The Fury Out of Time by Lloyd Biggle jr. Page B

vacation.”

Chapter 7
    The Mediterranean was a vast azure mirror tilted toward infinity. Karvel, stretched out peacefully under a beach umbrella, projected his thoughts at the horizon. He saw a shadow merge abruptly with the umbrella shadow, but he did not bother to look up.
    Gerald Haskins said peevishly, “Just where the devil have you been?”
    “Following orders,” Karvel said. “Taking a vacation.”
    Haskins crouched beside him, and hissed, “If you had any idea of the trouble I’ve had finding you—”
    “What I particularly enjoy,” Karvel said, “are the cloud reflections. If only someone would keep the gulls away, the scenery would be perfect. I hate to see gulls messing up cloud reflections. It makes me think of a beautiful woman with fleas.”
    Haskins sat down heavily. “Why didn’t you get in touch with me?”
    “I did. I sent your office a picture postcard the day I got here. I said, ‘Having a wonderful time, wish you were here,’ but I didn’t expect—”
    “My men don’t usually report by picture postcard, and some idiot probably filed it in the wastebasket. A luxury hotel in a little French resort town is the last place I expected to find you, and it’s just about the last place I looked.”
    “To each his own taste, but why did you bother? Sooner or later we’d have run out of money, or gotten bored, and headed for home.”
    “Good God, man! Don’t you read the papers? Don’t you pay any attention to what people are talking about?”
    “I can’t read French, and neither can Whistler. He can talk the stuff like crazy, but he can’t read it. He isn’t much interested in literature anyway.”
    “Where is he?”
    “He’s found an illegal bistro with a female bartender. She fascinates him. He hangs out there twelve hours a day, studying philosophy.”
    “Did you know that a massed army of reporters has been searching three continents for you and causing all kinds of trouble at home? The Air Force has been accused of shanghaiing you into a mental hospital.”
    “Retribution,” Karvel murmured. “I know at least three generals who have wanted to do that for years.”
    “That’s nothing compared with what they’d like to do now. Let’s go where we can talk. Where are your crutches?”
    “Abandoned. I am now able to limp about with a cane. The doctor’s only restriction is that I can’t kick anyone before Christmas—not even myself.” He got up resignedly. “You can carry the umbrella.”
    Haskins said nothing more until they reached Karvel’s hotel suite. He locked the door and gave each room and closet a quick but thorough inspection while Karvel watched in amusement.
    “It’s a habit I’ve picked up,” he said. “Well, I suppose you want to know what’s happened.”
    “The approach of old age has eroded my curiosity. There really isn’t much that I can’t stand not knowing.”
    “We have another U.O.”
    “Ostrander?”
    Haskins shook his head.
    “I suppose you’re calling this one U.O.- 3 . Just incidentally, what happened to U.O.- 2 ?”
    Haskins stared at him. “Where have you been?”
    “Here, and not reading the papers. Remember?”
    “Well. The French called a high-level conference. All the major powers were represented, including the Russians.”
    “The Russians?”
    “U.O. -2 positively established their innocence. Not even the Russians could have contributed the passenger in U.O. -2 It was the considered opinion of many scientists that they couldn’t have contributed the passenger in U.O. -1 , either. Anyway, the French got everyone’s opinion, and then they went ahead and did what they wanted to do, it being their U.O. They sent it back to where it came from—they hope— with a pointed diplomatic message in forty languages requesting that the senders cease and desist.”
    “Did they send a diplomat to present the message?”
    “It was just barely considered. The conference took note of what had happened to the two passengers who