For a moment Wesley couldn't. His mind was filled with a single thought: I'm on trial here. Then he swept it aside. The return of his anger - a pale imitation of what he had felt toward Candy Rymer, but real anger, just the same - helped in this regard.
"People were going to die. Almost a dozen. Maybe more. That might not mean much to fellows like you, but it does to me, especially since one of them happens to be a woman I'm in love with. All because of one self-indulgent drunk who won't address her problems. And..." He almost said And we, but made the necessary course-correction just in time. "And I didn't even hurt her. Slapped her a little, but I couldn't help myself."
"You boys can never help yourselves," the buzzing voice of the thing in his favorite chair - which would never be his favorite chair again - replied. "Poor impulse control is ninety per cent of your problem. Did it ever cross your mind, Wesley of Kentucky, that the Paradox Laws exist for a reason?"
"I didn't - "
The thing raised its voice. "Of course you didn't. We know you didn't. We're here because you didn't. It didn't cross your mind that one of the people on that bus might become a serial killer, someone who might murder dozens, including a child who would otherwise grow up to cure cancer or Alzheimer's Disease. It didn't occur to you that one of those young women might give birth to the next Hitler or Stalin, a human monster who could go on to kill millions of your fellow humans on this level of the Tower. It didn't occur to you that you were meddling in events far beyond your ability to understand!"
No, he had not considered those things at all. Ellen was what he had considered. As Josie Quinn was what Robbie had considered. And together they had considered the others. Kids screaming, their skin turning to tallow and dripping off their bones, maybe dying the worst deaths God visits on His suffering people.
"Does that happen?" he whispered.
"We don't know what happens," the thing in the yellow coat said. "That's precisely the point. The experimental program you foolishly accessed can see clearly six months into the future...within a single narrow geographical area, that is. Beyond six months, predictive sight grows dim. Beyond a year, all is darkness. So you see, we don't know what you and your young friend may have done. And since we don't, there's no chance to repair the damage, if there was damage."
Your young friend. They knew about Robbie Henderson after all. Wesley's heart sank.
"Is there some sort of power controlling all this? There is, isn't there? When I accessed UR BOOKS for the first time, I saw a tower."
"All things serve the Tower," the man-thing in the yellow duster said, and touched the hideous button on its coat with a kind of reverence.
"Then how do you know I'm not serving it, too?"
They said nothing. Only stared at them with their black, predatory bird-eyes.
"I never ordered it, you know. I mean...I ordered a Kindle, that much is true, but I never ordered the one I got. It just came."
There was a long silence, and Wesley understood that his life was spinning inside it. Life as he knew it, at least. He might continue some sort of existence if these two creatures took him away in their loathsome red car, but it would be a dark existence, probably an imprisoned existence, and he guessed he would not retain his sanity for long.
"We think it was a mistake in shipping," the young one said finally.
"But you don't know for sure, do you? Because you don't know where it came from. Or who sent it."
More silence. Then the older of the two said: "All things serve the Tower." He stood, and held out his hand. It shimmered and became a claw. Shimmered again and became a hand. "Give it to me, Wesley of Kentucky."
Wesley of Kentucky didn't have to be asked twice, although his hands were trembling so badly that he fumbled with the buckles of his briefcase for what felt like hours. At last the top sprang open, and he held the pink Kindle out to the older of the two. The creature stared at it with a crazed hunger that made Wesley feel like screaming.
"I don't think it works anymore, anyw - "
The creature snatched it. For one second Wesley felt its skin and understood the creature's flesh had its own thoughts. Howling thoughts that ran along their own unknowable circuits. This time he did scream...or tried to. What actually came out was a low, choked groan.
"This time we're giving you a pass," the young one said. "But if anything like this ever happens again..." It didn't finish. It didn't have to.
They moved to the door, the hems of their coats making loathsome liquid chuckling sounds. The older one went out, still holding the pink Kindle in its claw-hands. The other paused for a moment to look back at Wesley. "Do you understand how lucky you are?"
"Yes," Wesley whispered.
"Then say thank you."
"Thank you."