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The boat of a million years by Poul Anderson. Chapter 18-2

Cadoc, Hanno, it can only be him, whom I robbed and tried to get killed. He told her he’s forgiven me, and nine hundred years would be a long time to carry a grudge, unless it’s festered that whole while. We’ve got to decide whether to join with him and whoever else is in his band; and how to join, on what terms, if we do. I think 1 can recognize a crook or a monster sooner, more certainly, than Mama-lo.

“This will be kind of peculiar, though, Randy,” she said. “I need to enter the place and leave it unbeknownst to— well, whoever might be watching from outside. I’ll figure out some sort of disguise. Maybe cut my hair short, make my face up dark, dress like a man, and we carry tool kits, to seem like workers sent to do some repair job. The car we’ll drive is old and plain, and I’ll get hold of New Hampshire plates.” Though the Unity shunned crime, you were bound to learn who in town could supply what for a price. “We’ll switch along the way.”

An excitement she had well-nigh forgotten overrode forebodings. Shoot the dice and to hell with the authorities. Am I still an outlaw at heart?

But here stands this boy. “I’m sorry,” she finished. “We can’t let you sit in on our talks, and I can’t tell you anything. All I can do is swear this is honest business.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that for one second, Missus-lo,” he answered.

Her fingers closed on the brown hand before her. “You are a darting.”

Through the door went a crash and a scream.

“Hoy! Them?” Castle plunged across the room. Racket resounded. “Stay put, Missus-lo!” he yelled. From a carton on the floor he pulled an object darkly metallic and sped for the door. “I’m comin’, brothers! Hang on!”

“No, wait, drop that thing, don’t, Randy—“ Aliyat had no time to think. She followed the man who grasped the pistol that was forbidden to common folk.

Down the hall. Beyond the lobby Aliyat saw safety glass shattered. Smoke eddied against the night. Half a dozen men, youths, creatures were in. The guards— Two invaders held one watchman hard against the wall. Where was his companion? Others of the Unity boiled forth at Aliyat’s back.

“Halt, you bastards!” Castle roared. His gun barked, a warning shot aloft.

An attacker responded, straight.

Castle lurched, reeled back, somehow fired levelly before he fell. Aliyat glimpsed the blood that spouted from his throat.

The hammer smote her.

12

MORIARTY WAS at breakfast when Stoddard called. The senator kept a phone in that room too. Even in this his summer home, in his own secure state, he must always be ready; and the number was unlisted, which gave some protection.

The voice immediately yanked his full awareness to it. Once he whistled, once he breathed, “My God.” He finally snapped, “Hop the first plane you can get out of National. Take a cab at this end, never mind what that costs. Bring all the material you have to date. I need the background. Been on the trail, you know, hitting the hustings… Okay. It does sound good, doesn’t it? … Hurry. ‘Bye.”

He hung up. “What was that about?” asked his wife.

“Sorry, top secret,” he replied. “Uh, will you see to rescheduling my appointments today?”

“Including the Garrisons’ party? Remember who’ll be there.”

“Sorry. This is that important. You go, offer my regrets, and charm the socks off the VIPs.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Which is mighty fine, my love.” What a First Lady she’d make—someday, someday, when his destiny blossomed. She wouldn’t mind the other women much, then. “Excuse me if I eat and run. I’ve a lot to clear away in less time than I was counting on.”

He did, in truth. Congress had adjourned, but constituents never set their problems aside and he couldn’t offend the key interests. And the convention had left him with several cans of worms to get rid of before the election. And meanwhile his speech day after tomorrow needed more work. It was merely at the dedication of a high school, but if he said the right things in striking new phrases, the media might pick one up. He must find an identifying motto, like FDR’s “—the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” Or JFK’s “Ask not what your country—”

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Categories: Anderson, Poul
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