him, and told him my burns were bothering me. It was true enough, at that; my whole neck was stiffening up; but what was bothering me most of all was life itself. I arranged to meet him again and caught the bus back to my hotel, so lost in my own ugly thoughts that I didn't pay any attention to the desk clerk's expression.
But what he handed me along with my room key jolted me out of my reverie. It was a mailgram from Project Mako: LEAVE CANCELED. RETURN PROJECT IMMEDIATELY. LINEBACK
VIII
KEDRICK FUSSED over me like a furious kitten. "Curse it, Miller, don't you know the first thing about military security? You've got your head crammed full of the top classified information in the country—and you have to blather it all over the world with an esper ."
I swallowed and said nothing at all. In truth, the attack on the beach had made me nearly forget about going to the esper.
"Answer me!" shouted Kendrick.
I hadn't heard the question. But that didn't make much difference. "I'm sorry, sir," I said.
"Sorry!" Kedrick seemed to inflate with pent-up irritation. "Sorry! If you're sorry now, what will you be when a court-martial gets hold of you?"
I stammered, "But I—I didn't say anything, sir. I just sort of, well, wanted to know how my wife was. You don't talk when you esp, you just—"
"Knock it off," ordered Kedrick explosively. "You can tell all that to Commander Lineback. I can assure you, though, that he takes a dim view of you right at the moment."
"Yes, sir."
I appeared to be dismissed, so I started a rather stiff-armed salute. It attracted Kedrick's attention.
"What the devil's the matter with your neck?" he demanded.
I touched the bandages. "What you call the Glotch, sir," I said, and told him my adventure. It took a lot of the passion out of him. He was staring pensively at nothing when I finished.
"Is that all, sir?" I said politely, after a moment.
"What?" He roused himself and said heavily, "Oh, I guess so, Miller. This is a crazy business."
"Yes, sir," I agreed.
He seemed very tired all of a sudden, but he scratched his head and said: "You're dismissed. Have a drink or two and—"
"I don't drink, sir," I said.
"Well, pop a couple and get a night's sleep." He shook his head wearily. "Trouble!" he meditated. "The Glotch and the stockade getting set to explode and wet-nursed jaygees spilling their guts with espers—" He was talking to himself, not me. I saluted and hit the sack. I hadn't fully understood the reference to the stockade, but I didn't let worry keep me awake; I dreamed very happily of Elsie until the mess attendant tapped on my door at 0700.
Lineback was broody after that. He was worried about the esper and the possibility of Caodai transmission from the little radio the escapees had, I suppose; but he was also rather strained in his relations with Semyon and me. You can't blame him. He came to his position as head of Project Mako by the animal-husbandry route, and he must have been astonished to find how little we animal experts knew about animals.
I don't say it was punishment, but the next time the officers' extra-duty roster was posted, Semyon and I were prominent on it: To assist Project Veterinary Officer , it said after our names. Of course, "extra duty" is defined as that which you do after all your regular duties are well taken care of; that meant I spent the time from 0800 to 1600 running my RAGNAROK while Semyon worked with his dogs—including Josip, now renamed Josie, and her pups. Then, promptly after dinner, we reported to the veterinarian's office for a pleasant evening's relaxation. And the veterinarian handed us a small box of thermometers with which to perform our duties.
It was, I told Semyon later on in the milk shed, a lousy way to fight a cold war.
"Cattle!" complained Semyon. "If it could be only at least a dog, which I know well, you understand, and like. . . . But cattle! Shoo!" And we poked under the tails of resentful cows, though the cows were
But what he handed me along with my room key jolted me out of my reverie. It was a mailgram from Project Mako: LEAVE CANCELED. RETURN PROJECT IMMEDIATELY. LINEBACK
VIII
KEDRICK FUSSED over me like a furious kitten. "Curse it, Miller, don't you know the first thing about military security? You've got your head crammed full of the top classified information in the country—and you have to blather it all over the world with an esper ."
I swallowed and said nothing at all. In truth, the attack on the beach had made me nearly forget about going to the esper.
"Answer me!" shouted Kendrick.
I hadn't heard the question. But that didn't make much difference. "I'm sorry, sir," I said.
"Sorry!" Kedrick seemed to inflate with pent-up irritation. "Sorry! If you're sorry now, what will you be when a court-martial gets hold of you?"
I stammered, "But I—I didn't say anything, sir. I just sort of, well, wanted to know how my wife was. You don't talk when you esp, you just—"
"Knock it off," ordered Kedrick explosively. "You can tell all that to Commander Lineback. I can assure you, though, that he takes a dim view of you right at the moment."
"Yes, sir."
I appeared to be dismissed, so I started a rather stiff-armed salute. It attracted Kedrick's attention.
"What the devil's the matter with your neck?" he demanded.
I touched the bandages. "What you call the Glotch, sir," I said, and told him my adventure. It took a lot of the passion out of him. He was staring pensively at nothing when I finished.
"Is that all, sir?" I said politely, after a moment.
"What?" He roused himself and said heavily, "Oh, I guess so, Miller. This is a crazy business."
"Yes, sir," I agreed.
He seemed very tired all of a sudden, but he scratched his head and said: "You're dismissed. Have a drink or two and—"
"I don't drink, sir," I said.
"Well, pop a couple and get a night's sleep." He shook his head wearily. "Trouble!" he meditated. "The Glotch and the stockade getting set to explode and wet-nursed jaygees spilling their guts with espers—" He was talking to himself, not me. I saluted and hit the sack. I hadn't fully understood the reference to the stockade, but I didn't let worry keep me awake; I dreamed very happily of Elsie until the mess attendant tapped on my door at 0700.
Lineback was broody after that. He was worried about the esper and the possibility of Caodai transmission from the little radio the escapees had, I suppose; but he was also rather strained in his relations with Semyon and me. You can't blame him. He came to his position as head of Project Mako by the animal-husbandry route, and he must have been astonished to find how little we animal experts knew about animals.
I don't say it was punishment, but the next time the officers' extra-duty roster was posted, Semyon and I were prominent on it: To assist Project Veterinary Officer , it said after our names. Of course, "extra duty" is defined as that which you do after all your regular duties are well taken care of; that meant I spent the time from 0800 to 1600 running my RAGNAROK while Semyon worked with his dogs—including Josip, now renamed Josie, and her pups. Then, promptly after dinner, we reported to the veterinarian's office for a pleasant evening's relaxation. And the veterinarian handed us a small box of thermometers with which to perform our duties.
It was, I told Semyon later on in the milk shed, a lousy way to fight a cold war.
"Cattle!" complained Semyon. "If it could be only at least a dog, which I know well, you understand, and like. . . . But cattle! Shoo!" And we poked under the tails of resentful cows, though the cows were
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