Suddenly he recalled a phrase he had heard in class from his biology teacher, ” ‘In the end, all forms of death can be classed as heart failure.’ ” Don held up his right hand, stared at it. He would wash it as quickly as he could.
IV – The Glory Road
He still had things to do; he could not stand there all night. First, he supposed that he had better go back to the station and pick up his bags. He fumbled in his pouch for his claim check while he worried about just how he would get there; he still did not have hard money with which to pay off an autocab.
He failed to find the claim check. Presently he removed everything from the pouch. Everything else was there; his letter of credit; his identification card, the messages from his parents, a flat photo of Lazy, his birth certificate, odds and ends—but no claim check. He remembered putting it there.
He thought of going back into the I.B.I. warren; he was quite sure now that it must have been taken from him while he slept. Darn funny, him falling asleep like that, at such a time. Had they drugged him? He decided against going back.
Not only did he not know the name of the officer who had I questioned him, nor any other way of identifying him, but more importantly he would not have done back into that place for all the baggage in Gary Station. Let it go, let it go—he’d pick up more socks and shorts before blast off!
He decided instead to go to the Caravansary. First he had to find out where it was; he walked slowly along, looking for someone who did not seem too busy nor too important to ask. He found him in the person of a lottery ticket vendor at the next intersection.
The vendor looked him over. “You don’t want to go to that place, Mac. I can fix you up with something really good.” He winked.
Don insisted that he knew what he wanted. The man shrugged. “Okay, chump. Straight ahead until you come to a square with an electric fountain in it, then take the slidewalk south. Ask anybody where to get off. What month were you born?”
“July.”
“July! Boy, are you lucky—I’ve just got one ticket left with your horoscope combination. Here.” Don had no intention at all of buying it and he thought of telling the grifter that he considered horoscopes as silly as spectacles on a cow—but he found that he had purchased it with his last coin. He pocketed the ticket, feeling foolish. The vendor said, “About half a mile on the slidewalk. Brush the hay out of your hair before you go in.”
Don found the slidewalk without difficulty and discovered that it was a pay-as-you-enter express. The machine not being interested in lottery tickets he walked the catwalk alongside it to the hotel. He had no trouble finding it; its brilliantly lighted entrance spread for a hundred yards along the tunnel.
No one seemed to help him as he came in. He went to the reservation desk and asked for a room. The clerk looked him over doubtfully. “Did someone take care of your baggage, sir?”
Don explained that he had none. “Well… that will be twenty-two fifty, in advance. Sign here, please.”
Don signed and stamped his thumb print, then got out his father’s letter of credit. “Can I get this cashed?”
“How much is it?” The clerk took it, then said, “Certainly, sir. Let me have your ID, please.” Don passed it over. The clerk took it and the fresh thumb print, placed both in a comparison machine. The machine beeped agreement; the clerk handed back the card. “You are you, all right.” He counted out the money, deducting the room charge. “Will your baggage be along, sir?” His manner indicated that Don’s social status had jumped.
“Uh, no, but there might be some mail for me.” Don explained that he was going out on the Glory Road in the morning.
“I’ll query the mail room.”
The answer was no; Don looked disappointed. The clerk said, “I’ll have the mail room flag your name. If anything arrives before upship, you’ll be sure to get it—even if we have to send a messenger to the field.”