s [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

you want?"
The grin got bigger. "I guess you'd call it nostalgia. Is that the right word? I'm kind of sentimental about
my Old Ones, since they sort of took care of me while I was growing up. I've been meaning to visit them
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ever since they were relocated here, but I've been so busy " He gave a winsome little shrug, to show
how busy he'd been.
Then he gazed benevolently around at the Old Ones. "Yes," he said, nodding, "I recognize several of
them, I think. Do you see how happy they are to see me?" Well, maybe they were. The one we called
Beautiful was jabbing a muddy thorn into the arm of her son, Gadget, to make one of their ugly tattoos.
Therest of them were afifty-fifty split, half looking at Beautiful,the other half at Wan. He didn't seem to
mind. He told me, "I've brought thorn some wonderful gifts." He jerked a thumb at his vehicle. "You
people better unload them. They've been in the car a while, and you need to get them into the ground as
soon as possible." And then he linked arms with a couple of the Old Ones, seemingly unaware of how
they smelled, and strolled off, leaving us to do his bidding.
III
There were about forty of the "gifts" that Wan had brought for his former family, and what they turned
out to be were little green seedlings in pressed-soil pots. Carlo looked at them, and then at me. "What
the hell are we supposed to do with those things?" he wanted to know.
"I'll ask," I said, and got on the line with Bertie ap Dora again.
"They're berry bushes," he told me, sounding defensive. "They're some kind of fruit the Old Ones had
growing wild when they were out there. They're supposed to love the berries. Actually, it's quite a
thoughtful gift, wouldn't you say?"
I wouldn't. I didn't. I said, "It would be a lot more thoughtful if he planted the damn things himself.
What's with this guy, anyway? Is he always like that?"
It was pretty much a rhetorical question, but Bertie chose to answer it. He took a moment to think first.
Then he said delicately, "Wan has done quite a few ah impulsivethings, now and then. Some of them
caused some trouble. Police trouble, even."
"You mean he's a criminal?"
"Oh, well," Bertie said dismissively, "never with any kind of real jail time. There wouldn't be, would
there? With the kind of lawyers his kind of money can buy?" Then he changed the subject. "One thing I
should tell you about. Those berry bushes are supposed to need quite a lot of water, so make sure you
plant them near the runoff from the drinking fountains, all right? And, listen, see if you can keep the
giraffes from eating the seedlings before they grow out."
"How are we supposed to do that?" I asked, but Bertie had already cut the connection. Naturally. He's
a boss. You know the story about the second lieutenant and the sergeant and the flagpole? There's this
eight-meter flagpole and the lieutenant only has six meters of rope. Big problem. How does the lieutenant
get the flagpole up?
Simple. The lieutenant says, "Sergeant, put that flagpole up," and goes off to have a beer at the officers'
club.
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As far as Bertie is concerned, I'm his sergeant. I don't have to be, though. Bertie keeps asking me to
conic in and take a job as a sector chief at the Nairobi office. There'd be more money, too, but then I'd
have to live-in the big city. Besides, that would mean I wouldn't be in direct contact with the Old Ones
anymore.
Everything considered, you might think that wouldn't sound so bad, but oh, hell, I admit it I knew I'd
miss every smelly, dumb-ass one of them. They weren't very bright and they weren't very clean, and most
of the time, although I liked them, I wasn't a bit sure that they liked me back. But they needed me.
By the time Wan had been with us for three days, we had got kind of used to having him around. We
didn't actually see a lot of him. Most of the daylight time he was off in his hover with a couple of the Old
Ones for company, feeding them ice-cream pops and lemonade out of his freezer things that really
weren't good for them but, I had to admit, wouldn't do them much harm once or twice in a lifetime. When
it got dark he was always back in the housing compound, but he didn't mingle with us rangers even then.
He stayed in his vehicle, watching soaps and cartoons again with a couple of Old Ones for company. He
slept in it, too.
When I finally asked Wan just how long he intended to be with us, he just gave me that grin again and
said, "Can't say, Gracie. I'm having fun."
"Don't call me Gracie," I said. But he had already turned his back on me to collect another handful of
Old Ones for a joyride.
Having fun seemed to be what Wan's life was all about. He'd already been all over the galaxy before he
came back to see us, flying around in his own private ship. (Did you get that? His own private ship!) He [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]