Read Online Inferno by Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle
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supervisor?”
The clerk stared at Benito. “Mrs. Playfair, formally a postmistress. But—”
“Oh, my,” said Benito. “I won’t be able to help you after all. It would do no good to give the report to her .”
The clerk was unsettled. “Why not, sir?” The “sir” wasn’t a curse any longer.
“I am not permitted to say.”
“Ah. You mean—” He gulped. Whatever he imagined was going to happen to Mrs. Playfair worried him excessively. “But what will happen to her people? What will become of me ?”
Benito looked crestfallen. “You know the rules—”
“But I’ve done everything properly ! My files are in perfect order—oh dear, oh dear, I told her she shouldn’t have let that man in the records room, I told her he wasn’t properly credentialed, I told her! It was all her fault, I told her . . . my files are in perfect order. And they won’t even look at them, they’ll just—” He was actually wringing his hands as he looked around his office at his desk and files.
Benito frowned. “It would be a waste to have you in the boiling pitch—”
“IN THE PITCH!” the clerk screamed.
“Are you certain your files are in perfect order?” Benito demanded.
“Of course they are! Here, you can see for yourself.” He did something that opened the gate.
Benito and I crowded in. Benito took down a volume of the rule book and leafed through it. “Keep this up to date, do you? All revisions in place as they come in? Where are your unfiled revision sheets?”
“There are none,” the clerk said primly.
“Hmmm.” Benito lifted the forms on the clerk’s desk. “ This is not in order!” He leafed through quickly.
“But I hadn’t checked the seventh copy yet!” the clerk moaned. “I was doing that when you interrupted me! You can’t report me for that, I was trying to give you service, and—”
Benito handed the forms back. The clerk looked through and extracted a bulky set. There was pencil all over the first six pages, then the writing medium changed to something darker. Benito looked at it curiously. “This is hardly legible.”
“He used up his pencil,” the clerk said. “Volume four, page ninety-eight, paragraph six, states that no one applicant can have more than one pencil. So I made him fill it out with something else. He used blood.”
“His own?” I asked.
“Where else would he get blood?” The clerk turned to Benito. “Who is this man?”
“In my custody. Witness. Not your case, don’t worry about it.” He handed back the forms. “This seems to be in order.”
“Thank you.” There was relief all over the clerk’s face.
“One item was very difficult to read. You should be more careful next time.”
“Yes, sir. Certainly, sir. Are you finished with it?”
Benito nodded. The clerk took the form—copy seven of nine copies—and tossed it into a wastebasket in the corner. It burst into flames. I started. A man had used his own blood to fill that out? I glanced at the forms the clerk handed us.
Sure enough, at the top of copy seven, it said “ DESTROY .” Copy eight went to “ APPLICANT ” and copy nine was “ TO BE ROUTED TO THE STATISTICAL SECTION .”
“What will be the charges against Mrs. Playfair?” the clerk asked, his voice low and confidential.
Benito frowned. “I understand there are shortages in uniforms and supply—”
“But we don’t have anything to do with that.”
“Precisely,” Benito said knowingly. Comprehension dawned on the clerk’s face. He nodded.
“We’re going to check that now,” Benito said. “Keep up the good work, uh—”
“MacMurdo. Vincent MacMurdo. You’ll remember?”
“Certainly.” Benito opened the inner door and held it for me. I went through, trying not to hurry.
10
B
enito followed and closed the door behind him. I slumped against the wall, convulsed by silent laughter.
I jumped away fast. The wall was burning hot. I smelled scorched cloth. Another second and I’d have had a bad
The clerk stared at Benito. “Mrs. Playfair, formally a postmistress. But—”
“Oh, my,” said Benito. “I won’t be able to help you after all. It would do no good to give the report to her .”
The clerk was unsettled. “Why not, sir?” The “sir” wasn’t a curse any longer.
“I am not permitted to say.”
“Ah. You mean—” He gulped. Whatever he imagined was going to happen to Mrs. Playfair worried him excessively. “But what will happen to her people? What will become of me ?”
Benito looked crestfallen. “You know the rules—”
“But I’ve done everything properly ! My files are in perfect order—oh dear, oh dear, I told her she shouldn’t have let that man in the records room, I told her he wasn’t properly credentialed, I told her! It was all her fault, I told her . . . my files are in perfect order. And they won’t even look at them, they’ll just—” He was actually wringing his hands as he looked around his office at his desk and files.
Benito frowned. “It would be a waste to have you in the boiling pitch—”
“IN THE PITCH!” the clerk screamed.
“Are you certain your files are in perfect order?” Benito demanded.
“Of course they are! Here, you can see for yourself.” He did something that opened the gate.
Benito and I crowded in. Benito took down a volume of the rule book and leafed through it. “Keep this up to date, do you? All revisions in place as they come in? Where are your unfiled revision sheets?”
“There are none,” the clerk said primly.
“Hmmm.” Benito lifted the forms on the clerk’s desk. “ This is not in order!” He leafed through quickly.
“But I hadn’t checked the seventh copy yet!” the clerk moaned. “I was doing that when you interrupted me! You can’t report me for that, I was trying to give you service, and—”
Benito handed the forms back. The clerk looked through and extracted a bulky set. There was pencil all over the first six pages, then the writing medium changed to something darker. Benito looked at it curiously. “This is hardly legible.”
“He used up his pencil,” the clerk said. “Volume four, page ninety-eight, paragraph six, states that no one applicant can have more than one pencil. So I made him fill it out with something else. He used blood.”
“His own?” I asked.
“Where else would he get blood?” The clerk turned to Benito. “Who is this man?”
“In my custody. Witness. Not your case, don’t worry about it.” He handed back the forms. “This seems to be in order.”
“Thank you.” There was relief all over the clerk’s face.
“One item was very difficult to read. You should be more careful next time.”
“Yes, sir. Certainly, sir. Are you finished with it?”
Benito nodded. The clerk took the form—copy seven of nine copies—and tossed it into a wastebasket in the corner. It burst into flames. I started. A man had used his own blood to fill that out? I glanced at the forms the clerk handed us.
Sure enough, at the top of copy seven, it said “ DESTROY .” Copy eight went to “ APPLICANT ” and copy nine was “ TO BE ROUTED TO THE STATISTICAL SECTION .”
“What will be the charges against Mrs. Playfair?” the clerk asked, his voice low and confidential.
Benito frowned. “I understand there are shortages in uniforms and supply—”
“But we don’t have anything to do with that.”
“Precisely,” Benito said knowingly. Comprehension dawned on the clerk’s face. He nodded.
“We’re going to check that now,” Benito said. “Keep up the good work, uh—”
“MacMurdo. Vincent MacMurdo. You’ll remember?”
“Certainly.” Benito opened the inner door and held it for me. I went through, trying not to hurry.
10
B
enito followed and closed the door behind him. I slumped against the wall, convulsed by silent laughter.
I jumped away fast. The wall was burning hot. I smelled scorched cloth. Another second and I’d have had a bad
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