Read Online Callahan's Place 07 - Callahan's Legacy (v5.0) by Spider Robinson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Spider Robinson
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weirdness quotient. Or at least maxed it out.”
“Sorry. It’s best to feed it to you in small doses, I guess. We’ve been accumulating a backlog of weird for over twenty years, now.”
“I believe that,” he said solemnly. “Is it safe for me to ask one more thing? Why you were all throwing paper airplanes made out of stage money into the fire when I came in?”
Buck had been doing a little jaw-dropping of his own, ever since Ralph had spoken—but now he snapped out of his trance. “Uh, that was my doing. I just got here a little while before you did. But…well, I’m afraid that wasn’t stage money we were burning.” He opened up the guitar case. “It’s an inheritance. I’m doing my best to lower the money supply.”
Acayib stared. “To fight inflation,” he suggested.
“Right,” Buck said, delighted.
Acayib reached out tentatively, took a bill from the case, and examined it closely. He began to smile.
“Could I—?” he began, and stopped.
“Be my guest,” Buck said. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to it myself. The rest of these rummies, too, if they’re still willing—there’s a lot of hard work ahead of us.”
A number of voices declared willingness to resume burning cash.
Acayib was smiling broadly now. “By God,” he said happily, “I’ve been waiting all my life for this night.”
“Not to bring you down or anything,” Buck said, “but so has everybody . Everybody, ever. In fact, I’d like to propose a toast.” He left his chair, walked to the chalk line, and finished his beer. “To all the ones who weren’t as lucky,” he said, and flung his empty glass into the hearth.
“To all the ones who weren’t as lucky,” we all chorused, and those of us not holding coffee mugs followed his example.
And then, blind to our doom, we went back to torching hundred dollar bills.
***
But we had made little progress in emptying that guitar case when the dead man walked in.
4
I, MADAM, I MADE RADIO!
SO I DARED! AM I MAD?
AM I?
And not just any dead man…
He was unreasonably tall and thin, with jet black hair brushed straight back, a ferocious but sanitary mustache, and the kind of brows on which pencils could be balanced. He was dressed in the height of fashion for the 1920s, but every item looked new and the overall effect earned the word “impeccable.” He appeared to be in his mid-forties—but to my certain knowledge he was at least twice that old. And dead.
“Nikky!” I called out when I saw him. “Come on in, pal—I didn’t know you were now.”
That’s not a typo. That’s what I meant to say to him: that I hadn’t known, until then, that he was now. By which I meant, then.
You see, Nikky is well into his second lifetime, and completely unstuck from time…
No, there’s just no way to nutshell this one. A major digression is called for. But where to start?
***
I’ll make it as brief as I can. Nikola Tesla was born in 1856 (hang on, now), in a place called Smiljan, in what is now Croatia, and came to America to work for Tom Edison in 1884. Between then and 1943, he basically invented the twentieth century.
No exaggeration. His astonishing 112 patents—on such things as alternating current, the condenser, the transformer, the electric motor, the remote control, five different propulsion systems, radio (Marconi was kind of like Amerigo Vespucci: got his name on something he didn’t actually discover), the “and-gate” logic circuit, and all the essential components of a transistor—underlie most of what we now laughingly call civilization…and you’ll no doubt be stunned to hear that he got screwed out of most of the money and a lot of the credit.
He was also notoriously crazy as a fruit bat, the original template for the cliché of the wacky genius. He loved to hold lightning in his
“Sorry. It’s best to feed it to you in small doses, I guess. We’ve been accumulating a backlog of weird for over twenty years, now.”
“I believe that,” he said solemnly. “Is it safe for me to ask one more thing? Why you were all throwing paper airplanes made out of stage money into the fire when I came in?”
Buck had been doing a little jaw-dropping of his own, ever since Ralph had spoken—but now he snapped out of his trance. “Uh, that was my doing. I just got here a little while before you did. But…well, I’m afraid that wasn’t stage money we were burning.” He opened up the guitar case. “It’s an inheritance. I’m doing my best to lower the money supply.”
Acayib stared. “To fight inflation,” he suggested.
“Right,” Buck said, delighted.
Acayib reached out tentatively, took a bill from the case, and examined it closely. He began to smile.
“Could I—?” he began, and stopped.
“Be my guest,” Buck said. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to it myself. The rest of these rummies, too, if they’re still willing—there’s a lot of hard work ahead of us.”
A number of voices declared willingness to resume burning cash.
Acayib was smiling broadly now. “By God,” he said happily, “I’ve been waiting all my life for this night.”
“Not to bring you down or anything,” Buck said, “but so has everybody . Everybody, ever. In fact, I’d like to propose a toast.” He left his chair, walked to the chalk line, and finished his beer. “To all the ones who weren’t as lucky,” he said, and flung his empty glass into the hearth.
“To all the ones who weren’t as lucky,” we all chorused, and those of us not holding coffee mugs followed his example.
And then, blind to our doom, we went back to torching hundred dollar bills.
***
But we had made little progress in emptying that guitar case when the dead man walked in.
4
I, MADAM, I MADE RADIO!
SO I DARED! AM I MAD?
AM I?
And not just any dead man…
He was unreasonably tall and thin, with jet black hair brushed straight back, a ferocious but sanitary mustache, and the kind of brows on which pencils could be balanced. He was dressed in the height of fashion for the 1920s, but every item looked new and the overall effect earned the word “impeccable.” He appeared to be in his mid-forties—but to my certain knowledge he was at least twice that old. And dead.
“Nikky!” I called out when I saw him. “Come on in, pal—I didn’t know you were now.”
That’s not a typo. That’s what I meant to say to him: that I hadn’t known, until then, that he was now. By which I meant, then.
You see, Nikky is well into his second lifetime, and completely unstuck from time…
No, there’s just no way to nutshell this one. A major digression is called for. But where to start?
***
I’ll make it as brief as I can. Nikola Tesla was born in 1856 (hang on, now), in a place called Smiljan, in what is now Croatia, and came to America to work for Tom Edison in 1884. Between then and 1943, he basically invented the twentieth century.
No exaggeration. His astonishing 112 patents—on such things as alternating current, the condenser, the transformer, the electric motor, the remote control, five different propulsion systems, radio (Marconi was kind of like Amerigo Vespucci: got his name on something he didn’t actually discover), the “and-gate” logic circuit, and all the essential components of a transistor—underlie most of what we now laughingly call civilization…and you’ll no doubt be stunned to hear that he got screwed out of most of the money and a lot of the credit.
He was also notoriously crazy as a fruit bat, the original template for the cliché of the wacky genius. He loved to hold lightning in his
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