Now and Forever

Now and Forever by Ray Bradbury Page B

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Authors: Ray Bradbury
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noticed. And when you die, Redleigh, will even one horn sound? Will one hand flutter, one soul cry, one tear drop, one door slam? What’s your sum? Let’s finish it. There, there it is: zero. Did my secret self put those ciphers there? Feed zero, get zero? So I, John Redleigh, sum myself.
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    â€œYou there,” said Redleigh, as I passed him outside the door to the captain’s cabin.
    â€œSir,” I said.
    â€œDon’t jump. What are you doing here ? Shouldn’t you be on the quarterdeck?”
    â€œWell, sir,” I said, nodding at the captain’s door. “Six days. Isn’t that a long time for the captain to be shut in? I can’t help but wonder … Is he all right? I have an urge to knock upon his door.”
    Redleigh regarded me for a moment, then said, “Well, then …”
    I stepped quietly to the door and rapped upon it lightly.
    â€œNo, no,” said Redleigh. “Let me show you.”
    And he stepped up and knocked hard on the door with his fist.
    He waited a moment, then knocked again.
    I said, “Does he never answer, then?”
    â€œIf he knew that God Himself were out here, he might venture forth for a chat. But you or me? No.”
    Suddenly there was the sound of a bell, a klaxon, and from the intercom a voice spoke: “Hear this! Captain’s inspection. All hands assemble, main deck. All hands, Captain’s inspection.”
    And we turned and ran.
    All gathered, five hundred strong, on the main deck.
    â€œIn line!” called Redleigh, from the head of the assembly. “He’s coming, the captain is coming. Tenshun!”
    There was a faint hum, a touch of electrical sound, which wavered like a swarm of insects.
    The door to the main deck hissed open, and the captain was there. He stepped forward three steady, slow paces and stopped.
    He was tall, well proportioned, and his uniform was completely white. The great shock of his hair was almost white, with faint traces of gray.
    Over his eyes he wore a set of opaque radar-vision glasses, in which danced small firefly electric traces.
    To a man, we held our breath.
    At last he spoke.
    â€œAt ease.”
    And, as one, we let out our breath.
    â€œRedleigh,” the captain said.
    â€œAll present, sir.”
    The captain traced the air with his hands. “Yes, the temperature has gone up ten degrees. All present, indeed.”
    He moved along the front line, then stopped, one hand out, hovering near my face.
    â€œAh, here’s one who runs the very furnace of youth. Your name?”
    â€œSir,” I said. “Ishmael Hunnicut Jones.”
    â€œGod, Redleigh,” said the captain, “isn’t that the sound of Blue Ridge wilderness or the scarred red hills of Jerusalem?”
    Without waiting for a response, he continued, “Well, now, Ishmael. What do you see that I don’t?”
    Staring at him, I pulled back, and from the far side of my mind, in a panic, I whispered, “Quell?”
    Suddenly I knew that if I should seize the captain’s dark machine electric lenses, behind them I would find eyes the color of minted silver, of fish that had never been born. White. Oh, God, this man is white, all white.
    And in my head I heard Quell, a shadow upon the air: “Some years ago the universe set off a light-year immensity of photographic flash. God blinked and bleached the captain to this color of sleeplessness and terror.”
    â€œWhat?” the captain demanded, for he had sensed our thoughts.
    â€œNothing, sir,” I lied. “And there is nothing I can see that you do not.”
    I waited for his reply, but none was forthcoming. Instead, he turned and walked back to the head of the assembly and spoke. “How runs a ship in space, men?”
    The crew murmured, and one replied, “With tight seams and oxygen suits at the ready, sir.”
    â€œWell said,” the captain replied, and continued. “And how do you treat

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