Brucco rubbed his jaw and frowned in thought. Finally he just shrugged. “No, I’m not guarding you-nor do I want the job. As far as
I know, this is~etween you and Kerk and it can stay that way. Leave whenever you want. And get yourself killed quietly someplace so there will be an end to the trouble you cause once and for all.”
“I like you too,” Jason said. “Now brief me on the wildlife.”
The only new mutation that routine precautions wouldn’t take care of was a slate-colored lizard that spit a fast nerve poison with deadly accuracy. Death took place in seconds if the saliva touched any bare skin. The lizards had to be looked out for, and shot before they came within range. An hour of lizard-blasting in a training chamber made him proficient in the exact procedure.
Jason left the sealed buildings quietly and no one saw him go. He
followed the map to the nearest barracks, shuffling tiredly through the –
dusty streets. It was a hot, quiet afternoon, broken only by rumblings
from the distance, and the occasional crack of his gun. It was cool inside the thick-walled barracks building, and he collapsed onto a bench until the sweat dried and his heart stopped pounding. Then he went to the nearest recreation room to start his search.
Before it began, it was finished. None of the Pyrrans kept old artifacts of any kind and thought the whole idea was very funny. After the twentieth negative answer, Jason was ready to admit defeat in this line of investigation. There was as much chance of meeting a Pyrran with old documents as finding a bundle of Grandfather’s letters in a soldier’s kit bag.
This left a single possibility-verbal histories. Again Jason questioned with the same lack of results. The fun had worr~ off the game for the Pyrrans and they were beginning to growl. Jason stopped while he was still in one piece. The commissary served him a meal that tasted like plastic paste and wood pulp. He ate it quickly, then sat brooding over the empty tray, hating to admit to another dead end. Who could supply him with answers? All the people he had talked to were~ young. They had no interest or patience for storytelling. That was an old folks’ hobby-and there were no oldsters on Pyrrus.
With one exception that he knew of, the librarian, Poli. It was a possibility. A man who worked with records and books might have an interest in some of the older ones. He might even remember reading volumes now destroyed. A very slim lead, indeed, but one that had to be pursued.
Walking to the library almost killed Jason. The torrential rains made the footing bad, and in the dim light it was hard to see what was corn—
ing. A snapper came in close enough to take out a chunk of flesh before he could blast it. The antitoxin made him dizzy and he lost some blood before he could get the wound dressed. He reached the library, exhausted and angry.
Poli was working on the guts of one of the catalogue machines. He didn’t stop until Jason had tapped him on the shoulder. Switching on his heating aid, the Pyrran stood quietly, crippled and bent, waiting for Jason to talk.
“Have you any old papers or letters that you have kept for your personal use?”
A shake of the head, no.
“What about stories-you know, about great things that have happened in the past, that someone might have told you when you were young?” Negative.
Results negative. Every question was answered by a shake of Poli’s head, and very soon the old man grew irritated and pointed to the work he hadn’t finished.
“Yes, I know you have work to do,” Jason said. “But this is important.” Poli shook his head an angry no and reached to turn off his hearing aid. Jason groped for a question that might get a more positive answer. There was something tugging at his mind, a word he had heard and made a note of, to be investigated later. Something that Kerk had said. .
“That’s it!” It was right there-on the tip of his tongue. “Just a second, Poli, just one more question. What is a ‘grubber’? Have you ever seen one or know what they do, or where they can be found?”