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As I came to that conclusion I saw a tiny network of cracks appear in the metal carapace. The whole construction grew by about a quarter of an inch. It was now more of a fine metal mesh than a seamless helmet.
This was commando stuff, I realized. Damage-control circuits were coming into play.
That's when I realized I wasn't going to kill him. Mainly, it was the conclusion that killing him would not further my cause in any way.
And he'd said he liked Sparky and His Gang.
For well over twenty years Brita
It was a voyage in both space and time, and don't ask me how they did it. I mean, the ship when under weigh always seemed to be making good speed, cutting smartly through the blue water, leaving a long, straight wake behind. It stood to reason that she was actually either tethered in place, or going in large circles, but you couldn't tell it by looking.
The trip started in Edo, in 1853, the year of the arrival of the Black Ships in the bay of what would become Tokyo. Passengers embarked after sampling the culture of feudal Japan, sailed out with magnificent Mount Fuji in the distance as Commodore Perry sailed in.
The next morning brought them to Tahiti in 1789—a very cute trick: two thousand leagues south by southwest, and sixty years into the past in about eighteen hours. Brita
From there the ship sailed for San Francisco, arriving in time for the earthquake of 1906.
I said the trip was triangular, and you might have noticed this triangle seemed to have four corners. No real mystery this time: San Francisco Bay was actually just a few miles on the other side of Fuji. During the night the ship was brought around through a tu
This schedule allowed Titanic and Olympic to follow at twenty-four hour intervals, which meant that every fourth day Pearl Harbor was spared, Frisco didn't burn, and the Clark Gable and Charles Laughton clones and all the other actors in the four locations got a day off. (Not the crews. We worked thirty days, then had a ten-day furlough.)
Not this time, though. My hiatus would last a bit longer, as I was about to bid an informal good-bye to Brita
It was not the first time I'd had to abandon a show in the middle of a run. In fact, thinking back, it had been some time since I'd been able to finish one. There'd been two more before my hasty departure from Brementon. I never felt good about it. The show must go on, don't you know. You hate to let your fellow troupers down. But there was no point in sticking around if you were about to be sent to jail, or the grave. Any way you looked at it, it was understudy time.
Dawn was just breaking as we rounded Diamond Head and steamed into Pearl Harbor. Just down the beach I could see rows of resort hotels that had not been there in 1941. Even at this hour I could see a few fanatics out in the water perched on fiberglass boards, engaging in a Hawaiian version of attempted suicide known as "surfing." I'd tried it my last time through. If God had intended me to surf, He'd have given me gills.
Disembarking was going to be something of a problem. If I waited until we tied up at the wharf, I'd be sure to encounter whoever Mr. Comfort had intended to meet. I felt I could elude him or them with a suitable disguise, but there was no good way to disguise the Pantechnicon, and somebody was bound to wonder why that odd-looking fellow was stealing my luggage. Embarrassing questions were sure to be asked, attracting unwanted attention.
That meant an unceremonious dunk in the drink. Even that presented problems. It would be a good idea not to be seen. With the Day of Infamy about to begin, the decks were jammed with spectators. My one lucky break was that the port side offered much the better view of the festivities, and the stewards had advertised that fact. That was also the side that would tie up to the dock after the show, so the crew preparing hatches and ramps were over there, too. I had found a big cargo hatch near the starboard bow and in the fifteen minutes I'd been standing there, watching the water flow by twenty feet beneath me, not a soul had come down the passageway. Until now.
"Good morning, Elwood," I said. He was ambling toward me, hands jammed down into his pockets, hat jammed down on his head. I hadn't seen much of him during the voyage. No doubt he was spending his time at the bar, telling his tall tales to anyone who would listen.
" 'Lo, Sparky," he drawled.
"Feel like a swim?" I asked him.
"No. No, I think I'll pass on that one." He leaned on the pole that blocked the open hatch door and gazed out at the gray Navy ships, dozens of them, clustered around the dry docks and repair yards of Keanapuaa. All the bigger ones, the behemoths, the battleships named after political divisions of the old United States, were on the port side.
"I looked in on that feller in your dressing room," he said.
"How's he doing?"
"Go
"That's what I thought, too."
He turned to squint up at me.
"Didja have to hit him so hard?"
"You didn't see the fight, Elwood."
"No, you're right. I didn't see it. He must have come at you really hard, for you to do that to him."
"Actually, he didn't come at me at all. He was just holding me at gunpoint."
He looked surprised. "You don't mean it. What was he, some sort of cop?"
"In a way. Private security."
He shook his head slowly and looked down at the water.
"It's usually not a good idea, beating a cop half to death."
"Didn't have much choice. He was going to kill me."
"He said that, did he?"
"Well, not in so many words."
He gave me another long look, and this time I looked away. Sometimes I wish Elwood would just go away. He's always second-guessing me.
"What did you want me to do?" I protested. "Wait around and see?"
"Now don't you get all excited. I'm just asking, that's all. I don't want to try to run your life for you."
"Sure you do."
"That's not true, Sparky. I'm just looking out for your welfare. If that man dies, you know good and well there'll be more trouble—"
"Getting killed isn't your idea of trouble?"
He looked me over again, then nodded. I was begi