Turtledove, Harry - Colonization 03 - Aftershocks by Turtledove Harry

Author:Turtledove, Harry [Turtledove, Harry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf_fantasy
ISBN: 0345430212
Publisher: Del Rey
Published: 2001-07-15T04:00:00+00:00

12

David Goldfarb looked up from his work as Hal Walsh sauntered back into the Saskatchewan River Widget Works after going out for lunch. Goldfarb scratched his head. His boss was a high-pressure type if ever there was one. Up till the past couple of weeks, David had never seen him saunter; he’d moved everywhere as if he needed to get there day before yesterday. That dreamy look on his face was new, too.

Seeing it made a light bulb come on above Goldfarb’s head. “You went out to lunch with my doctor again.”

To his amazement, Walsh blushed like a schoolgirl. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I did,” he said. “Jane’s… quite something.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” Goldfarb said, most sincerely. “If I were ten, fifteen years younger and single, I’d give you a run for your money. Maybe even if I weren’t ten, fifteen years younger.”

“Next time I see Naomi, I’ll tell her you said that,” Walsh said.

“I’m allowed to look,” Goldfarb answered. “I’m allowed to think. I’m also allowed to keep my hands to myself if I want to keep them on the ends of my arms.”

“Sounds like a sensible arrangement,” his boss said. “Oh, and speaking of your hands, Jane asked me to ask you how your finger’s doing since she took out the stitches.”

After flexing the digit in question, David said, “It’s not half bad. Still a little sore, but not half bad.” He eyed Hal Walsh. “I gather she thinks you’ll have the chance to pass this on to her some time fairly soon?”

Sure as the devil, Walsh blushed again. “That’s right.” He coughed a couple of times, then went on, “You know, cutting that finger may have been the best thing you ever did for me.”

“I like that!” Goldfarb said in mock high dudgeon. “I like that quite a lot. Here I give you the phone-number reader, and what do I get credit for?” He grinned. “For working my finger to the bone, that’s what.” He held it up again.

Walsh groaned and held up a different finger. They both laughed. Jack Devereaux came into the office just then. He saw his boss’ upraised digit. “Same to you, Hal,” he said, and used the same gesture.

“You don’t even know why you did that,” Walsh said.

“Any excuse in a storm,” Devereaux answered.

“The RAF was never like this,” Goldfarb said. The only time he’d known anything even close to such informality in the RAF had been in the days when he was working under Group Captain Fred Hipple, desperately trying to learn all he could about Lizard radars and jet engines. He’d looked back fondly on those days-till Basil Roundbush, who’d worked with him then, came back into his life.

He hadn’t heard anything from Roundbush lately, or from any of Roundbush’s Canadian associates, either. Nor had anybody tried to kill him lately. He approved of that. He would have been hard pressed to think of anything he approved of more than not getting killed, in fact. He would have been happier still had he known Roundbush had given up for good.

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