Alexei Panshin by New Celebrations

Author:New Celebrations [Celebrations, New]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-01-29T23:58:38+00:00

Admiral Beagle arrived on Binkin Island in the afternoon shuttle from Pewamo Central. There were other passengers—women returning from a day in the metropolis, two men in I.S. uniforms, a young fellow buried determinedly in a book, a handsome silver-haired man—but the Admiral paid them no attention. He spent his time profitably by making difficult decisions. They had been difficult for his subordinates; they were not difficult for him. More than once he wielded his red X with exasperation that anyone could fail to see such obvious unacceptability.

When the ship landed, he closed his case, looked at the women with a suspicion which was returned, and strode out into the slow mellow glow of late afternoon sunshine. The wind raised dust whorls that danced in golden showers. The Admiral should have stopped to watch, but didn’t.

The landing field was bounded by farms and the headquarters of the Development Area. The women set out briskly for home. The silver-haired man and the men in I.S. uniform went into the main building of the Development Area. The young man headed for the racks of rental bicycles by the landing field gate. The Admiral looked about for more acceptable transportation and, seeing none, at last went himself into the main building.

The silver-haired man was saying, “Thank you. And I apprehend I may rent a bicycle without?”

“That is correct, sir.”

Admiral Beagle said, “I am Admiral Beagle.”

“Yes, sir. May I help you?”

“I wish transportation to Green Mountain Resort.”

“If you go out to the main road, Green Mountain is a mile to the right. If you go left, it’s on the order of ninety miles. You can walk the distance or ride a bicycle.”

“Sir!”

“I’m sorry. There’s no other transportation on Binkin Island. If you want to call Green Mountain, they’ll send a pedicab down, but it will take an hour. Perhaps more.”

“Have you no official vehicles?”

“Yes, sir, but they’re not available for private use.”

“This is scarcely the attitude I expect to encounter, young man. I’m no ordinary private citizen. I am Admiral Beagle.”

“Sir, I know who you are, but I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

This was the excuse for a tantrum that relieved the ill humours of travel and restored the red in the Admiral’s cheeks. It did not, however, gain him the use of an official vehicle. He compromised by taking the name of the polite young man at the Information Desk.

The polite young man at the Information Desk waited until the Admiral’s back was turned and then he put a hand beside his mouth and said, “Old Leadhead,” in an insistent voice.

That had been the Admiral’s Navy nickname, bestowed on him by unloving subordinates. The Admiral whirled around but the young man had his head in a drawer.

The Admiral found the road and signs pointing to Green Mountain and to the various camping areas. He was not about to learn to ride a bicycle, so he began walking, adding this indignity to his nephew’s account. Not by the ear, by the nose.

Whoever had banned

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