Читать книгу We Who Survived - Sterling Noel - Страница 10

ON TUESDAY I obtained an indefinite leave of absence from Boren. I put in a sell-at-market order at Doble Sons for various stocks and bonds I had accumulated over the years and then went to N.A. National and cashed in my government bonds. I had 37L000 in my hands by 1:00 P.M. and this put me 9L000 over the government limit, so I had to do a lot of fast spending to keep out of trouble. (I suppose everyone knows about the money restrictions that followed the Second Chinese War, so I won’t go into them here.)

I went first to the Cavanaugh Radical and ordered five tons of food concentrates of every flavor invented and arranged for their delivery at Fallon that afternoon by chartered Garbut. That took the pressure off my hoard of louvres by 11L000, so the rest of the day I shopped at leisure. My best buy was one of the new Kincadium Reactors, no larger than a handbag and designed to put out 23,000 Kelley units during the 20-year life of the fuel. In old-fashioned figures, this would be enough to operate a 100,000 kilowatt generator for some 50 years.

I got back to my apartment at Killingworth at 6:30 and put in a call for Marge Couzins. The scope came on prematurely and I saw Marge gesturing to a bald business-tycoon type to leave the room and heard her call him Alfred. That’s one of the bad features of the scope system; it can catch you with your hair down if you don’t keep your circuits closed. Then Marge’s smiling face came on close up, and she gave me a warm enough greeting.

“You get my letter?” I asked her.

“Yes, I got it.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“I take it you’re not interested.”

“Of course I’m interested, Vic. It’s just that—I can’t talk right now.”

“I know,” I said. “The door is open and Alfred is listening.”

She blushed. “Vic! What are you talking about!”

“About Alfred. I guess he’s your type, Marge. Solid, dependable, a good husband who will be home every night to let you wash out his socks and cook his dinner. You’re no longer the Lieut. Marge Couzins of NAAF I knew in India East a couple of years ago.”

She shook her head at me, her face serious. “Don’t say things like that, Vic. We haven’t been together for more than a year now. You’ve been living your own life and there was no place in it for me. Now all of a sudden you decide to change and you expect me to come a-running.”

“Can you come to Kansas tomorrow? I’ll tell you all about it then.”

“I have to be in Portland all this week. Would next week do?”

“Next week will be too late, Marge. You’ve got to come no later than Saturday.”

“After sixteen months, I don’t believe there is such a great hurry. . . . Why didn’t you call me last January? Did you forget that we were to have gone to the Mediterranean together for the Winter Festival?”

“Let’s forget all that,” I said. “You come to Fallon, Kansas tomorrow, and I’ll have a padre waiting and we’ll get married.”

She laughed and it was like the tinkle of silver bells. “A padre,” she exclaimed. “You know I don’t believe in those old-fashioned ceremonies! If I am to be your wife, then we will just announce it on the DW-Three, as all civilized persons do. A marriage ceremony with a padre! Of all things!”

“All right,” I said, “have it your way. But please, Marge, come to Fallon tomorrow.”

“I’ll try to fix things to get away Saturday,” she said. “Tomorrow is out of the question.”

“Fine. Saturday, then. The home of Dr. Gabriel Harrow at Fallon. He’s got his own jetshield and all the taxis know it. The number is KR Forty-eight, in case you get lost. And give my love to Alfred.”

“Lunger!” she exclaimed as she turned off the scope.