Part 1 (2/2)

”I say, Trav,” Trippe said thoughtfully from behind him, ”where's the fatted calf?”

”In this life,” Travis said warily, ”one is often disappointed.” A figure climbed out of a port over at the Mapping Command s.h.i.+p and came walking slowly toward them. Travis recognized him and grinned.

”Hey, Hort.”

”Hey Trav,” Horton replied from a distance. But he did not say anything else. He came forward with an odd look on his face. Travis did not understand. Ed Horton was an old buddy and Ed Horton should be happy to see him. Travis felt his second pang. This one went deep.

”Anybody beat us here?”

”No. You're the first, Trav.”

Dahlinger whooped. Travis relaxed slightly and even the glacial Trippe could not control a silly grin.

Horton caught a whiff of air from the open lock.

”B u r n e d generators? You must've come like h.e.l.l.” His face showed his respect. Between burning a generator and blowing one entirely there is only a microscopic distance, and it takes a very steady pilot indeed to get the absolute most out of his generators without also spreading himself and his s.h.i.+p over several cubic miles of exploded s.p.a.ce.

”Like a striped-tailed ape,” Dahlinger chortled. ”Man, you should see the boss handle a s.h.i.+p. I thought every second we were going to explode in technicolor.”

”Well,” Horton said feebly. ”Burned generators. Shame.”

He lowered his eyes and began toeing the ground. Travis felt suddenly ill.

”What's the matter, Hort?”

Horton shrugged. ”I hate like heck to be the one to tell you, Trav, but seein' as I know you, they sent me--”

”Tell me what?” Now Dahlinger and Trippe both realized it and were suddenly silent.

”Well, if only you'd taken a little more time. But not you, not old Pat Travis. By d.a.m.n, Pat, you came in here like a downhill locomotive, it ain't my fault--”

”Hort, straighten it out. What's not your fault?”

Horton sighed.

”Listen, it's a long story. I've got a buggy over here to take you into town. They're puttin' you up at a hotel so you can look the place over. I'll tell you on the way in.”

”The heck with that,” Dahlinger said indignantly, ”we want to see the _man_.”

”You're not goin' to see the man, sonny,” Horton said patiently, ”You are, as a matter of fact, the last people on the planet the man wants to see right now.”

Dahlinger started to say something but Travis shut him up. He told Trippe to stay with the s.h.i.+p and took Dahlinger with him. At the end of the field was a carriage straight out of Seventeenth Century England. And the things that drew it--if you closed your eyes--looked reasonably similar to horses. The three men climbed aboard. There was no driver. Horton explained that the 'horses' would head straight for the hotel.

”Well all right,” Travis said, ”what's the story?”

”Don't turn those baby browns on me,” Horton said gloomily, ”I would have warned you if I could, but you know the law says we can't show favoritism....”

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