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in even small country or group, equals evil enough to damage entire world!"
"I'm ready for dessert," I said, gesturing to the waiters.
You would think that was a broad enough hint for any guest to take, especially
considering that they already knew we'd had a bad day, but Waithers was
obstinate. He lingered over dessert. He insisted on telling me his life's
story, and he kept looking at the waiters, and all in all I was getting quite
uncomfortable, not just in the belly.
Essie says I am not patient with people. Perhaps so. The friends I am most
comfortable interacting with are computer programs rather than flesh and
blood, and they don't have feelings to hurt-well, I'm not sure that's true for
Albert. But it is for, say, my secretarial program or my chef. It is certain
that I was getting impatient with Audee Walthers. His life had been a dull
soap opera. He had lost his wife and his savings. He had made unauthorized use
of equipment on the S. Ya. with Yee-xing's connivance and got her fired. He
had spent his last dime to get here to Rotterdam, reason not specified, but
clearly it had something to do with me.
Well, I am not unwilling to "loan" money to a friend down on his luck but,
see, I was in no mood. It was not just the fright over Essie or the screwed-up
day, or the nagging worry about whether the next nut with a gun would actually
get me. there was my damned gut giving me fits. At last I told the waiters to
clear off, though Walthers was still lingering over his fourth cup of coffee.
I stomped over to the table with the liqueurs and cigars and glowered at him
as he followed. "What is it, Audee?" I said, no longer polite. "Money? How
much do you need?"
And I got such a look from him! He hesitated, watching while the last of the
waiters filed out through the pantry, and then he let me have it. "It isn't
what I need," he said, his voice trembling, "it's what you're willing to pay
for something you want. You're a real rich man, Broadhead. Maybe you don't
worry about people who stick their asses in a crack for you, but I made the
mistake of doing it twice."
I don't like being reminded I owe a favor, either, but I didn't get a chance
to say anything. Janie Yee-xing put her hand on his bad wrist- gently. "Just
tell him what you've got," she ordered.
"Tell me what?" I demanded, and the son of a gun shrugged and said, the way
you might tell me you'd found my car keys on the floor:
"Why, tell you that I've found what I think is a real, live Heechee."
12
God and the Heechee
I found a Heechee . . . I've got a fragment of the True Cross . . . I talked
with God, literally I did-those statements are all in the same league. You
don't believe them, but they scare you. And then, if you find they're true, or
if you can't be sure they're not-then it's miracle time, and scared-to-death
time. God and the Heechee. When I was a kid I didn't distinguish greatly
between them, and even as a grownup the confusion was still there.
It was past midnight when I was finally willing to let them go. By then I'd
sucked them dry. I had the datafan they'd swiped from the £ Ya~ I had brought
Albert in on the discussion to ask all the questions his fertile digital mind
could invent. I was feeling pretty rotten and frayed, and the analgesia had
long worn off, but I couldn't go to sleep. Essie announced firmly that if I
was determined to kill self with overexertion she was at least going to stay
up to enjoy spectacle, and as soon as she was gently snoring on the couch I
called Albert again. "One financial detail," I said.
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"Walthers said he'd passed up a million-dollar bonus to give this to me, so
transfer, ah, two million to his account right away."
"Certainly, Robin." Albert Einstein never gets sleepy, but when he wants to
indicate that it's past my bedtime he is perfectly capable of yawning and
stretching. "I should remind you, though, that the state of your health-"
I told him what he could do with the state of my health. Then I told him what
he could do with his idea of putting me in the hospital the next day. He
spread his hands gracefully. "You're the boss, Robin," he said humbly. "Still,
I've been thinking."
It is not true that Albert Einstein does not spend any time thinking. Since he
moves at nuclear-particle speeds, however, the time involved is not usually
perceptible to flesh-and-blood human beings like myself. Unless he wants it to
be, usually for dramatic effect. "Spit it out, Albert."
He shrugged. "It is only that in your precarious health, I do not like to see
you excited without reason."
"Reason! Jesus, Albert, sometimes you really act like a dumb machine. What
more reason could anybody have than finding a living Heechee?"
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