17
The thought formed fully in his head, so solid and real that it was almost as if someone had spoken the words in his ear, even though he was alone in his office.
You need to go back to Santa Fe.
Randall Lenz scowled and rubbed his temple, even though — at that particular moment, at least — he didn’t have a headache. Still, he thought he’d prefer a migraine to random voices in his head.
He reached for the lukewarm cup of coffee sitting on his desk and took a swallow, trying not to grimace at the taste of the bitter liquid. Government funding up the wazoo, and yet no one around there seemed able to produce a decent cup of coffee.
Frown deepening, he put the coffee back down and considered what the voice had told him. And no, it wasn’t really a voice, per se, but a thought so solid an
