Killing Time Read Online Free PDF Page A

"You—you're dead!"
    "Not so dead as all
that," Fouché answered with a gruff laugh. "A necessary ruse to
explain my sudden disappearance. My work with Malcolm and Larissa was becoming
quite exclusive, and uncomfortable questions were being asked—"
    "All right, gentlemen,"
Larissa said. "You'll have time for mutual admiration later. Right now
we'd better be on our collective toes." The others nodded and began to
move purposefully away. "Prep the turret, Eli!" Larissa called after
them. "I'll be right up! Leon—we'll want full power for combat
maneuvers!"
    Leon Tarbell's head reappeared
for an instant. " 'Combat,' Larissa?" he asked with a knowing look.
"Don't you mean evasive maneuvers?"
    Larissa smiled deviously, and
then Tarbell dashed off, looking for all the world like one of Satan's merrier
minions.
    As the men moved to attend to
their tasks, each of them began shouting orders and answers, the whole
producing an excited and exciting chorus such as might have accompanied the
launch of an old seafaring ship. I turned when I heard a slight hissing noise
and saw the doorway through which we'd jumped being sealed from above by a
hatch that moved quite smoothly, especially given its considerable speed. Once
it was in place, some gentle lights came up along the base of the corridor,
revealing a surprising sight: rather than the usual plastic and polished metal
that one was accustomed to finding in high-tech environments, the walls of the
passageways were lined with fine wood paneling, and in every third or fourth
panel hung a small painting, elegantly framed and subtly lit.
    My mouth fell open.
"Beautiful," I whispered.
    "Thank you, Doctor,"
Larissa answered in a charmingly self-involved way, looking down and running
her hands along her hips and thighs. Her face dropped a bit when she glanced up
and saw what I meant. "Oh. The ship.'" She took my hand again,
and we started down the corridor. "Yes, that's Malcolm for you—he adores the incongruous."
    "You're not exactly
what I would have expected either, Larissa— that is, if I may call you—"
    "You may," she
answered, striding purposefully along. "Larissa Tressalian, to be exact.
You may also remark on the lovely sibilance of the name, through I warn you,
it's a pretty stale line." For an instant I attempted to determine why
her name, while indeed pretty, had a familiar ring to it; but then I was
distracted when she touched the collar of her bodysuit with her free hand,
indicating that she was receiving another communication. "Yes, brother
dear? ... Yes, I'm just taking him to his quarters to—freshen up ..." She
looked at me in a way that seemed more than a little suggestive; then she
suddenly turned away, standing still. "Where? ... Land and air units? ...
All right, I'm on my way to the turret." When Larissa looked at me again
her expression had changed: the coy cat had become a gleeful predator.
"Freshening up will have to wait, I'm afraid, Doctor." She gripped my
hand tighter and broke into a trot. "A different sort of amusement's been
lined up!"
     
CHAPTER 8
     
    We proceeded along the narrow
passageway to an intricately carved and richly carpeted wooden staircase. As we
climbed the stairs, the humming of the ship's propulsion system—driven, as Larissa
had just told me, by superconductive magnetic generators capable of producing
unimaginable (not to mention clean) levitating and propulsive power—began to
soften, and I could feel that we were moving forward. There were occasional
dips and swells in the motion—not unsettling but noticeable—and when we
reached the upper deck, I found myself facing a round transparent panel in the
fuselage or hull. Looking out, I saw that we were traveling about a hundred
feet off the ground, hugging the contours of the suburban landscape like some
enormous cruise missile.
    Larissa tugged at my arm.
"No time for astonishment now," she said, pulling me forward along
the passageway. "There's a small task force of local and state