Cemetery World by Clifford D. Simak

Author:Clifford D. Simak [Simak, Clifford D.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, General, Fantasy, Science Fiction - General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780881849851
Publisher: Carroll & Graf Pub
Published: 2010-04-30T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

But it wasn’t just meanness.

They had reason to want no one knowing what was in the bales and boxes.

The first bale, when we ripped it open, contained metal, crudely cut into plates, apparently with chisels.

Elmer picked up two of the plates and banged them together, “Steel,” he said, “plated with bronze. I wonder where they’d get stuff like this.”

But even before he got through saying it, he knew, and so did I. He looked at me and saw I knew, or guessed, and said, “It’s casket metal, Fletch.”

We stood around and looked at it, with Bronco back of us, looking over our shoulders. Elmer dropped the two pieces he’d been holding.

“I’ll go back and get the tools,” he said, “and we’ll get to work on Bronco. We have to get out of here sooner than I thought.”

We got to work, using the tools that Elmer had taken from the tool shack back at the settlement. One leg we fixed up with little effort, straightening it and hammering it out and slipping it back into place so that it worked as good as new. The second leg gave us some trouble.

“How long do you think this might have been going on?” I asked as we worked. “This robbing of the Cemetery. Certainly Cemetery must know about it.”

“Perhaps they do,” said Elmer, “but what can they do about it and why should they care? If someone wants to do some genteel grave-robbing, what difference does it make? Just so they do it where it doesn’t show too much.”

“But they would surely notice. They keep the Cemetery trimmed and …”

“Where it can be seen,” said Elmer. “I’ll lay you a bet there are places where there is no care at all—places that visitors never are allowed to see.”

“But if someone comes to visit a certain grave?”

“They’d know about it ahead of time. They’d know the names on any Pilgrim passenger list—the names and where the passengers were from. They’d have time to put on a crash program, getting any sector of the Cemetery cleaned up. Or maybe they wouldn’t even have to. Maybe they’d simply switch a few headstones or markers and who would know the difference?”

Cynthia had been cooking at the fire. Now she came over to us. “Could I use this for a minute?” she asked, picking up a pinch bar.

“Sure, we’re through with it,” said Elmer. “We’ve almost got old Bronco here as good as new. What do you want with it?”

“I thought I’d open up one of the boxes.”

“No need to,” Elmer said. “We know what they were carrying. It’ll just be more metal.”

“I don’t care,” said Cynthia. “I would like to see.”

It was growing light. The sun was brightening the eastern sky and would soon be rising. Birds, which had begun their twittering as soon as the darkness of the night had started to fade, now were flying and hopping in the trees. One bird, big and blue and with a topknot, moved nervously about, screeching at us.

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