out of her purse. Flipping open the notebook, she began to scribble aimlessly, writing down whatever came into her head. Time was ticking down to four minutes and soon it would be three, but all she had to do now was fake a distraction, dump the pen, and take off. She was laughing, she had time to spare.
    Something jabbed her arm and Nellie looked up, startled, to see the old woman leaned toward her. Dark eyes glinted within drooping pouches, and a small web of spittle hung from the woman’s lower lip. “Bless me but you’re a special child,” she said in a wavering voice, peering at Nellie. “Look at your eyes. Was your mother a chosen one then?”
    Nellie’s mouth opened and she gaped. “I don’t have a mother,” she said stiffly. Ducking her head, she scribbled furiously in her notebook. Soldiers of light weren’t supposed to interact with the civilian population. More than anything, they weren’t supposed to give out personal information. Cursing under her breath, Nellie scribbled and scribbled, trying to get a grip. Okay, so she’d slipped and told the old bag an insignificant personal fact. She wouldn’t be