Anderson & Tucker Two in Time

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man's midsection, while another had ripped away his throat and showered his face with his own blood; it
had not been instantaneous death. He had died in screaming misery alongside the man next to him, vainly
attempting to break through the fence and take the defenders up the slope.
Major Moresby was long used to death in the field; the manner of this man's dying didn't upset
him--but the close scrutiny of his enemy jolted him as he'd not been jolted before. He suddenly
understood the crude black cross etched on the yellow field, even though he'd not seen it before today.
This was a civilian rebellion-- organ.zed insurrection.
Ramjets were Negro guerrillas.
The mortar coughed down the slope and Major Moresby burrowed in behind the body. He
waited impatiently for the round to drop somewhere behind him, above him, and then by God he'd
_take_ that mortar.
The time was twenty minutes after six in the morning, 4 July 1999. The rising sun burned the
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horizon.
A ramjet mortarman with a shattered ankle peered warily over a tree stump, and counted himself
the victor.
Lieutenant Commander Arthur Saltus
23 November 2000
Yesterday this day's madness did prepare;
Tomorrow's silence, triumph, or despair:
Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why;
Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.
-- Omar Khayyam
THIRTEEN
Saltus was prepared to celebrate.
The red light blinked out. He reached up to unlock the hatch and throw it open. The green light
went dark. Saltus grasped the two handrails and pulled himself to a sitting position with his head and
shoulders protruding through the hatchway. He was alone in the room as he expected to be, but he noted
with mild surprise that some of the ceiling lights had burned out. Sloppy housekeeping. The air was chill
and smelled of ozone. He struggled out of the hatch and climbed over the side; the step stool was missing
and he slid down the hull to the floor. Saltus reached up to slam shut the hatch, then turned to the locker
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for his clothing.
Another suit belonging to Chaney hung there in its paper sheath waiting to be claimed. He noted
the locker had collected a heavy amount of dust and a fine film of it had even crept inside. Wretched
housekeeping. When Saltus was dressed in the civvies he had elected to wear, he took out a pint of good
bourbon from its place of concealment in the locker and surreptitiously slipped the bottle into a jacket
pocket.
He thought he was adequately prepared for the future.
Arthur Saltus checked his watch: 11:02. He sought out the electric calendar and clock on the wall
to verify the date and time: 23 Nov 00. The clock read 10:55. Temperature was a cold 13 degrees.
Saltus guessed his watch was wrong; it had been wrong before. He left the room without a glance at the
cameras, secretively holding his hand against the bottle to mask the pocket bulge. He didn't think the
engineers would approve of his intentions.
Saltus walked down the corridor in eerie silence to the shelter; dust on the floor muffled his
footfalls and he wondered if William had found that same dust sixteen months earlier. The old boy would
have been annoyed. The shelter door was pushed open and the overhead lights went on in automatic
response--but again, some of them were burned out. Somebody rated a gig for poor maintenance. Saltus
stopped just inside the door, pulled the bottle from his pocket and ripped away the seal from the cap.
A shout rattled the empty room.
"Happy birthday!"
For a little while, he was fifty years old.
Saltus swallowed the bourbon, liking its taste, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand; he
stared around the shelter with growing curiosity. Somebody had been at the ship's stores--somebody had
helped himself to the provisions set by for _him_ and then had carelessly left the debris behind for _him_
to find. The place was overrun with privateers and sloppy housekeepers.
He discovered a gasoline lantern on the floor near his feet and reached down quickly to determine
if it was warm. It was not, but a jostling shake told him there was fuel remaining in the tank. Many boxes
of rations had been cut open--emptied of their contents--and the cartons stacked in a disorderly pile
along the wall near the door. A few water containers rested beside the cartons and Saltus grabbed up the
nearest to shake it, test it for use. The can was empty. He took another long pull from his birthday bottle
and roamed around the room, making a more detailed inspection of the stores. They weren't in the
ship-shape order he remembered from his last inspection.
A sealed bag of clothing had been torn open, a bag holding several heavy coats and parkas for
winter wear. He could not guess how many had been taken from the container.
A pair of boots--no, two or three pair--were missing from a rack holding several similar pairs.
Another bundle of warm lined mittens appeared to have been disturbed, but it was impossible to
determine how many were gone. Somebody had visited the stores in winter. That somebody should not [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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