The Far Shore of Time

“Copy a lot; there isn’t going to be a gun shop where he’s going. And you’ll have to make something for him to carry them in.” I thought for a moment, then, with some reluctance, told the Wet One, “I think you’d better keep the safety off; you might have trouble handling it if you need to shoot in a hurry. Just don’t touch that trigger until you want to fire. Now, let’s see how good you are at reloading.”

He wasn’t good at that, either, but he eventually got the idea, after a fashion. That was as far as we got, because Beert was fidgeting. “I must go back to my laboratory to make these changes in the equipment,” he told the Wet One. Who made no response, except to turn and head for the stream. Just as he was entering the water, he paused, turned ponderously around and spoke to me, in that horrible roaring voice:

“Your metal killing device may be valuable to me, also your instruction in its use. For this I owe you the debt of thanks. If I can repay it, I will.”

Then he slipped into the stream and was gone. A couple of those electric-shock appendages appeared briefly above the water, fluttering in the air almost as though he were saying good-by. Then nothing showed but those two knobby eye sockets and a pair of V-shaped ripples in the water, leaving Beert and me looking after him.

Beert made that hissing sort of sigh. “He is a brave person,” he informed me. I just nodded. I had formed that opinion of the Wet One myself-along with a fair amount of residual envy-and anyway, I had something else on my mind.

Beert wasn’t giving me much chance to bring it up. “As soon as I am finished in the laboratory,” he said happily, “I must go to my cousins to talk to the Greatmother of the Eight Plus Threes, so that we may schedule a time when Mrrranthoghrow may operate the transit machine for him. I will send Pirraghiz to you, Dan.”

I swallowed and took the plunge. “There’s one other thing,” I said.

“Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. You were right. So let’s just forget about making that copy of Pat for me,” I told him.

Horch can’t smile, don’t have the facial muscles for it, but I could have sworn he was looking at me in an affectionate way. “It is forgotten, Dan. I am glad.” And he gave my arm a gentle pat before he turned and hurried away.

Listen, I’m only human. Get me depressed enough and you might see a person selfisher than you would have believed. But I didn’t have to stay selfish all the time.

PART SIX

Fighting Back

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

There was another lesson that old drill instructor of mine had taught us, in between the pushups and the ten-kilometer runs. What she said was, “Listen, ass-holes. It’s always better to do something than nothing, you hear me? If it don’t do nothing else, it’ll make you feel better.”

She was right. It did. My situation hadn’t improved a hair in any tangible way, but I felt different. I felt for the first time that I was playing some part, however insignificant, in an action that might cause the Beloved Leaders some aggravation, even if only a little. Morale-wise, that was a big plus. It almost made me feel as though this interminable lonely life that stretched ahead of me might be worth living after all.

So I decided to start looking for other ways to do the Others harm. I don’t know exactly what I was thinking of. Maybe leading a charge of Horch fighting machines into some Beloved Leader stronghold, the way they had taken over the prison-planet base. But whatever I was going to do to the Others, the first step was to get to where the action was.

Beert was the logical person to talk to on that subject, but he wasn’t available. When he wasn’t over in the Horch base to negotiate with the cousins, he was locked up in his workshop, making the changes in the Wet One’s armament. I decided to pester Pirraghiz about it. She was in her room, sterilizing my chamber pot for me, and Mrrranthoghrow was with her.

I hesitated in the doorway. Pirraghiz’s room was no bigger than mine, but she had somehow found time to put in homey touches of her own: some of those tiny flowers in a planter, clothing neatly hung, her own much larger bed. She had turned the room into a very personal habitation and, belatedly, it crossed my mind that they might have preferred being alone in it.

Apparently not. As soon as Pirraghiz saw me she waved me in with a spare arm. “Are you hungry?” she asked at once, but I shook my head. I wasn’t looking for food.

“I want to know about the Wet One,” I said. I

She looked surprised, but recited: “He is being sent back to his own planet, so that-“

“I know that. Tell me how he’s getting there.”

She looked at Mrrranthoghrow, who answered for her. “He will be transmitted on the captured transit machine of the Others, of course.”

“And how does he know how to get there?”