Citizen in Spase. Stories / Гражданин в Космосе. Рассказы. Книга для чтения на английском языке

“If that’s how it is,” Goodman said glumly, “I certainly won’t stand in your way. I am a civilized being, after all. You may have a divorce.”

He folded his arms across his chest, feeling quite noble. But he was dimly aware that his decision stemmed not so much from nobility as from a sudden, violent distaste for all things Tranaian.

“We have no divorce on Tranai,” Rondo said.

“No?” Goodman felt a cold chill run down his spine.

A blaster appeared in Rondo’s hand. “It would be too unsettling, you know, if people were always swapping around. There’s only one way to change a marital status.”

“But this is revolting!” Goodman blurted, backing away. “It’s against all decency!”

“Not if the wife desires it. And that, by the by, is another excellent reason for keeping one’s spouse in stasis. Have I your permission, my dear?”

“Forgive me, Marvin,” Janna said. She closed her eyes. “Yes!”

Rondo leveled the blaster. Without a moment’s hesitation, Goodman dived head-first out the nearest window. Rondo’s shot fanned right over him.

“See here!” Rondo called. “Show some spirit, man. Stand up to it!”

Goodman had landed heavily on his shoulder. He was up at once, sprinting, and Rondo’s second shot scorched his arm. Then he ducked behind a house and was momentarily safe. He didn’t stop to think about it. Running for all he was worth, he headed for the spaceport.

Fortunately, a ship was preparing for blastoff and took him to G’moree. From there he wired to Tranai for his funds and bought passage to Higastomeritreia, where the authorities accused him of being a Ding spy. The charge couldn’t stick, since the Dingans were an amphibious race, and Goodman almost drowned proving to everyone’s satisfaction that he could breathe only air.

A drone transport[32]

took him to the double planet Mvanti, past Seves, Olgo and Mi. He hired a bush pilot to take him to Bellismoranti, where the influence of Terra began. From there, a local spaceline transported him past the Galactic Whirl and, after stopping at Oyster, Lekung, Pankang, Inchang and Machang, arrived at Tung-Bradar IV.

His money was now gone, but he was practically next door to Terra, as astronomical distances go. He was able to work his passage to Oume, and from Oume to Legis II. There the Interstellar Travelers Aid Society arranged a berth for him and at last he arrived back on Earth.

Goodman has settled down in Seakirk, New Jersey, where a man is perfectly safe as long as he pays his taxes. He holds the post of Chief Robotic Technician for the Seakirk Construction Corporation and has married a small, dark, quiet girl, who obviously adores him, although he rarely lets her out of the house.

He and old Captain Savage go frequently to Eddie’s Moonlight Bar, drink Tranai Specials, and talk of Tranai the Blessed, where The Way has been found and Man is no longer bound to The Wheel. On such occasions, Goodman complains of a touch of space malaria – because of it, he can never go back into space, can never return to Tranai.

There is always an admiring audience on these nights.

Goodman has recently organized, with Captain Savage’s help, the Seakirk League to Take the Vote from Women. They are its only members, but as Goodman puts it, when did that ever stop a crusader?

The Battle

Supreme General Fetterer barked “At ease!” as he hurried into the command room. Obediently, his three generals stood at ease.

“We haven’t much time,” Fetterer said, glancing at his watch. “We’ll go over the plan of battle again.”

He walked to the wall and unrolled a gigantic map of the Sahara Desert.

“According to our best theological information, Satan is going to present his forces at these coordinates.” He indicated the place with a blunt forefinger. “In the front rank there will be the devils, demons, succubi, incubi, and the rest of the ratings. Bael will command the right flank, Buer the left. His Satanic Majesty will hold the centre.”

“Rather medieval,” General Dell murmured.

General Fetterer’s aide came in, his face shining and happy with the thought of the Coming.

“Sir,” he said, “the priest is outside again.”

“Stand to attention, soldier,” Fetterer said sternly. “There’s still a battle to be fought and won.”

“Yes sir,” the aide said, and stood rigidly, some of the joy fading from his face.

“The priest, eh?” Supreme General Fetterer rubbed his fingers together thoughtfully. Ever since the Coming, since the knowledge of the imminent Last Battle, the religious workers of the world had made a complete nuisance of themselves. They had stopped their bickering, which was commendable. But now they were trying to run military business.

“Send him away,” Fetterer said. “He knows we’re planning Armageddon.”

“Yes sir,” the aide said. He saluted sharply, wheeled, and marched out.

“To go on,” Supreme General Fetterer said. “Behind Satan’s first line of defence will be the resurrected sinners, and various elemental forces of evil. The fallen angels will act as his bomber corps. Dell’s robot interceptors will meet them.”