Interstellar travel -- Fiction; Science fiction; Space colonies -- Fiction
They never got as far as the hotel. When they reached the square it
stood on, there was a breathless rush and Bernie stood before them,
panting and holding a hand over his chest. “In here,” he gasped, and
nodded at a shopfront that announced hot brew. Ross thoughtlessly
started first through the door and caught Bernie’s look of alarm. He
opened the door for Helena, who went through smiling nervously.
They settled at a small table in an empty corner in stiff silence. “I’ve
been walking around that square all morning,” Bernie said, with a cowed
look at Helena.
Ross told her: “This young man and I had a talk yesterday at the plane
while you were eating. What is it, Bernie?”
He still couldn’t believe that he was doing it, but Bernie said in a
scared whisper: “Wanted to head you off and warn you. Breuer was down at
the field cafe this morning, talking loud to the other hot-shots. She
said you—both of you—talked equality. Said she got up with a hangover
and you were gone. But she said there’d be six policewomen waiting in
your room when you got back.” He leaned forward on the table. Ross
remembered that he had been forced to sell his ration card.
“Here comes the waiter,” he said softly. “Order something for all of us.
We have a little money. And thanks, Bernie.”
Helena asked, “What do we _do_?”
“We eat,” Ross said practically. “Then we think. Shut up; let Bernie
order.”
* * * * *
They ate; and then they thought. Nothing much seemed to come from all
the thinking, though.
They were a long, long way from the spaceship. Ross commandeered all of
Helena’s leftover cash. It was almost, not quite, enough for one person
to get halfway back to Azor City. He and Bernie turned out their pockets
and added everything they had, including pawnable valuables. That
helped. It made the total almost enough for one person to get
three-quarters of the way back.
It didn’t help enough.
Ross said, “Bernie, what would happen if we, well, stole something?”
Bernie shrugged. “It’s against the law, of course. They probably
wouldn’t prosecute, though.”
“They wouldn’t?”
“Not if they can prove egalitarianism on you. Stealing’s against the
law; preaching equality is against the _state_. You get the maximum
penalty for that.”
Helena choked on her drink, but Ross merely nodded. “So we might as well
take a chance,” he said. “Thanks, Bernie. We won’t bother you any more.
You’ll forget you heard this, won’t you?”
“The hell I will!” Bernie squawked. “If you’re getting out of here, I
want to go with you! You aren’t leaving _me_ behind!”
“But Bernie——” Ross started. He was interrupted by the manager, a
battleship-class female with a mighty prow, who came scowling toward
them.
“Pipe down,” she ordered coarsely. “This place is for decent people; we
don’t want no disturbances here. If you can’t act decent, get out.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account