his precise, copybook speech, had said it was small but serviceable.
"Since you've kidnapped me," Sutton told the girl, "I don't suppose you'd mind telling me where we're going."
"We don't mind at all," said Eva. "Were going to the hunting asteroid that you got from Benton. It has a lodge and a good supply of food and no one will think of looking for us there."
"That's fine," said Sutton, grinning. "I could do with a spot of hunting."
"You won't be doing any hunting," said a voice behind them. Sutton swung around. Herkimer stood in the hatch that led to the pilot's shell.
"You're going to write a book," said Eva, softly. "Surely you know about the book. The one the Revisionists…"
"Yes," Sutton told her. "I know about the book…"
He stopped, remembering, and his hand went involuntarily to feel of his breast pocket. The book was there, all right, and something that crinkled when he touched it. He remembered that, too. The letter…the incredibly old letter that John H. Sutton had forgotten to open six thousand years before.
"About the book," said Sutton, and then he stopped again, for he was going to say they needn't bother about writing the book, for he already had a copy. But something stopped him, for he wasn't certain that it was smart just then to let them know about the book he had.
"I brought along the case," said Herkimer. "The manuscript's all there. I checked through it."
"And plenty of paper?" asked Sutton, mocking him.
"And plenty of paper."
Eva Armour leaned toward Sutton, so close that he could smell the fragrance of her copper hair.
"Don't you see," she asked, "how important it is that you write this book? Don't you understand?"
Sutton shook his head.
Important, he thought. Important for what? And whom? And when?
He remembered the open mouth that death had struck, the teeth that glittered in the moonlight and the words of a dying man still rang sharply in his ears.
"But I don't understand," he said. "Maybe you can tell me."
She shook her head. "You write the book," she told him.
XIX
T HE ASTEROID was enveloped in the perpetual twilight of the far-from-sun and its frosty peaks speared up like sharp, silvery needles stabbing at the stars.
The air was sharp and cold and thinner than on Earth and the wonder was, Sutton told himself, that any air could be kept on the place at all. Although at the cost that it had taken to make this or any other asteroid habitable, it would seem that anything should be possible.
A billion-dollar job at least, Sutton estimated. The cost of the atomic plants alone would run to half that figure and without atomics there would be no power to run the atmosphere and gravity machines that supplied the air and held it in its place.
Once, he thought, Man had been content, had been forced to be content, to find his solitude at a lakeshore cottage or a hunting lodge or aboard a pleasure yacht, but now, with a galaxy to spend, Man fixed up an asteroid at a billion bucks a throw or bought out a planet at a bargain price.
"There's the lodge," said Herkimer, and Sutton looked in the direction of the pointing ringer. High up on the jigsaw horizon he saw the humped, black building with its one pinpoint of light.
"What's the light?" asked Eva. "Is there someone here?"
Herkimer shook his head. "Someone forgot to turn off a light the last time when they left."
Evergreens and birches, ghostlike in the starlight, stood in ragged clumps, like marching soldiers storming the height where the lodge was set.
"The path is over here," said Herkimer.
He led the way and they climbed, with Eva in the center and Sutton bringing up the rear. The path was steep and uneven and the light was none too good, for the thin atmosphere failed to break up the starlight and the stars themselves remained tiny, steely points of light that did not blaze or twinkle, but stood primly in the sky like dots upon a map.
The lodge, Sutton saw, apparently sat upon a small plateau, and he knew that the
"Since you've kidnapped me," Sutton told the girl, "I don't suppose you'd mind telling me where we're going."
"We don't mind at all," said Eva. "Were going to the hunting asteroid that you got from Benton. It has a lodge and a good supply of food and no one will think of looking for us there."
"That's fine," said Sutton, grinning. "I could do with a spot of hunting."
"You won't be doing any hunting," said a voice behind them. Sutton swung around. Herkimer stood in the hatch that led to the pilot's shell.
"You're going to write a book," said Eva, softly. "Surely you know about the book. The one the Revisionists…"
"Yes," Sutton told her. "I know about the book…"
He stopped, remembering, and his hand went involuntarily to feel of his breast pocket. The book was there, all right, and something that crinkled when he touched it. He remembered that, too. The letter…the incredibly old letter that John H. Sutton had forgotten to open six thousand years before.
"About the book," said Sutton, and then he stopped again, for he was going to say they needn't bother about writing the book, for he already had a copy. But something stopped him, for he wasn't certain that it was smart just then to let them know about the book he had.
"I brought along the case," said Herkimer. "The manuscript's all there. I checked through it."
"And plenty of paper?" asked Sutton, mocking him.
"And plenty of paper."
Eva Armour leaned toward Sutton, so close that he could smell the fragrance of her copper hair.
"Don't you see," she asked, "how important it is that you write this book? Don't you understand?"
Sutton shook his head.
Important, he thought. Important for what? And whom? And when?
He remembered the open mouth that death had struck, the teeth that glittered in the moonlight and the words of a dying man still rang sharply in his ears.
"But I don't understand," he said. "Maybe you can tell me."
She shook her head. "You write the book," she told him.
XIX
T HE ASTEROID was enveloped in the perpetual twilight of the far-from-sun and its frosty peaks speared up like sharp, silvery needles stabbing at the stars.
The air was sharp and cold and thinner than on Earth and the wonder was, Sutton told himself, that any air could be kept on the place at all. Although at the cost that it had taken to make this or any other asteroid habitable, it would seem that anything should be possible.
A billion-dollar job at least, Sutton estimated. The cost of the atomic plants alone would run to half that figure and without atomics there would be no power to run the atmosphere and gravity machines that supplied the air and held it in its place.
Once, he thought, Man had been content, had been forced to be content, to find his solitude at a lakeshore cottage or a hunting lodge or aboard a pleasure yacht, but now, with a galaxy to spend, Man fixed up an asteroid at a billion bucks a throw or bought out a planet at a bargain price.
"There's the lodge," said Herkimer, and Sutton looked in the direction of the pointing ringer. High up on the jigsaw horizon he saw the humped, black building with its one pinpoint of light.
"What's the light?" asked Eva. "Is there someone here?"
Herkimer shook his head. "Someone forgot to turn off a light the last time when they left."
Evergreens and birches, ghostlike in the starlight, stood in ragged clumps, like marching soldiers storming the height where the lodge was set.
"The path is over here," said Herkimer.
He led the way and they climbed, with Eva in the center and Sutton bringing up the rear. The path was steep and uneven and the light was none too good, for the thin atmosphere failed to break up the starlight and the stars themselves remained tiny, steely points of light that did not blaze or twinkle, but stood primly in the sky like dots upon a map.
The lodge, Sutton saw, apparently sat upon a small plateau, and he knew that the
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