He
hadn't seen even pictures of such things since the few silent movies run
in some of the little art theaters. He struggled to get them on. They
were an excellent fit, and comfortable enough, but he felt as if his
legs were encased in hardened concrete when he was through. He looked
down at himself in disgust. He was in all respects costumed as the
epitome of the Hollywood dream of a heroic engineer-builder, ready to
drive a canal through an isthmus or throw a dam across a raging
river--the kind who'd build the dam while the river raged, instead of
waiting until it was quiet, a few days later. He was about as far from
the appearance of the actual blue-denim, leather-jacket engineers he had
worked with as Maori in ancient battle array.
He shook his head and went looking for the bathroom, where there might
be a mirror. He found a door, but it led into a closet, filled with
alembics and other equipment. There was a mirror hung on the back of it,
however, with a big sign over it that said "Keep Out." He threw the door
wide and stared at himself. At first, in spite of the costume, he was
pleased. Then the truth began to hit him, and he felt abruptly sure he
was still raging with fever and delirium.
He was still staring when Nema came back into the room. She pursed her
lips and shut the door quickly. But he'd already seen enough.
"Never mind where I am," he said.
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