Get off the Unicorn
- Автор: Маккефри Энн
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «Get off the Unicorn». Краткое содержание книги:
Contents:
Lady in the Tower.--A Meeting of Minds.--Daughter.--Dull Drums.--Changeling.--Weather on Welladay.--The Thorns of Barevi.--Horse From a Different Sea.--Great Canine Chorus.--Finder's Keeper.--A Proper Santa Claus.--The Smallest Dragonboy.--Apple.--Honeymoon.
"So did you."
The phrase barely registered in op Owen's mind when he passed out.
"That's all that remains of the late Solange Boshe," Gillings said, tossing the file reel to the desk. "As much of her life as we've been able to piece together. Gypsies don't stay long anywhere."
"There're some left?" Lester Welch asked, frowning at the three-inch condensation of fifteen years of a human life.
"Oh there are, I assure you," Gillings replied, his tone souring slightly for the first time since he had entered the office. "The tape also has a lengthy interview with Bill Jones, the cousin the social worker located after Solange had recovered from the bronchial pneumonia. He had no idea," Gillings hastily assured them, "that there is any reason other than a routine check on the whereabouts of a runaway county ward. He had a hunch," Gillings grimaced, "that the family had gone on to Toronto. They had. He also thought that they had probably given the girl up for dead when she collapsed on the street. The Toronto report substantiates that. So I don't imagine it will surprise you, op Owen, that her tribe, according to Jones, are the only ones still making a living at fortune-telling, palm-reading, tea leaves and that bit."
"Now, just a minute, Gillings," Lester began, bristling. He subsided when he saw that his boss and the Commissioner were grinning at each other.
"So… just as you suspected, op Owen, she was a freak Talent. We know from the ward nurses that she watched your propaganda broadcasts during her hospitalization. We can assume that she was aware of the search either when Gil Gracie 'found' the coat, or when the definite fix was made. It's not hard to guess her motivation in making the heist in the first place nor her instinctive desire to hide." Gillings gave his head an abrupt violent jerk and stood up. He started to hold out his hand, remembered, and raised it in a farewell gesture. "You are continuing those broadcasts, aren't you?"
Lester Welch glared so balefully at the Commissioner that op Owen had to chuckle.
"With certain deletions, yes."
"Good. Talent must be identified and trained. Trained young and well if they are to use their Talent properly." Gillings stared op Owen in the eye. "The Boshe girl was bad, op Owen, bad clear through. Listen to what Jones said about her and you won't regret Tuesday too much. Sometimes the young are inflexible, too."
"I agree, Commissioner," Daffyd said, escorting the man to the door as calmly as if he hadn't heard what Gillings was thinking so clearly. "And we appreciate your help in the cover yarns that explained Tuesday's odd occurrences."
"A case of mutual understanding," Gillings said, his eyes glinting. "Oh, no need to see me out. I can open this door."
That door was no sooner firmly shut behind him than Lester Welch turned on his superior.
"And just who was scratching whose back then?" he demanded. "Don't you dare come over innocent, either, Daffyd op Owen. Two days ago that man was your enemy, bristling with enough hate and distrust to antagonize me."
"Remember what you said about Gillings Tuesday?"
"There's been an awful lot of idle comment around here lately."
"Frank Gillings is telepathic." Then he added as Lester was choking on the news. "And he doesn't want to be. So he's suppressed it. Naturally he'd be antagonistic."
"Hah!"
"He's not too old, but he's not flexible enough to adapt to Talent, having denied it so long."
"I'll buy that. But what was that parting shot—7 can open this door'?" Lester mimicked the Commissioner's deep voice.
"I'm too old to leam new tricks, too, Les. I teleported through the roof door of that parking facility. He saw me do it. And she saw the memory of it in my mind. If she'd lived, she'd've picked my mind clean. And I didn't want her to die."
Op Owen turned abruptly to the window, trying to let the tranquility of the scene restore his equilibrium. It did—until he saw Harold Orley plodding along the path with his guide. Instantly a white, wide-eyed, hairstreaked face was superimposed over the view.
The intercom beeped and he depressed the key for his sanity's sake.
"We've got a live one, boss," and Sally Iselin's gay voice restored him. "A strong pre-cog with kinetic possibilities. And guess what?" Sally's excitement made her voice breathless. "He said the cop on his beat told him to come in. He doesn't want any more trouble with the cops so he…"
"Would his name be Bill Jones?"
"However did you know?"
"And that's no pre-cog, Sally," op Owen said with a ghost of a laugh, aware he was beginning to look forward again. "A sure thing's no pre-cog, is it, Les?"
* * *
For those of you who have consistently asked for more Helva stories, here is "Honeymoon." Only it's an un'story. I call it that because it cannot stand without a lot of explanation which really makes the minor incident that is the meat of the story much too top' heavy. You really ought to have read at least "The Ship Who Sang," the story, if not the full novel, to understand what is left out.
I have often called Helva my alter ego. "The Ship Who Sang" is my favorite story; I still cannot reread it without weeping, for I wrote it in an unconscious attempt to ease my grief over the death of my father, the Colonel. The other yams in the novel were therapy for other personal problems, none of which actually figure in the plots. So, although this tale should have been the starting point of a new volume about Niall Parollan and Helva, I don't really yet know if Helva will sing again. "Honeymoon" does tie up the one loose end which the majority of my readers have complained to me about.
Honeymoon
"May i come aboard, Helva?"
Helva said yes without thinking because the traffic in technicians and Base officials attending to her refitting was constant. Then, she checked identity because while the voice was familiar, no technician would have couched such a formal request.
Rocco, Regulus representative for Mutant Minorities, was her unexpected caller. With the easy manner of one used to the protocol of brain-brawn ships, the Double M man saluted her behind the central column and sauntered into the lounge, looking about him with interest at the choice artifacts Niall had introduced, the circuit prints and cables draped about the control console, the pattern of dust and grit leading toward her engineering and cargo compartments.
"I've stopped apologizing for the mess," Helva said, "but the galley's intact if you don't mind serving yourself while Niall's not here…"
"I'm here because he isn't, Helva," Rocco said, refusing her hospitality with a courteous gesture and seating himself facing her panel.
"In which capacity? Double M, or Rocco?"
"Unofficially, but Rocco is always willing." Then he hesitated, biting the comer of his lip while Helva waited, amused that the suave, fashionably attired troubleshooter for Double M was at a loss for words. He'd had no block a scant seven days ago when he'd been needling Chief Railly before she'd extended her Central Worlds contract. "Let's just say that I had an interesting conversation yesterday which leads me to beg the indulgence of a chat—an unofficial chatwith you."
"On what subject?"
"Coercion?"
"Whose?" Helva was amused.
"Yours, primarily. Parollan's . . man can take care of himself."
Helva chuckled. "Now, Mr. Rocco, you were in Chief Railly's office that day."
Rocco impatiently brushed that side. "Yes, I heard the official line. They got you to extend your original contract with them… which was almost legal."
"Very legal, Rocco. I did some surreptitious checking myself. And I got them…"
Rocco held up his hand, peremptorily cutting her off. "Did or did not Railly deploy a detachment around you, effectively preventing you from lifting off if you'd so desired? And did or did not Parollan have to short out a perimeter fence to get to you?" "There was a little misunderstanding…" "Little?" Rocco's swarthy face darkened to emphasize that single explosion. "My dear Helva, I have my sources, too. Railly had the entire planetary security force, civilian and service, looking for Parollan."