Cold Fire

become a great diplomat.”
    Better than dying of multiple rattlesnake bites, she thought.
    She said, “June twenty-first. New York City. Thaddeus—”
    “He will become a great artist whose work will give millions of people hope.”
    “He seemed like a nice kid,” Jim said happily, buying into the whole thing. “I liked him.”
    Ignoring him, Holly said, “June thirtieth. San Francisco—”
    “Rachael Steinberg will give birth to a child who will become a great spiritual leader. ”
    That voice was bugging her. She knew she had heard it before. But where?
    “July fifth—”
    “Miami, Florida. Carmen Diaz. She will give birth to a child who will become president of the United States.”
    Holly fanned herself with the notebook and said, “Why not president of the world?”
    “July fourteenth. Houston, Texas. Amanda Cutter. She will give birth to a child who will be a great peacemaker. ”
    “Why not the Second Coming?” Holly asked.
    Jim had moved away from her. He was leaning against the wall between two windows, the display of light quietly exploding around him. “What's the matter with you?” he asked.
    “It's all too much,” she said.
    “What is?”
    “Okay, it says it wants you to save special people.”
    “To help mankind.”
    “Sure, sure,” Holly said to the wall.
    To Jim she said, “But these people are all just too special, don't you think? Maybe it's me, but it all seems overblown, it's gotten trite again. Nobody's growing up to be just a damned good doctor, or a businessman who creates a new industry and maybe ten thousand jobs, or an honest and courageous cop, or a terrific nurse. No, they're great diplomats, great scientists, great politicians, great peacemakers. Great, great, great!”
    “Is this adversarial journalism?”
    “Damn right.”
    He pushed away from the wall, used both hands to smooth his thick hair back from his forehead, and cocked his head at her. “I see your point, why it's starting to sound like another episode of Outer Limits to you, but let's think about this. It's a crazy, extravagant situation. A being from another world, with powers that seem godlike to us, decides to use me to better the chances of the human race. Isn't it logical that he'd send me out to save special, really special people instead of your theoretical business tycoon?”
    “Oh, it's logical,” she said. “It just doesn't ring true to me, and I've got a fairly well-developed nose for deception.”
    “Is that why you were a great success as a reporter?”
    She might have laughed at the image of an alien, vastly superior to human beings, stooping to engage in a bickering match. But the impatience and poutiness she'd thought she detected as an undercurrent in some of its previous answers was now unmistakable, and the concept of a hypersensitive, resentful creature with godlike power was too unnerving to be funny at the moment.
    “How's that for a higher power?” she asked Jim. “Any second now, he's going to call me a bitch.”
    The Friend said nothing.
    Consulting her notebook again, she said, “July twentieth. Steven Aimes. Birmingham, Alabama.”
    Schools of light swam through the walls. The patterns were less graceful and less sensuous than before; if the lightshow had been the visual equivalent of one of Brahms's most pacific symphonies, it was now more like the discordant wailing of bad progressive jazz.
    “What about Steven Aimes?” she demanded, scared but remembering how an exertion of will had been met with respect before.
    “I am going now.”
    “That was a short tide,” she said.
    The amber light began to darken.
    “The tides in the vessel are not regular or of equal duration. But I will return.”
    “What about Steven Aimes? He was fifty-seven, still capable of siring a great something-or-other, though maybe a little long in the tooth. Why did you save Steve?”
    The voice grew somewhat deeper, slipping from baritone toward bass, and it hardened. “It would not be wise for you to attempt to leave.”
    She had been waiting for that. As soon as she heard the words, she knew she had been tensed in expectation of them.
    Jim, however, was stunned. He turned, looking around at the dark-amber forms swirling and melding and splitting apart again, as if trying to figure out the biological geography of the thing, so he could look it in the eyes. “What do you mean by that? We'll leave any time we want.”
    “You must wait for my return. You will die if you attempt to