also be audible to me, and I in turn will be able to speak to you without anyone else being able to hear what I say."
"Where will you be all this time?"
32 shrugged. “That's undecided at present. If I can land on one of the uninhabited planets in the system, I will. Otherwise, I'll be on Philemon II, the nearest Democracy world, about four light years removed. You'll be sending and receiving subspace signals; the transmissions will be virtually instantaneous within a range of ten light years."
"You've selected me because you think I'm good enough to kill her,” said the Injun. “So why do you have to monitor me?"
"I may be able to help."
"How? All you'll do is distract me."
"I spent more time with Penelope Bailey than any member of the Democracy except her parents."
"Yeah?” said the Injun. “How much time?"
"Almost six months."
"Sixteen years ago?” The Injun snorted contemptuously. “Forget the surgery and just let me get on with business."
"There is another reason for the surgery,” said 32, unperturbed by the Injun's attitude.
"Oh?"
"You will be operating beyond the boundaries of the Democracy,” continued 32. “Based on your prior behavior, there is every likelihood that, once there, you will take your ship and head straight for the Inner Frontier—or, if you remain in the Alpha Crepello system, sooner or later you will be tempted to revert to your addiction."
"And you think being able to whisper platitudes about duty and honor in my ear will stop me?"
"No,” said 32. “But I rather suspect that the miniature plasma bomb we plant at the base of your skull, which I can trigger from a distance of up to twenty light years, will act as a deterrent.” He paused. “Now, do we still have a deal?"
The Injun glared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Yeah, we have a deal, you no-good bastard."
[Back to Table of Contents]
10.
"Can you hear me?"
Jimmy Two Feathers grimaced and rolled onto his side.
"Jimmy, wake up. This is 32."
"32 what?” muttered the Injun.
"Wake up, Jimmy. You're coming out of the anesthetic now."
"I'm awake, goddammit! Now leave me alone."
"Sit up, Jimmy."
"Go away."
"I am away, Jimmy. I'm more than five thousand miles from you."
The Injun sat up groggily. “What are you talking about?"
"Open your eyes, Jimmy."
"Don't want to. My head is killing me."
"It will pass."
"It damned well better."
"Now open your eyes, Jimmy."
The Injun opened his eyes, and winced as the light struck his pupils—both the real one and the artificial one.
"It's bright,” he complained.
"That's just because your pupils are dilated. They'll adjust in a minute or two."
"The operation is finished?” asked the Injun.
"Yes. How do you feel now?"
"Like I've been on a week-long bender. Everything hurts. Especially my head."
"We did a lot of work on your head. Look around the room."
The Injun did as he was instructed, and found himself in a large hospital room. A nurse, dressed in sterile white, sat in a corner, observing him intently. From the smarting in his left arm, he expected to find a number of tubes and wires tying him into a life support system, but evidently it had already been removed from the room. A number of small monitors were attached to his chest and neck, but they were more awkward than painful.
"Very good,” said 32 approvingly. “Now hold your hand up about six inches in front of your left eye."
"Which hand?"
"Either one."
The Injun held a hand up.
"The lenses adjust almost instantaneously,” noted 32. “Now turn your head to the left and look out the window."
"I'm not a puppet,” said the Injun.
"Just do what I ask,” said 32. “I want to see how your vision adapts to a sudden change from a darkened room to sunlight."
"Then what?"
"I don't understand."
"I don't plan to spend the rest of my life jumping through hoops for you,” said the Injun.
"We've got to test out your new eye, Jimmy."
The Injun sighed and turned to gaze out the
"Where will you be all this time?"
32 shrugged. “That's undecided at present. If I can land on one of the uninhabited planets in the system, I will. Otherwise, I'll be on Philemon II, the nearest Democracy world, about four light years removed. You'll be sending and receiving subspace signals; the transmissions will be virtually instantaneous within a range of ten light years."
"You've selected me because you think I'm good enough to kill her,” said the Injun. “So why do you have to monitor me?"
"I may be able to help."
"How? All you'll do is distract me."
"I spent more time with Penelope Bailey than any member of the Democracy except her parents."
"Yeah?” said the Injun. “How much time?"
"Almost six months."
"Sixteen years ago?” The Injun snorted contemptuously. “Forget the surgery and just let me get on with business."
"There is another reason for the surgery,” said 32, unperturbed by the Injun's attitude.
"Oh?"
"You will be operating beyond the boundaries of the Democracy,” continued 32. “Based on your prior behavior, there is every likelihood that, once there, you will take your ship and head straight for the Inner Frontier—or, if you remain in the Alpha Crepello system, sooner or later you will be tempted to revert to your addiction."
"And you think being able to whisper platitudes about duty and honor in my ear will stop me?"
"No,” said 32. “But I rather suspect that the miniature plasma bomb we plant at the base of your skull, which I can trigger from a distance of up to twenty light years, will act as a deterrent.” He paused. “Now, do we still have a deal?"
The Injun glared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Yeah, we have a deal, you no-good bastard."
[Back to Table of Contents]
10.
"Can you hear me?"
Jimmy Two Feathers grimaced and rolled onto his side.
"Jimmy, wake up. This is 32."
"32 what?” muttered the Injun.
"Wake up, Jimmy. You're coming out of the anesthetic now."
"I'm awake, goddammit! Now leave me alone."
"Sit up, Jimmy."
"Go away."
"I am away, Jimmy. I'm more than five thousand miles from you."
The Injun sat up groggily. “What are you talking about?"
"Open your eyes, Jimmy."
"Don't want to. My head is killing me."
"It will pass."
"It damned well better."
"Now open your eyes, Jimmy."
The Injun opened his eyes, and winced as the light struck his pupils—both the real one and the artificial one.
"It's bright,” he complained.
"That's just because your pupils are dilated. They'll adjust in a minute or two."
"The operation is finished?” asked the Injun.
"Yes. How do you feel now?"
"Like I've been on a week-long bender. Everything hurts. Especially my head."
"We did a lot of work on your head. Look around the room."
The Injun did as he was instructed, and found himself in a large hospital room. A nurse, dressed in sterile white, sat in a corner, observing him intently. From the smarting in his left arm, he expected to find a number of tubes and wires tying him into a life support system, but evidently it had already been removed from the room. A number of small monitors were attached to his chest and neck, but they were more awkward than painful.
"Very good,” said 32 approvingly. “Now hold your hand up about six inches in front of your left eye."
"Which hand?"
"Either one."
The Injun held a hand up.
"The lenses adjust almost instantaneously,” noted 32. “Now turn your head to the left and look out the window."
"I'm not a puppet,” said the Injun.
"Just do what I ask,” said 32. “I want to see how your vision adapts to a sudden change from a darkened room to sunlight."
"Then what?"
"I don't understand."
"I don't plan to spend the rest of my life jumping through hoops for you,” said the Injun.
"We've got to test out your new eye, Jimmy."
The Injun sighed and turned to gaze out the
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