thought that I was going through another refrigerator. At this point the sphere was about two yards in diameter. I was standing knee deep in sharp splinters of wood veneer, thankful for my leather pants and shit-kicker boots. The pops were coming every ten seconds and it was about five scoops before I realized what was happening. I was pitching people!
"Omigod," I said.
"You noticed," Hasenpfeffer said. "Don't let it throw you. We're almost to the end."
"But . . ."
"Hang on just a little longer, Tom. We can't save him, but maybe we can save his work."
The last hundred or so shells came in a long BBRRIIIP!
And then it was over.
I was dead tired and went over to the lawn, by Ian, who had rolled over on his side, and had his pants unzipped. I lay down upwind of him, because he was doing the vomit and urine routine. Forty ounces of sour mash is quite a bit for a little fellow who'd never been drunk before.
I guess I sacked out.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Venture
It was dusk when Hasenpfeffer shook me awake.
"Hey, Tom. Are you all right?"
"Huh? Yeah. I guess so."
"I just wanted to tell you that actually, we were able to salvage very little. Only the money, some wrecked circuits—that you may or may not be able to do something with—and this. It was the only piece of legible paper that I was able to save. Do you have any idea of what it is?"
I was feeling sort of woozy.
"Uh, sure. It's a circuit schematic."
"I deduced that. But does it mean anything to you?"
"Well, it's strange. He's got digital, analog and R-F components in the same circuit. Maybe I can figure it out. Later. Look, I don't feel so good."
"You don't look so good, either. I have already sent Ian for an ambulance. He said to tell you that alcohol is not a pain killer. It's a pain delayer and relocator."
"Uh, if Ian was all hung over, why didn't you go yourself?"
"Because I don't feel so good either."
Then for a while there my memory gets sort of spotty. It was a lot like when you're on a good drunk only without any of the fun involved.
Medical types were always waking me up to do something to me. Hauling me into an ambulance, out of an ambulance, into bed, out of bed. Asking weird questions I couldn't quite follow. Waking me up to get some more shots. Waking me up again to take my sleeping pills. I tell you that medics have less respect for your personal individuality than the average Air Force sergeant.
Eventually, the fog cleared some and Hasenpfeffer was leaning over me.
"Radiation sickness and some sort of chemical poisoning," Hasenpfeffer said. "You are going to be all right, but you came about as close to being dead as you could get."
"So, why didn't you get it, too?" I said.
"I did. But you spent much more time in the rubble than I. Ian was the least affected, due to his distance from the event and all that Jim Beam you poured into him. It seems that alcohol reduces the effects of radiation on the system."
"He poured it into himself. Look, where is Ian?"
"In his room. He still has difficulty getting around."
"Hey, I thought that you said he was okay."
"From the radiation," Hasenpfeffer said. "But that sand in his foot blocked off the blood supply to his toes. Gangrene. He lost half his right foot."
"Christ. We should have gotten him to the hospital sooner."
"Perhaps. But the doctors said that it wouldn't have helped any. There is no technique for pulling sand out of someone's foot when it didn't make a hole getting in there in the first place. No prior medical art."
"Shit. Uh, what about the money?"
"When it became obvious that we were having medical difficulties, I locked the money and the rest of our salvage into those detachable saddlebags of mine and hid them a few kilometers from the site. This was fortunate, because by morning the medical types had reported the radiation sickness and the place was crawling with government types."
"And the money?" I asked.
"Safe and sound. I picked it up this morning."
"Hey, great! What
"Omigod," I said.
"You noticed," Hasenpfeffer said. "Don't let it throw you. We're almost to the end."
"But . . ."
"Hang on just a little longer, Tom. We can't save him, but maybe we can save his work."
The last hundred or so shells came in a long BBRRIIIP!
And then it was over.
I was dead tired and went over to the lawn, by Ian, who had rolled over on his side, and had his pants unzipped. I lay down upwind of him, because he was doing the vomit and urine routine. Forty ounces of sour mash is quite a bit for a little fellow who'd never been drunk before.
I guess I sacked out.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Venture
It was dusk when Hasenpfeffer shook me awake.
"Hey, Tom. Are you all right?"
"Huh? Yeah. I guess so."
"I just wanted to tell you that actually, we were able to salvage very little. Only the money, some wrecked circuits—that you may or may not be able to do something with—and this. It was the only piece of legible paper that I was able to save. Do you have any idea of what it is?"
I was feeling sort of woozy.
"Uh, sure. It's a circuit schematic."
"I deduced that. But does it mean anything to you?"
"Well, it's strange. He's got digital, analog and R-F components in the same circuit. Maybe I can figure it out. Later. Look, I don't feel so good."
"You don't look so good, either. I have already sent Ian for an ambulance. He said to tell you that alcohol is not a pain killer. It's a pain delayer and relocator."
"Uh, if Ian was all hung over, why didn't you go yourself?"
"Because I don't feel so good either."
Then for a while there my memory gets sort of spotty. It was a lot like when you're on a good drunk only without any of the fun involved.
Medical types were always waking me up to do something to me. Hauling me into an ambulance, out of an ambulance, into bed, out of bed. Asking weird questions I couldn't quite follow. Waking me up to get some more shots. Waking me up again to take my sleeping pills. I tell you that medics have less respect for your personal individuality than the average Air Force sergeant.
Eventually, the fog cleared some and Hasenpfeffer was leaning over me.
"Radiation sickness and some sort of chemical poisoning," Hasenpfeffer said. "You are going to be all right, but you came about as close to being dead as you could get."
"So, why didn't you get it, too?" I said.
"I did. But you spent much more time in the rubble than I. Ian was the least affected, due to his distance from the event and all that Jim Beam you poured into him. It seems that alcohol reduces the effects of radiation on the system."
"He poured it into himself. Look, where is Ian?"
"In his room. He still has difficulty getting around."
"Hey, I thought that you said he was okay."
"From the radiation," Hasenpfeffer said. "But that sand in his foot blocked off the blood supply to his toes. Gangrene. He lost half his right foot."
"Christ. We should have gotten him to the hospital sooner."
"Perhaps. But the doctors said that it wouldn't have helped any. There is no technique for pulling sand out of someone's foot when it didn't make a hole getting in there in the first place. No prior medical art."
"Shit. Uh, what about the money?"
"When it became obvious that we were having medical difficulties, I locked the money and the rest of our salvage into those detachable saddlebags of mine and hid them a few kilometers from the site. This was fortunate, because by morning the medical types had reported the radiation sickness and the place was crawling with government types."
"And the money?" I asked.
"Safe and sound. I picked it up this morning."
"Hey, great! What
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