Read Online The Forever Man by Gordon R. Dickson - Free Book Online Page B

realized it was out there—which was earlier than he could remember. All his life had pointed him at it. It was his arena in which he could do something… something of lasting effect. What he would do and how he would do it, he had no idea. But he was like someone who dreams of a much-wanted place, in a mountain so far off it was like a blue cloud on the horizon of his babyhood, but always there, day after day. And one day he had started to walk toward that mountain.
    He had had no idea what roads led to it, what waited for him along the way, or how he would find his path and keep from going astray. But he had been determined to keep heading toward it until he reached it; and then he was determined to find on it the place of which he dreamed. It was a case of just always going forward. That way he could never go wrong because all roads led there eventually. All roads, in fact, were one road as long as he kept searching—the Forever Road, he had named it in his mind.
    So, he left the resort one morning and went back to the Base, to his duty station, in the mountains outside Denver. When he checked into the Bachelor Officers’ Quarters, he found a phone message waiting for him from General Mollen.
    â€œAs soon as you get in, call me,” the message read.
    He did so, and, after a certain length of time got put through to the general.
    â€œWell,” said Mollen, “and how was the fishing?”
    â€œGood, sir,” said Jim. “I meant to stay longer, but I found I got filled up sooner than I thought, on time off. I want to get back to work.”
    â€œGlad to hear it,” said Mollen. “And I want to talk to you about that. So why don’t we have dinner at the Officers’ Club tonight?”
    What does a major say when a general invites him to dinner?
    â€œThank you, sir. I’d appreciate that. When, sir?”
    â€œNineteen hundred hours. Meet you in the bar.”
    â€œYes sir. Thank you.”
    Jim had bet himself that the general would be at least fifteen minutes, and perhaps as much as an hour, late. But he, himself, was at the Officers’ Club fifteen minutes ahead of the time set, just to be on the safe side. It was a busy part of the day for the bar, and the lounge which held it was full. Jim was lucky enough to get a stool on the curve of the horseshoe-shaped bar that was farthest from the lounge entrance, from which he faced not only that entrance, but beyond it the front door of the Club.
    â€œGood to see you again, Major,” said the sergeant on duty behind the bar.
    â€œYou, too, Lee,” answered Jim. They knew each other; but that particular verbal exchange was routine between the barman and anyone who flew the Frontier, since none of the pilots who did that ever knew for sure that they would see the Club again.
    â€œGinger ale,” said Jim. “On the rocks.”
    â€œComing right up, sir.”
    Jim sat, sipping the ginger ale, and watching the entrances to the Club and the lounge, for Mollen. Jeremy Tickler, who also captained a Wing on the Frontier and had gone through final training with Jim, came by. They fell into shoptalk.
    But it was at exactly 1900 hours that the entrance door opened and Mollen came through.
    â€œâ€”Excuse me, Tick,” said Jim, interrupting the other. “Here he is now. I’ll see you again, soon.”
    â€œWe shall wish,” said Tickler, who was a little drunk, but who had been told by Jim about the latter’s dinner with the general. Tickler lifted his glass to Jim as Jim departed to intercept Mollen.
    He caught the general just outside the door of the lounge.
    â€œOh, you’re already here. Good,” said Mollen, changing direction. “In that case, let’s go right into the dining room.”
    He led the way to the dining room entrance, where the mess attendant on duty took them to the quiet table in a corner that was of course waiting for the general and his