Read Online Planet in Peril by John Christopher - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Christopher
Ads: Link
him, and he saw that there were straps by which he could fasten himself in. He couldn’t think why they should be needed.
He heard the usual mounting purr, and looked up to see the TV screen on the wall coming to life. A middle-aged man at a desk. A desk bare of anything that might identify it. And the man wore no managerial badge.
He was fat, red-faced, with a long thin nose and a remote sly look. He spoke with a slight lisp.
"How are you, Official Grayner ? Is there anything you need?”
Charles said: “Yes. Water, a pain-killer, and an explanation. In that order, if it doesn’t inconvenience you.”
The man nodded. He called, to someone out of camera range: “Water and neurasp for Official Grayner .” To Charles, he added: “You wouldn’t prefer brandy?”
“Water will do.”
“Let me introduce myself. My name is Ellecott .”
“Of…?”
Ellecot smiled; it was a dreamy unpleasant smile. “Don’t think I want to be awkward. But I would prefer it if you did not press that question—not right at the moment.”
The door opened. Charles went across and took a flask of water and two neurasp pills from a tall silent man, again unidentifiable as to managerial. He nodded to the figure in the screen. “Excuse me.” While he was taking the pills and drinking from the flask, the door closed again.
There was an almost immediate lifting of pain. Feeling a great deal more comfortable, Charles dragged the chair over to a position more directly facing the screen, and sat down.
“You were saying?”
Ellecott said: “Simply expressing a hope that you would not object to my retaining my incognito. In a delicate matter like this ... I’m sure you’ll understand.”
“I want to see Dinkuhl ,” Charles said.
Ellecott shrugged. “And if we haven’t got him?”
“Then get him. He was standing just outside the door when I passed out. I can’t believe you would have left him behind to use the story on KF.”
Ellecott shook his head with what seemed to be an attempt at roguishness. “ We’ll have to see what we can do. I don’t know what’s happened about Dinkuhl , but I’ll try to find out for you. Like to have TV while you wait? You must find it boring in there.”
There was one way of checking whether he was still on the North American continent, although he had no reason to think he wasn’t. He said casually:
“Thank you. Red League will do. Unless you can get me KF?”
“I believe ,” Ellecott said, “that KF is temporarily off transmission. Red League coming up.”
It was on the cards that Ellecott was telling the truth about KF—it was so much a one-man affair that Dinkuhl’s absence for more than twelve hours would probably knock it out. But in any case they would hardly have been likely to give him information that would tell him explicitly that he was or was not in the Detroit area. He found himself watching some sort of ceremony. On the screen serried ranks of men stood on a wide expanse of parade ground. At signals, blocks broke away and marched forward to salute the UC flag. That told him the date—November 21st. Graduation day. He watched the marching squads with something of nostalgia, something of pity. With the aid of Psycho and Med, their minds had been sifted, their psychoplans prepared. And so they advanced—Squads A and B destined for leadership, the administrators and rulers of the future—Squads C, D and E for research and development work—Squads F, G, H and I for foremen and generally supervisory jobs—and at the end all those other squads who were now embarking on an adult life of routine and security and Cosy Bright in steady doses. The workers. Charles watched the gaily-colored standard flap in a sharp northeasterly breeze. He had been a Squad D man. He wondered… Dinkuhl’s view that the managerial world was breaking down ... could the explanation lie somehow in these neat military formations and the billowing flag?
The screen clicked to emptiness, and then
He heard the usual mounting purr, and looked up to see the TV screen on the wall coming to life. A middle-aged man at a desk. A desk bare of anything that might identify it. And the man wore no managerial badge.
He was fat, red-faced, with a long thin nose and a remote sly look. He spoke with a slight lisp.
"How are you, Official Grayner ? Is there anything you need?”
Charles said: “Yes. Water, a pain-killer, and an explanation. In that order, if it doesn’t inconvenience you.”
The man nodded. He called, to someone out of camera range: “Water and neurasp for Official Grayner .” To Charles, he added: “You wouldn’t prefer brandy?”
“Water will do.”
“Let me introduce myself. My name is Ellecott .”
“Of…?”
Ellecot smiled; it was a dreamy unpleasant smile. “Don’t think I want to be awkward. But I would prefer it if you did not press that question—not right at the moment.”
The door opened. Charles went across and took a flask of water and two neurasp pills from a tall silent man, again unidentifiable as to managerial. He nodded to the figure in the screen. “Excuse me.” While he was taking the pills and drinking from the flask, the door closed again.
There was an almost immediate lifting of pain. Feeling a great deal more comfortable, Charles dragged the chair over to a position more directly facing the screen, and sat down.
“You were saying?”
Ellecott said: “Simply expressing a hope that you would not object to my retaining my incognito. In a delicate matter like this ... I’m sure you’ll understand.”
“I want to see Dinkuhl ,” Charles said.
Ellecott shrugged. “And if we haven’t got him?”
“Then get him. He was standing just outside the door when I passed out. I can’t believe you would have left him behind to use the story on KF.”
Ellecott shook his head with what seemed to be an attempt at roguishness. “ We’ll have to see what we can do. I don’t know what’s happened about Dinkuhl , but I’ll try to find out for you. Like to have TV while you wait? You must find it boring in there.”
There was one way of checking whether he was still on the North American continent, although he had no reason to think he wasn’t. He said casually:
“Thank you. Red League will do. Unless you can get me KF?”
“I believe ,” Ellecott said, “that KF is temporarily off transmission. Red League coming up.”
It was on the cards that Ellecott was telling the truth about KF—it was so much a one-man affair that Dinkuhl’s absence for more than twelve hours would probably knock it out. But in any case they would hardly have been likely to give him information that would tell him explicitly that he was or was not in the Detroit area. He found himself watching some sort of ceremony. On the screen serried ranks of men stood on a wide expanse of parade ground. At signals, blocks broke away and marched forward to salute the UC flag. That told him the date—November 21st. Graduation day. He watched the marching squads with something of nostalgia, something of pity. With the aid of Psycho and Med, their minds had been sifted, their psychoplans prepared. And so they advanced—Squads A and B destined for leadership, the administrators and rulers of the future—Squads C, D and E for research and development work—Squads F, G, H and I for foremen and generally supervisory jobs—and at the end all those other squads who were now embarking on an adult life of routine and security and Cosy Bright in steady doses. The workers. Charles watched the gaily-colored standard flap in a sharp northeasterly breeze. He had been a Squad D man. He wondered… Dinkuhl’s view that the managerial world was breaking down ... could the explanation lie somehow in these neat military formations and the billowing flag?
The screen clicked to emptiness, and then
Similar Books
