* * * * *
And then, my friends, six dozen catastrophes and cataclysms and
volcanoes and hurricanes and everything else hit me. The C-S began
shouting and then the controller and after a moment, the cops. Only by
that time the four of them were on top of me and all over me, so to
speak. Little Yarr came tearing up, screaming at Groating and Groating
yelled back and Yarr tried to bash my head in with his little fists.
They yanked me to my feet and marched me off while the reporters
and this Halley Hogan girl stared. I can't tell you much about
what happened after that--the debating and the discussing and the
interminable sound and fury, because most of the time I was busy being
locked up. All I can tell you is that I was it. Me. I. I was the one
man we were trying to stop. I--innocent me. I was X, the mad scientist
and Y, the ruthless dictator and Z, the alien planet--all rolled into
one. I was the one guy the Earth was looking to stop.
Sure--because you see if you twist "I'll be a pie-eyed emu" enough, you
get FitzJohn's equation:
i = (b/a) π i e/μ..."
I don't know how my future son is going to figure I was talking
mathematics. I guess it'll just be another one of those incidents that
turn into legend and get pretty well changed in the process. I mean
the way an infant will say "goo" and by the time his pop gets finished
telling about it it's become the Preamble to the Credo.
What?
No, I'm not married--yet. In fact, that's why I'm stationed up here
editing a two-sheet weekly on this God-forsaken asteroid. Old Groating,
he calls it protective promotion. Well, sure, it's a better job than
reporting. The C-S said they wouldn't have broken up an existing
marriage, but he was going to keep us apart until they can work
something out on the Prognosticator.
No--I never saw her again after that time I dumped her on the turf,
but, boys, I sure want to. I only got a quick look, but she reminded
me of that Barbara Leeds girl, six hundred years from now. That lovely
kind with shingled hair and a clean-cut face that looks fresh and
wind-washed--
I keep thinking about her and I keep thinking how easy it would be to
stow out of here on an Earth-bound freighter--change my name--get a
different kind of job. To hell with Groating and to hell with Stability
and to hell with a thousand years from now. I've got to see her
again--soon.