Read Online L. Neil Smith - North American Confederacy 02 by Nagasaki Vector - Free Book Online Page B

second-century Republic, they’re all S&M bars.
    This Gracchus puts me in minda Denny Kent. We’re arguin’ sword-control; he says the Senate oughta decree anything shorter’n a cubit—'specially those cheap bronze Saturnalia Specials—gotta be confiscated, melted down, an' cast into the memorial likeness of his martyred brother, Tiberius.
    The Tribune’s scheme’d do away with 99 percent of all the gladii an’ spathae in the Eternal City. / wonder what he’d make of good ol' Bernardus Semiticus here, with a .45 caliber ballista tucked under his left armpit. I allow as how certain Greeks mighta thought well of his idea, an’ look how they finished up: servin us candied pheasant bladders.
    He gets sore, throws a buncha grapes at me. I jump up t’flatten his nose, an’ one of the slaves hollers “Bucketeers!" Nobody punches out a Tribune, says the night-court Quaestor. I wind up playin' seventh paddle in a trireme headed for the Cornish tin-mines and doubling on chains.
    —I woke up shivering and sweaty, trying to remember where I was. Brrrrl Been a long time since I had that one.
    Bernie’s Roman Holiday. Gotta take things slower; this havin’ seventeen adventures in thirty-six hours is for the young guys.
    I turned over in bed, reaching for the light-switch before I recalled that where I was now, all y’gotta do is ask: ‘‘Fiat lux!" I whispered, still in the mood of rny nightmare. And behold, there was Italian sportscar soap. Little section of the wall pretending to be a digital clock at the moment said it was 4:07 a.m.
    I thought back over the past several highly-perplexing hours.
    A rising moon had silvered the meadow; mingled hints of columbine and evergreen drifted on the breeze. The gorilla with the knapsack and pistol winked at me, squashing her concertina back together with a reedy moan and hooking its tiny brass latches. Suited me fine: “Lady of Spain” was never parta my Top 40. She put it on a rock, set paws on her hips, and regarded me and my three cowardly companions with critical amusement.
    “Well, aren’t you going to invite me to sit down? And I’d appreciate it if you’d tuck that little gun away before one of us gets hurt.” Not waiting for the invitation, she plunked herself on the ground—’bout Richter Force 5, I estimated—beside the fire.
    I bolstered the three-pound wedge of carbon steel I was used to thinking of as Jove’s Thunderbolt. “Beg your pardon, er, Miss. Bernard M. Gruenblum at your service.” I glared at the three miniature aliens concealing their pusillanimous selves behind me: “An’ these are my familiars, Color, Charm, and Chickenshii.” Charm peeked timidly around one of my knees, his eye twinkling in the firelight.
    “I’m Koko Featherstone-Haugh,” the gorilla answered with a seated curtsy. She pronounced the last name “Fan-shaw,” spelling it for me. “In case you’re interested, this is rny Uncle Olongo’s ranch you’re trespassing on. Got anything to cook over that fire? I’m famished!"
    For the first time since I’d landed here, the night-time sky was clear. Flames threw Koko’s dancing shadow across the clearing. I sorted dully through the pine needles and gravel that’d accumulated in my pockets.
    “Instant coffee, but nothin’ t’torture it in. We been kinda nibblin’ at it, the way a kid does Kool-Aid.” I shivered in the gathering mountain chill and turned my suit up another notch. “Tastes terrible.”
    “I can imagine!” The ape grinned, a fearsome sight if ever I witnessed one. She hadn’t really been talking all this time, I suddenly noticed. Her voice seemed to issue from an instrument strapped around her left wrist. “I’ve got a little pan here somewhere,” she offered pleasantly, shrugging out of her knapsack, “and even some more coffee. Also instant. I’m afraid. You say your little friends like it, too?”
    Now here was a scenario they hadn’t prepared us for in time-travel school: kaffeeklatsching