Read Online The wrong end of time by John Brunner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Brunner
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brother"
"Shit, piss, and damnation," Lora said in a weary tone, and rolled off Danty, flinging her legs angrily to the floor. "No, I don't I'm not my brother's keeper, thank God"
The handsome man reddened, and Sheklov placed him; he'd been pointed out as a minister of religion. Powers? No, Powell, that was it: Maurice Powell.
"Hey, Don" Lora added, seeing that Shekldv was on the point of leaving the room. "Don't run off I"
Sheklov halted on the threshold. There was a pause. Eventually Powell gave an insincere grin and went out.
"Oh, that slug!" Lora said, falling back on the couch. Danty had twisted around into a sitting position and reached for a glass on a nearby table. "Put the lights down again, Don, and have a chair."
"I don't want to interrupt " Sheklov began.
"Zip it!" she interrupted with a harsh laugh. "That's one of his lines Know what he did to me, last party he came to here? Walked right into my bedroom where I was making out with somebody, sat down, and started playing with himself while he watched Christ, he makes my skin crawl"
She seized and lit a cigarette from the table.
"Still, as long as he knows you're in here, he won't come back. Or with luck he'll find Peter. Made for each other, those two. . . , Shit, I forgot. Danty, this is Don Holtzer."
"We almost met," Danty said with a crooked grin. "In the pic with Prexy."
"Yes, of course," Lora muttered. "Jesus, Danty, how does that hit you?"
"Like dry ice." Danty set his glass aside again. "You're from Canada, aren't you, Don?"
On edge for some indefinable reason-maybe because of the searching quality of the stare Danty had given him before-Sheklov nodded. "Yes, I'm in timber up there. Manitoba."
That much was absolutely safe to say. There were scores of Canadian firms ready to give Russian agents cover, and he had a genuine deal to conclude.
"I'd like to go north some time," Lora said. She realized that her left nipple was showing through one of the gaps in her dress, and tugged a lozenge of cloth back into place. "There's something rather cultural about Canada, I think."
Sheklov blinked, experiencing the sensation of being displaced backward in time more acutely than ever. How long since kulturny ceased to be a fad-word Back There? Ten years? Twenty?
"What makes you say that?" he inquired, honestly curious.
"Well-uh-its links with European tradition. Speaking French there, for one thing." Lora's answer had a seizing at-straws sound. "Mother's maid Estelle is from Montreal, and she speaks French. I think it's a romantic language."
Obviously, having recovered from her annoyance at failing to get all the way with Danty, she was sliding into a regular role. Now she added in a wistful tone. "I've often dreamed of standing on the Champs-Elys&s and watching the sun go down behind the Arc de Triumphal"
"You'd have a long wait," Danty said.
She glared at him. "Shit, you know what I mean!"
But Sheklov's nape had suddenly begun to prickle. Danty had uttered that statement with authority. And it was quite correct; if you were standing in the Champs-Elyses, the sun couldn't set behind the Arc de Triumphed. He said, before Lora could go on, "You've been there, have you?"
"How would I get a passport?" Danty grunted, and turned to his drink again.
Yet there had been assurance in his tone . . .
Still, Lora was talking again. "Have you traveled much, Don? It's easier for Canadians, isn't it?"
"Well, I guess so," Sheklov said, mentally reviewing Holtzer's life-story. "But me, I haven't been around too much. We're one of the few countries left with a frontier,
you know. Pushing north instead of west. That gives us a lot of elbow-room. So we-"
The door. which Powell had closed on leaving, slammed wide, and there in the opening was Peter. Obviously he had been drinking heavily; he was flushed and unsteady on his feet.
"Well, well" he exclaimed. "That's so sweet!
"Shit, piss, and damnation," Lora said in a weary tone, and rolled off Danty, flinging her legs angrily to the floor. "No, I don't I'm not my brother's keeper, thank God"
The handsome man reddened, and Sheklov placed him; he'd been pointed out as a minister of religion. Powers? No, Powell, that was it: Maurice Powell.
"Hey, Don" Lora added, seeing that Shekldv was on the point of leaving the room. "Don't run off I"
Sheklov halted on the threshold. There was a pause. Eventually Powell gave an insincere grin and went out.
"Oh, that slug!" Lora said, falling back on the couch. Danty had twisted around into a sitting position and reached for a glass on a nearby table. "Put the lights down again, Don, and have a chair."
"I don't want to interrupt " Sheklov began.
"Zip it!" she interrupted with a harsh laugh. "That's one of his lines Know what he did to me, last party he came to here? Walked right into my bedroom where I was making out with somebody, sat down, and started playing with himself while he watched Christ, he makes my skin crawl"
She seized and lit a cigarette from the table.
"Still, as long as he knows you're in here, he won't come back. Or with luck he'll find Peter. Made for each other, those two. . . , Shit, I forgot. Danty, this is Don Holtzer."
"We almost met," Danty said with a crooked grin. "In the pic with Prexy."
"Yes, of course," Lora muttered. "Jesus, Danty, how does that hit you?"
"Like dry ice." Danty set his glass aside again. "You're from Canada, aren't you, Don?"
On edge for some indefinable reason-maybe because of the searching quality of the stare Danty had given him before-Sheklov nodded. "Yes, I'm in timber up there. Manitoba."
That much was absolutely safe to say. There were scores of Canadian firms ready to give Russian agents cover, and he had a genuine deal to conclude.
"I'd like to go north some time," Lora said. She realized that her left nipple was showing through one of the gaps in her dress, and tugged a lozenge of cloth back into place. "There's something rather cultural about Canada, I think."
Sheklov blinked, experiencing the sensation of being displaced backward in time more acutely than ever. How long since kulturny ceased to be a fad-word Back There? Ten years? Twenty?
"What makes you say that?" he inquired, honestly curious.
"Well-uh-its links with European tradition. Speaking French there, for one thing." Lora's answer had a seizing at-straws sound. "Mother's maid Estelle is from Montreal, and she speaks French. I think it's a romantic language."
Obviously, having recovered from her annoyance at failing to get all the way with Danty, she was sliding into a regular role. Now she added in a wistful tone. "I've often dreamed of standing on the Champs-Elys&s and watching the sun go down behind the Arc de Triumphal"
"You'd have a long wait," Danty said.
She glared at him. "Shit, you know what I mean!"
But Sheklov's nape had suddenly begun to prickle. Danty had uttered that statement with authority. And it was quite correct; if you were standing in the Champs-Elyses, the sun couldn't set behind the Arc de Triumphed. He said, before Lora could go on, "You've been there, have you?"
"How would I get a passport?" Danty grunted, and turned to his drink again.
Yet there had been assurance in his tone . . .
Still, Lora was talking again. "Have you traveled much, Don? It's easier for Canadians, isn't it?"
"Well, I guess so," Sheklov said, mentally reviewing Holtzer's life-story. "But me, I haven't been around too much. We're one of the few countries left with a frontier,
you know. Pushing north instead of west. That gives us a lot of elbow-room. So we-"
The door. which Powell had closed on leaving, slammed wide, and there in the opening was Peter. Obviously he had been drinking heavily; he was flushed and unsteady on his feet.
"Well, well" he exclaimed. "That's so sweet!
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