Free DS02 Night of the Dragonstar by Thomas F. Monteleone, David Bischoff Page B

going to be running from place to place for the next few days, and I didn’t want you to be bored — being dragged around with me. That’s why I arranged the private jet and the rest of your itinerary.”
    “Oh, I see. That was very thoughtful of you.”
    “Well, we tried to think of everything. Believe me, Dr. Neville, the IASA and the World Media Corporation would be honored to have you participate in our project.”
    Neville’s eyes brightened a bit. “Yes, you’re right, Colonel. It is only fitting that I be part of the programming.” The writer stood up and walked to a collection of photographs of men in baggy suits, white shirts, and skinny ties. Everyone had short haircuts, horn-rimmed glasses, and pear-shaped bodies. Neville pointed to several of the framed photos. “You know who these guys are?”
    Phineas looked closely at the old black-and-white prints. The men appeared to be standing on some forgotten street corner in Brooklyn. “No, I can’t say that I do.”
    “That collection of first-class nerds is First Fandom. I came along a little too late to really be a part of them, but they soon adopted me and all the other great writers of the forties and fifties. They knew brilliance when they encountered it, and they accepted me into their select fold, Colonel. They believed in the Future with a capital F! And l owe it to them to be a part of your documentary project. Don’t you see that?”
    Phineas wasn’t certain what the old man was getting at, but he did the most diplomatic thing he could think of and nodded with a great show of affirmation.
    Neville sucked in a long breath, filling his bony chest with air, and exhaled grandly. “Very well, Colonel, let’s be off on our great adventure. Ms. Wilkins, pack all my shit! We’re going into Space — The Final Frontier.”
    “Well,” Phineas said as Neville eased into his command console chair. “I think I’ll be leaving now. I’ve got plenty of work to do before getting back up to Copernicus Base.”
    “Are you sure you won’t stay for lunch? My servo-kitchens are preparing a wonderful lunch of vitamin-paks and pureed fruits. But I’m sure we could dig up a hamburger for a red-blooded astronaut like yourself.”
    “I appreciate the offer, Doctor, but I have a previous engagement. Thank you just the same.” Phineas realized that he had suddenly had quite enough, thank you, of Long Jack Neville.
    The writer was struggling to his feet once again. “All right, then. I know a busy man when I see one. But at least I can give you a copy of my newest novel, The Robots of Sphereworld.”
    Before Phineas could reply, Neville was moving across the room to an immense series of glass-fronted bookshelves. He pressed a button, one of the segments slid open, and the shelf slid forward. The writer reached up and pulled a hardcover book down from the shelf and handed it to Kemp, who noticed that the cover illustration was garish and brightly colored.
    “Here you are, Colonel. And if you’ll notice, it’s already autographed for your convenience, and mine.
    Phineas could not resist opening the book to the first page, which was inscribed in a bold but spidery hand:

    To My Good Friend, Best Wishes,
    Long Jack Neville

    Interesting that we’ve become such good friends so quickly, Phineas thought.
    “Why, thank you, sir. I’ll read this on my way back to Vandenberg. And now, I’m afraid I must be going. Ms. Wilkins, here is a card with the coded exchange for Vandenberg. Call when you’re ready to depart, and they’ll scramble up a limo-jet for you.”
    The nurse took the card and nodded as she escorted Phineas from the room and down the hall. He could hear the shambling footsteps of Neville close behind. When they reached the sliding glass doors of the lower deck, Phineas shook the author’s hand, waved politely to his nurse, and moved to his vehicle.
    God, it was good to get out of there. Almost a hundred years old and getting more senile by the