“The integrity of the manager was suspect at best; stories of our odd midday arrival might have circulated up through the symbiotic chain of criminals and police until it reached the attention of someone who was aware of Barton’s miraculous salvation from the archers. The mutilation of his body was probably because, having seen me again after I seemed thoroughly dead, the illuders and their unwitting assistants wanted to make sure there was no chance of error. And they left him in the whorehouse... so I’d be sure to find him. I was still in quicktime as I surveyed the destruction of my friend. It had been, to me, ten “days” since I left Anderson, nineteen “days” since I had left Barton. In realtime, however, it was early evening of the day after I left. I couldn’t help wondering if I could have saved Barton by coming back a little faster, or by not leaving him quite so soon. But as I gave him grief, I realized that the guilt I felt because I might have saved him was a trivial thing compared to the pain of the earth’s scream in Anderson.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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