Playfair's Axiom

Playfair's Axiom by James Axler Page A

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Authors: James Axler
Tags: Speculative Fiction Suspense
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about shoulder length. She’s perhaps five feet eight inches tall, broad of shoulder and rather…full of breast and hip. Beyond her tender years, one might even say.”
    “Fat?” Jak asked.
    Brother Joseph chucked. “Not at all. She’s most athletic. Muscular and agile. Her father, though perhaps a bit indulgent in many ways, insisted she be thoroughly trained in armed and unarmed combat starting as soon as she could toddle unassisted. Her most striking characteristics, overall, are her eyes. They are a brilliant green. Her mother named her for them.”
    “Where is her mother?”
    “Sadly, she died five years ago. One of the earliest victims of King Screamwing’s flock, in fact.”
    He rose. “And now I need to ask your indulgence to retire for the evening. We have an important civicceremony tomorrow morning at which I officiate. I must get my rest.”
    “Sure,” Krysty said.
    “Some of Mr. Garrison’s people are waiting to escort you to your quarters,” the preacher said. “I bid you good-night.”
     
    “G UESS WHERE we stand?” Jak said as they walked across the plaza in the moonlight. A pair of Garrison’s sec men toting longblasters followed them, not close enough to listen in but close enough to leave no doubt they were shepherds.
    “What else did you expect, young Jak?” Doc asked, strolling grandly along with his cane, his straggle-haired head held high as if he were walking out on some high-society promenade back in his day. “In the end we remain at the mercy of our hosts. For myself, I find I quite prefer their gentle approach to whips and chains.”
    “I liked the subtle way he reminded us they’ve got J.B. hostage,” Mildred said sourly. “Ryan, are you sure this is a good idea?”
    “No,” he said. “Am I a doomie, here? Can’t read the future. Except if they give us back our blasters, and they turn us out the gates without food and water, we’ll likely be dead in a few days. And if we turn down this gig, what chance is there that they’ll keep nursing J.B. till he’s back on his pins again? Doesn’t seem like we got much of a choice.”
    “There’s always a choice,” Krysty said gently.
    Ryan sighed. “Okay. Ace. Mebbe what I should have said is, I don’t see that we’ve got any better choice. Fact is, I don’t see this is necessarily such a great one. Others I can see’re all worse, double down.”
    “I’m not trying to tear you down, lover,” she said. “Neverthat. I know we don’t have any really appealing choices here. I agree that taking the preacher’s job is probably our best shot. It’s just that we should never forget that even when triple-huge events intervene, we always have a choice of what to make of them. Even if it’s just to die rather than submit.”
    “I hear you,” Ryan said.
    Jak was walking along frowning, his head tipped to the side and his white hair streaming down to the right shoulder of his jagged-edged camo shirt. An unaccustomed smile split his lean lupine face.
    “Hum’s stopped,” he said cheerfully.
    “What’s that, lad?” Doc asked. “What hum?”
    Jak frowned and stared at him. “What mean, what hum? Same hum since we hit the perimeter. Loud. Makes teeth buzz and head hurt.”
    “No offense, my hot-blooded young friend,” Doc said, “but judging by the expressions of our associates, here, I judge you are the only one who hears any hum. Heard. Are you quite certain you were not imagining it?”
    Furiously Jak shook his head. “What? Think I droolie? Heard rad-blasted hum. Made me feel funny.”
    “As we age,” Mildred said, “we tend to lose both the upper and lower ranges of our hearing. And Jak’s got unusually keen senses anyway. Is it possible he hears something that’s really there, but that we can’t because we’re too old?”
    “Mebbe so,” Krysty said.
    “But what can it mean?” Doc asked.
    Ryan shook his head irritably. “We don’t know. We don’t have enough information. It’s just another

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