Short Stories by Robert A. Heinlein Vol 2 Part 153

But Howe was thinking aloud again.—"So be it; we are agreed." He looked at

Huxley. "Philip, will you accept the trust?"

"What?!!"

"You are Senior now—by common consent"

"But. . . but... I am not ready."

"We think so," answered Howe evenly. "Your talents are needed now. You will grow under responsibility."

—"Chin up, pal!" It was Coburn, in private message.

—"It's all right, Phil." Joan, that time.

For an instant he seemed to hear Ling's dry chuckle, his calm acceptance.

"I will try!" he answered.

On the last day of camp Joan sat with Mrs. Draper on a terrace of the Home on

Shasta, overlooking the valley. She sighed. Mrs. Draper looked up from her knitting and smiled. "Are you sad that the camp is over?"

"Oh, no! I'm glad it is."

"What is it, then?"

"I was just thinking . . . we go to all this effort and trouble to put on this camp. Then we have to fight to keep it safe. Tomorrow those boys go home—then they must be watched, each one of them, while they grow strong enough to protect themselves against all the evil things there are still in the world. Next year there will be another crop of boys, and then another, and then another. Isn't there any end to it?"

"Certainly there is an end to it. Don't you remember, in the ancient records, what became of the elders? When we have done what there is for us to do here, we move on to where there is more to do. The human race was not meant to stay here forever."

It still seems endless."

"It does, when you think of it that way, my dear, The way to make it seem short and interesting is to think about what you are going to do next. For example, what are you going to do next?"

"Me?" Joan looked perplexed. Her face cleared "Why . . . why I'm going to get married!"

"I thought so." Mrs. Draper's needles clicked away.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

"—and the Truth Shall Make You Free!"

THE GLOBE STILL SWUNG AROUND THE SUN. The seasons came and the seasons went. The sun still shone on the mountainsides, the hills were green, and the valleys lush. The river sought the bosom of the sea, then rode the cloud, and found the hills as rain. The cattle cropped in the brown plains, the fox stalked the hare through the brush. The tides answered the sway of the moon, and the gulls picked at the wet sand in the wake of the tide. The earth was fair and the earth was fall; it teemed with life, swarmed with life, overflowed with life—a stream in spate.

Nowhere was man. Seek the high hills; search him in the plains. Hunt for his spoor in the green jungles; call for him; shout for him. Follow where he has been in the bowels of the earth; plumb the dim deeps of the sea.

Man is gone; his house stands empty; the door open.

A great ape, with a brain too big for his need and a spirit that troubled him, left his tribe and sought the quiet of the high place that lay above the jungle.

He climbed it, hour after hour, urged on by a need that he half understood. He reached a resting place, high above the green trees of his home, higher than any of his tribe had ever climbed. There he found a broad flat stone, warm in the sun. He lay down upon it and slept. But his sleep was troubled. He dreamed strange dreams, unlike anything he knew. They woke him and left him with an aching head.

It would be many generations before one of his line could understand what was left there by those who had departed.

End.

MAGIC INC.

'Whose spells are you using, buddy?' That was the first thing this bird said after coming into my place of business, He had hung around maybe twenty minutes, until I was alone, looking at samples of waterproof pigment, fiddling with plumbing catalogues, and monkeying with the hardware display. I didn't like his manner. I don't mind a legitimate business inquiry from a customer_ but I resent gratuitus snooping.

Various of the local licensed pract.i.tioners of thaumaturgy,' I told him in a tone that was chilly but polite. Why do you ask?'

You didn't answer my question,' he pointed out. Come on - speak up. I ain't got all day.'

I restrained myself. I require my clerks to he polite, and, while I was pretty sure this chap would never be a customer, I didn't want to break my own rules.

If you are thinking of buying anything,' I said, I will be happy to tell you what magic, if any, is used in producing it, and who the magician is.

Now you're not being cooperative,' he complained. We like for people to be cooperative. You never can tell what bad luck you may run into not cooperating.'

Who d'you mean by we, I snapped, dropping all pretence of politeness, and what do you mean by bad luck?'

'Now we're getting somewhere,' he said with a nasty grin, and settled himself on the edge of the counter so that he breathed into my face He was short and swarthy - Sicilian, I judged and dressed in a suit that was overtailered. His clothes and haberdashery matched perfectly in a color scheme that I didn't like.

'I'll tell you what I mean by "we"; I'm a field representatve for an organisation that protects people. from bad luck - if they're smart, and cooperative. That's why I asked you whose charms you're usin'. Some of the magicians around here aren't cooperative; it spoils their luck, and that bad luck follows their products.

'Go on.' I said. I wanted him to commit himself as far as he would.

I knew you were smart,' he answered. F'rinstance - how would you like for a salamander to get loose in your shop, setting fire to your goods and maybe scaring your customers? Or you sell the materials to build a house, and it turns out there's a Poltergeist living in it, breaking the dishes and souring the milk and kicking the furniture around. That's what can come of dealing with the wrong magicians. A little of that and your business is ruined. We wouldn't want that to happen, would we?' He favoured me with another leer.

I said nothing; he went on, Now, we maintain a staff of the finest demonologists in the business, expert magicians themselves, who can report on how a magician conducts himself in the Half World, and whether or not he's likely to bring his clients bad luck. Then we advise our clients whom to deal with, and keep them from having bad luck. See?'

I saw all right. I wasn't born yesterday. The magicians I dealt with were local men that I had known for years, men with established reputations both here and in the Half World. They didn't do anything to stir up the elementals against them, and they did not have bad luck.

What this slimy item meant was that I should deal only with the magicians they selected at whatever fees they chose to set, and they would take a cut on the fees and also on the profits of my business. If I didn't choose to cooperate',

I'd be persecuted by elementals they had an arrangement with - renegades, probably, with human vices - my stock in trade spoiled and my customers frightened away. If I still held out, I could expect some really dangerous black magic that would injure or kill me. All this under the pretence of selling me protection from men I knew and liked.

A neat racket!

I had heard of something of the sort back East, but had not expected it in a city as small as ours. He sat there, smirking at me, waiting for my reply, and twisting his neck in his collar, which was too tight. That caused me to notice something. In spite of his foppish clothes a thread showed on his neck just above the collar in back. It seemed likely that it was there to support something next to his skin - an amulet. If so, he was superst.i.tious, even in this day and age.

There's something you've omitted,' I told him. I'm a seventh son, born under a caul, and I've got second sight. My luck's all right, but I can see bad luck hovering over you like cypress over a grave!' I reached out and s.n.a.t.c.hed at the thread. It snapped and came loose in my hand. There was an amulet on it, rght enough, an unsavoury little wad of nothing in particular and about as appetizing as the bottom of a bird cage. I dropped it on the floor and ground it into the dirt.

He had jumped off the counter and stood facing me, breathing hard. A knife showed up in his right hand; with his left hand he was warding off the evil eye, the first and little fingers pointed at me, making the horns of Asmodeus. I knew