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Updated: May 6, 2025
But the captain'd told him to stay with Ray He dropped the weighted hose. "What's the matter, Doug?" the boy asked. "Pick it up and let's get going." He shook his head. "Can't. The captain told me I had to take care of you." The boy opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and thought for a moment. Then he asked: "Doug, didn't Captain Prestonby tell you to stay with me?" "Yes " "All right.
"Wantta bet one of those little cherubs doesn't try to scalp another before the day's out?" Yetsko whispered. Prestonby shook his head. "No bet. Remember that film on the Spanish Inquisition, that we had to discontinue?" It was then that the light on the classroom screen, which had been flickering green and white, suddenly began flashing Prestonby's wanted-at-office signal.
A couple of men in the maroon uniform of Pelton's store police were waiting as Prestonby's 'copter landed on the top stage; one of them touched his cap-visor with his gas-billy in salute and said: "Literate Prestonby? Miss Pelton is expecting you; she's in her father's office. This way, if you please, sir."
He needed a shave Yetsko always did, in the mornings and in his leather Literates' guard uniform, he looked like some ogreish giant out of the mythology of the past. "I was glad to have you up there with the Big Noise, this morning," Prestonby said. "What a mob! I'm still trying to figure out why we have such an attendance." "Don't you get it, captain?"
Even Lancedale couldn't have survived such an explosion, and the body of Literate First Class Ralph N. Prestonby would have been found in a vacant lot the next morning. Even many of Lancedale's supporters would have turned on him in anger at this sudden blow to the Fraternities' monopoly of the printed Word.
The boy, having come out of the excitement of battle, was looking around at the litter of dead and wounded on the blood-splashed floor. His eyes widened, and he gulped. Then, carefully setting the safety of his burp gun and slinging it, he went over and leaned against the wall, and was sick. Prestonby, with Claire Pelton beside him, started toward the white-faced, retching boy.
Prestonby and Claire, like a pair of marionettes on the same set of strings, cast a quick glance at the door and then were in each other's arms. Chester Pelton slept placidly as they kissed and whispered endearments. It was Claire who terminated the embrace, looking apprehensively at her slumbering father. "Ralph, what's it all about?" she asked.
"You say Claire's alone at the store with her father?" "And a couple of store cops, sterling characters with the hearts of lions and the brains of goldfish," Cardon replied. "And Russ Latterman, and maybe four or five Conservative goons he's managed to infiltrate into the store." Prestonby was still thinking, aloud, now. "Maybe they did mean to kill Pelton; in that case, they'll try again.
Prestonby got to his feet, went to his desk, and picked up a pipe, digging out the ashes from the bowl with an ice pick that one of the teachers had taken from a sixteen-year-old would-be murderer. He checked his tablet gun, made sure that there was an extra loaded clip in the holster, and got two more spare clips from the arms locker.
"Not that we care what happens to Chester Pelton, but we have to protect our own people at the store." "Yes, of course," Prestonby agreed. "Come in on our north stage. You'll probably find a fight going on on our twelfth floor, just inside. Anybody who's trying to get up the escalators to the office block will be an enemy." "Right. We're halfway there now."
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