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r/Alan%20Dean%20Foster%20-%20The%20I%20Inside.txt been taken, but there was no
mistaking the portrait.
"Good evening from thirty-three news update. This is a picture of Eric Abbott,
a resident of New River, Arizona, NAT, who is believed to be at large in the
city and is wanted on several charges by the authorities. Abbott is believed
responsible for the recent disturbance at a luxury East Side codo complex.
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He is considered armed and dangerous.
"Any citizen who thinks he or she may have seen this man is urged to contact
metropolitan police immediately. In other news tonight, the Japanese Emperor
announced a doubling of Prosperity Sphere rice exports to..."
Eric didn't hear the rest. Slowly, so as not to attract attention, he turned
in his chair until he was facing away from the center of the bar. Few
customers appeared to have paid any attention to the opto announcement.
Was the picture old enough to permit his continued use of the public walkways?
There were more lines in his face now. He'd worn a beard in the old days but
that was no help: the police computer had wiped it for the broadcast. He
forced himself to finish his brandy, then exited without comment. It was
starting to drizzle again and he was still without umbrella or raincoat. An
umbrella would be better. It could help hide his face.
It was easy to find a lower-class hotel, midtown and away from the rivers. He
paid for the night in cash.
Once inside he double-locked the door and spent several tedious hours under a
bright lamp altering his credit card again. Only when his latest identity was
safely in place did he let himself lie down.
He slept much better than he'd expected to. Exhaustion overcame his anxiety.
Whatever had helped him escape Lisa's building did not let him off without
making any demands on his body.
When he finally awoke it was midday. Using the directory in the optophone, he
located the type of store he needed. It wasn't a long way off. Little was, in
Nueva York. Avoiding the come-ons of the cabs, he walked the necessary
half-mile.
The proprietor was most helpful, and Eric soon returned to his room. No one
confronted him, but he knew he had to do something. Citizen indifference
wouldn't protect him forever. Sooner or later some zealot would recognize him
from the repeated publication of his portrait and point him out to the police.
The spirit gum was hard to work with and he found himself wishing he'd spent
more time in company amateur theatricals. At last he had the moustache in
place. Then he worked the bleach through his head until he was a nice Nordic
blonde. Putty would have altered his entire face, but he chose not to chance
it.
He had no experience with such materials, and a badly done false nose would
draw more attention than his real one.
He found a barber to cut his newly bleached hair. When he finally glimpsed
himself in a mirror, it was still the face of Eric Abbott that stared back at
him... but only on close inspection. He was satisfied.
Thoughts of how to regain contact with Lisa occupied him for the rest of the
day. It was not enough to see her anymore. Somehow he had to get her away from
her gilded prison.
The fecund streets of the city led him to an amateur astronomy shop. Shelves
were filled with everything from miniature radio telescopes for eavesdropping
on Orion to thick books pinpointing meteor impact sites.
"Can I sell you something?" asked the hopeful man behind the counter.
"I need a telescope."
"I see. What kind, sir?"
"Something small and compact."
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The man nodded as though he dealt with such requests every day. He probably
did, Eric mused, but from customers with different intentions.
"Something that would fit easily inside your coat pocket?"
"That would be nice." Eric added what he hoped would pass for a nervous smile.
"Going to gaze at some heavenly bodies?" The man winked.
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Eric hesitated before responding, but the salesman seemed more understanding
than accusative.
"Something like that."
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