Five to Twelve Read Online Free PDF

apparently from nowhere and brought it down forcibly on the back of Dion’s skull. The world exploded, and he fell soundlessly to the floor.
    “Good night, sweet prince,” said No Name gently. “The sentiment may be sublime, but a fracas is definitely bad for trade.”
    Everybody laughed, and drinks appeared on the bar as if by magic.
    Eventually, since Dion perversely refused to return to consciousness, No Name called for an ambulance.

Six

    T HE domdoc looked down at him disapprovingly. “Making inflammatory statements, creating a fracas, assaulting citizens with bric-à-brac and felonious intent—you’ve had quite a concerto, haven’t you?”
    “Who neutralized me?” asked Dion, sitting up in bed too rapidly, then lying down again as the throbbing started.
    “The bartender,” said the domdoc, “in a moment of divine afflatus. He possibly saved you from racism, first degree murder and a grade one. Give the man a cigar.”
    “How fares the target area?” Dion felt his head gingerly. There was one hell of a bump.
    “You’ll live,” said the domdoc despondently. “Regrettable, but someone up in orbit has an addiction for mysterious ways… You’re a critical mess, Dion Quern. I’ve checked your heart, brain and record. You were born for a grade one; if not now, then before you run out of time-shot programme.”
    “Get stuffed.”
    “Playback?”
    “Get stuffed. It’s an archaic exhortation,” he explained patiently. “It suggests that the addressee should have recourse to a phallic symbol.”
    She frowned. “You offering?”
    “With concussion and a hangover? It would be unethical.”
    “I see… Well, my clever little sport, it depends on mewhether you are recommended for treatment or not. I shall think about it—while looking for a phallic symbol.”
    “Squire,” he corrected gently. “I’ve been downgraded to respectability.”
    She raised her eyebrows. “Who the Stopes would be so sickinky?”
    “Juno Locke, Peace Officer, London Seven.”
    The eyebrows receded further. “Elaborate hoaxwise?”
    “Sorry to disappoint. Quasi-legit. Suck it and see.”
    “It isn’t registered.”
    “You’re so right. Informal, recent and definitely protem.”
    The domdoc sighed. “I’ll call her and see if she wishes to claim the body. Stopes help you, if negative. I wouldn’t offer you squiredom if you were the last man with a Y-chromosome.”
    “We all have our funny little ways,” conceded Dion. “For the great non-love you bear me, please make the call.”
    “I’ll be back,” said the domdoc. “If it fits, you can be out of hospital pronto. If it doesn’t fit, we may even have to get acquainted.” Surprisingly, she smiled. “Incidentally, don’t try the window. It’s laser linked. I’m sure you wouldn’t like a nasty blister on your psyche, would you?”
    “I wouldn’t know,” responded Dion. “There is a death-wish that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will.”
    The domdoc, brightly efficient and on the right side of her century, departed from the room. She returned in a couple of minutes.
    “You’re so right. Juno Locke, Peace Officer, London Seven. Now will I believe in Father Green Shield.”

Seven

    F ROM the balcony, Juno gazed out over London. It was a warm, sunny afternoon. Half a mile below, autumn leaves were spiralling gently down to earth from colonies of semi-disrobed trees. The blue sky, though slashed with vapour trails and occasionally outraged by the dull distant crack of a strato-rocket on re-entry, was hung with a sad and tranquil blueness. To the east, it was possible to see where the great snake of the Thames became lost in the bleak stretches of the North Sea.
    Sitting in the comparative darkness of the room, Dion looked out through the french window at Juno. She was wearing a blue and white sari. The blue matched the sky; the white matched the vapour trails. He was intensely interested in whether it was by accident or by design.
    Juno turned