boucher book oct28.pdf - Index of

Mary Celestial 517
advantage. And then I should be completely defenseless, at his mercy.
“It is only today, my friend, that a bit of hope has come to me. How could even
a grosh, I wonder, spoil so modest a wish? It is little enough to ask—I’ve been so
horribly lonely—”
He looked long and speculatively at the Terran.
Patrick drained the last of his stralp and stood up. He felt himself trembling.
“Zoth,” he said apologetically, “I hate to break this up, but I’m afraid I’m asleep
on my feet. Let’s go to bed now, shall we? Tomorrow’s another day.”
“Oh, my friend, forgive me! Of course—you must be worn out! What a way
to treat a guest—and a guest who means so much to me! You must excuse an old
man who has half a century of conversation to make up! I’ll show you where you
are to sleep.”
He led the way through still a third door to another huge room, a corner of which
had been screened off to hold a low couch covered with some soft woolly fabric.
“My guestroom,” he smiled. “You are the first ever to occupy it. I hope you will
find it comfortable. Right through here you will find the toilet facilities. You turn
the light off thus.
“Sleep well, my friend. I shall be sleeping late in the morning myself—I don’t
often keep such hours as this. When you wake, come to the living hall, and a meal
will be ready for you.”
Patrick was alone at last.
He made no attempt to undress or go to bed. He had brought his knapsack
in with him, and he checked its contents. Then he sat quietly on the edge of the
couch, thinking.
He sat there for two solid hours, until there was no glimmer of light anywhere
and from a distant room came the sound of faint but steady snoring.
The tall windows opened outwards, and this was the ground floor. Outside, he
put on his boots.
It was very dark. No one could have seen him as he crept from tree to tree, in
the shadow of the overgrown ornamental bushes, to the nearest bridge.
Once across, he set out at as rapid a pace as possible. Even so, it took three hours,
and the sky was beginning to gray, before he reached his ship.
An hour later, well beyond the orbit of Xilmuch, he began to wonder if he had
made a fool of himself.
… Who ever heard of the entire population of a planet’s being wiped out, just
to grant somebody’s wish for worldwide peace? Space knew, there were enough
other roads to devastation! Wasn’t the reasonable conclusion that in some entirely
natural way, some epidemic or other frightful catastrophe on Xilmuch, only this
man and his wife had survived? Wouldn’t it be logical that such a shock would
have crazed them both? Hadn’t he spent a day and a night listening to the tale
of a lunatic?
It was obvious that the man was desperately lonely, and would have kept his
chance guest just as long as he could; but did it make sense that he could have done
so by merely uttering an unused wish? Wasn’t Patrick Ostronsky-Vierra just as crazy
as Zoth Cheruk to swallow such a story, even late at night and full of rexshan and
stralp?