us colleagues.” She smiled faintly.
“Field Agent Mellia Gayl, at your service,” she said.
25
I happened to be looking at Mellia—my Mellia; her face turned as pale as marble. She didn’t move, didn’t speak.
“And who are you, my dear?” the old lady said, almost gaily. She couldn’t see Mellia’s face. “I almost feel I know you.”
“I’m Field Agent Ravel,” I spoke up. “This is—Agent Lisa Kelly.”
Mellia turned on me, but caught herself. I watched her smoothing her face out; it was an admirable piece of work.
“We’re happy to meet . . . a . . . a colleague, Agent Gayl,” she said in a voice with all the color washed out of it.
“Oh, yes, I led a very active life at one time,” the old lady said, lightly, smiling. “Life was exciting in those days, before . . . before the Collapse. We had such high ambitions, such a noble program. How we worked and planned! After each mission, we’d gather to study the big screen, to gauge the effects of our efforts, to congratulate or commiserate with each other. We had such hopes in those days.”
“I’m sure you did,” Mellia said in a lifeless whisper.
“After the official announcement, of course, things were different,” the elderly Miss Gayl went on. “We still tried, of course; we hadn’t really accepted defeat, admitted it; but we knew. And then . . . the deterioration began. The chronodegradation. Little things, at first. The loss of familiar articles, the memory lapses, and the contradictions. We sensed life unraveling around us. Many of the personnel began dropping off, then. Some jumped
“Field Agent Mellia Gayl, at your service,” she said.
25
I happened to be looking at Mellia—my Mellia; her face turned as pale as marble. She didn’t move, didn’t speak.
“And who are you, my dear?” the old lady said, almost gaily. She couldn’t see Mellia’s face. “I almost feel I know you.”
“I’m Field Agent Ravel,” I spoke up. “This is—Agent Lisa Kelly.”
Mellia turned on me, but caught herself. I watched her smoothing her face out; it was an admirable piece of work.
“We’re happy to meet . . . a . . . a colleague, Agent Gayl,” she said in a voice with all the color washed out of it.
“Oh, yes, I led a very active life at one time,” the old lady said, lightly, smiling. “Life was exciting in those days, before . . . before the Collapse. We had such high ambitions, such a noble program. How we worked and planned! After each mission, we’d gather to study the big screen, to gauge the effects of our efforts, to congratulate or commiserate with each other. We had such hopes in those days.”
“I’m sure you did,” Mellia said in a lifeless whisper.
“After the official announcement, of course, things were different,” the elderly Miss Gayl went on. “We still tried, of course; we hadn’t really accepted defeat, admitted it; but we knew. And then . . . the deterioration began. The chronodegradation. Little things, at first. The loss of familiar articles, the memory lapses, and the contradictions. We sensed life unraveling around us. Many of the personnel began dropping off, then. Some jumped