[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Cash it."
The Patch shrugged then opened the box. With his left hand he reached into the
box and withdrew a handful of credit notes. "I hope millions are all right, sir.
We don't carry anything smaller. One, two, three..."
Arnheim picked up one of the million credit notes and stared at it open-mouthed.
Then he held it out to Ali. "This is an obvious forgery!"
"... seven, eight, nine, ten..."
a
a
T
T
n
n
s
s
F
F
f
f
o
o
D
D
r
r
P
P
m
m
Y
Y
e
e
Y
Y
r
r
B
B
2
2
.
.
B
B
A
A
Click here to buy
Click here to buy
w
w
m
m
w
w
o
o
w
w
c
c
.
.
.
.
A
A
Y
Y
B
B
Y
Y
B
B
r r
The Judgments Officer took the bill and examined it. His hands started to shake,
and he handed it back. "I assure you, Mr. Arnheim, it's quite genuine."
Arnheim watched in horror as Patch continued counting. ". . . fifteen; sixteen,
seventeen ..."
"It can'f be!"
Ali shrugged. "It is." The Judgments Officer smiled. "Sorry."
Ambassador Sum stepped forward. "Officer Ali, does this mean that Mr. Arnheim
will not gain possession of the ship?"
"As long as there are seventy-nipe pieces of paper to match that one, he won't."
Ali studied the Nuumiian. "I would advise you to do nothing foolish."
". . . fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three . . ." They all watched as the Patch
went through and wound up the count. "... seventy-eight, seventy-nine, and
eighty. There you are sir. Are you certain we can't interest you in one of our
rainy-day accounts?"
Arnheim scooped up the bills, counted them twice, then stuffed them into his
coat pocket. "You tell O'Hara that he hasn't seen the last of this!"
The Patch smiled. "Oh, then you will open an account with us? Perhaps one of our
sunshine accounts? Christmas club?"
Arnheim appeared to be headed for a fit and Ali had two troopers escort the man
from the room. He remained behind as the others returned to the shuttle. "Mr.
Wellington?"
The Patch closed the box, looked up and nodded. "Yes?"
"Just between you and me, where did you get the eighty million?"
"Perhaps you would like to mee; the president of the First National Bank of the
City ofBaraboo." A door at the back of the compartment opened and in stepped a
very small person in a clown suit and makeup. Ali studied the figure for a
moment, then realized that the bone structure under the makeup wasn't human.
"May I present His Royal Highness, Prince Ahssiel, Heir to the Crown of Erkev
TV, Monarch of all Ahngar. He is also one of the Joeys in Clown Alley. His
father is First National's largest and-I can safely say-only depositor. Your
Highness, this is Officer Ali of the Ninth Quadrant Admiralty Office."
The Prince bowed, then stood up. "I am pleased to meet you."
Ali looked at the Patch, then back at the Prince. "Your Highness, could you
explain how these people ever talked your father into giving them eighty million
credits?"
The Prince shook his head. "No. It is a deposit, and I am here to look after my
father's money. I am the president. My father said that it is a good trade for a
future monarch to learn." The Prince nodded toward the Patch. "And after Mr.
Patch explained the scheme to the Monarch, my father also said that a voyage
with Mr. Patch would be both an unusual and valuable education."
The Patch frowned, folded his arms and snorted. "Your Highness, I'd hardly call
it a scheme."
"Excuse me. I remember now." The Prince smiled at Ali. "It is not a scheme; it
is a fix. But the best part is that I will study with Peru Abner Bolin, the
greatest clown in all the Universe!" The Prince turned toward the Patch. "May I
go now, Mr. Patch?"
The Patch nodded. "Remember, your father said not to clown around too much." The
Prince nodded and left running.
Ali nodded, then leaned on the table. "So, you're a circus fixer." The Patch
nodded. "Well, fix this: how am I going to make it back to Earth without
laughing in Arnheim's face every time I see him?"
The fixer rubbed his chin. "If it was me, I'd stay in my cabin." And he did.
(I
Follow the Red Wagons
EDITION 2143
NINE
a
a
T
T
n
n
s
s
F
F
f
f
o
o
D
D
r
r
P
P
m
m
Y
Y
e
e
Y
Y
r
r
B
B
2
2
.
.
B
B
A
A
Click here to buy
Click here to buy
w
w
m
m
w
w
o
o
w
w
c
c
.
.
.
.
A
A
Y
Y
B
B
Y
Y
B
B
r r
Tyli Strang opened her eyes, then closed them against the day's endless run of
uninspiring work. She turned her slight frame onto her left shoulder and pulled
the thermo-sheets up to her ears. It was always the same: get dressed, hurry
through the, morning frost to the cow shed, monitor the milking and feeding
banks, program the estate control for the day's operation, then back to the
house for Aunt Diva's version of a wholesome breakfast. By the time she had
choked down the last patty of soycake drenched in soy-syrup, Ennivaat, the
planet Doldra's sun, would be peeking over the horizon.
Uncle Chaine would then make his appearance, a thin graying beard hiding an
alcohol-reddened face, and the day's chores would begin in earnest. Repair the
dungchuck, monitor the sludge pool, fodder out for the herd, don't forget to
wrap the expeller pipes to keep the separated milk from freezing, wood for the
house, shovel off the old compost, we're trying a new formula this year- and so
on, and so on.
Tyli snuggled into the covers, cursing whatever it was that had awakened her.
She tried to drive her mind blank, praying that
sleep would return her to her dreams. A clank from outside of the window marked
the end of her prayers. Throwing back the covers, she sat up and looked through
the window to see Emile Schone's freckled face peering from beneath a cloth hood
and muff. Tyli pushed open the window, bracing herself against the icy draft.
"What do you think you're doing, Em? I don't have to get up for another hour."
Emile grinned, displaying gaps where his front teeth had departed in preparation
for his second set. 'The circus, Tyli. It's here."
"So what?" Tyli grimaced at her friend, then shrugged. The night's sleep was a
lost cause. "Where are they?"
Emile turned and pointed away from the window. Tyli craned her neck to look in
the direction indicated by her friend's ungloved finger. In the distance, across
the fence marking the limit of Uncle Chaine's property, silhouetted against the
dull orange of the morning sky, were the wagons. Drivers, their collars turned
up against the cold, hunched their shoulders against the night. The massive
Percherons pulling the wagons shot out clouds of steam, as their heavy hooves
clopped against the frozen ground. The markings on the wagons were still
invisible, but everyone on Doldra under the age of twenty knew what was painted
there: "O'Hara's Greater Shows-The Great One."
"C'mon, Tyli. They'll be gone soon."
Tyli turned from the window, and felt in the dark for her leggings and
underwear. She pulled them on, shot her arms into her lined shirt, then stuffed
her feet into her boots and zipped them up. Stuffing in her shirt, she reached
to the back of the door and removed her parka. As soon as the sun broke the
horizon, it would be too warm for the coat, but until then, it was needed. She
sealed the seam on the parka, stood on the bed and pushed open the window.
Placing her hands on the sill, she vaulted over the sill, coming to a stop on
the frozen soil. She reached up and pulled the window shut. "Let's go."
The two ran to the fence and stopped to look at the wagons. Close up, the
markings could be read, as well as the paintings of tigers, lions, clowns,
flyers, flags, elephants, snakes, horses and riders. Below the paintings
revolved the painted sunburst wheels, their steel rims grinding against the
gravel.
"Gosh, Tyli, but aren't they something?"
One of the wagons came abreast of the pair. The driver looked down and nodded.
"You boys off to see the show? We'll be making our stand in Coppertown before
noon."
Emile nodded. "Sure, mister. I wouldn't miss it for anything."
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]