The Starcomber Read Online Free PDF Page B

Bottles were opened. His health was drunk. Several medals were pinned on him. He beamed.
    â€œHey!” Halsyon called. “That was my secret. I’m the one man who on account of a mysterious mutant strain in my—”
    The ticker-tape began pounding: ATTENTION. ATTENTION. HUSHENKOV IN MOSCOW REPORTS DEFECT IN CALCULATORS. 3 COMES AFTER 2 AND NOT BEFORE, REPEAT: AFTER (UNDERSCORE) NOT BEFORE.
    A postman ran in. “Special delivery from Doctor Lifehush at Caltech. Says something’s wrong with the thinking machines. Three comes after two, not before.”
    A telegraph boy delivered a wire: THINKING MACHINE WRONG STOP TWO COMES BEFORE THREE STOP NOT AFTER STOP. VON DREAMHUSH, HEIDELBERG.
    A bottle was thrown through the window. It crashed on the floor revealing a bit of paper on which was scrawled: Did you ever stopp to thinc that maibe the nomber 3 comes after 2 insted of in front? Down with the Grish. Mr. Hush-Hush.
    Halsyon buttonholed Judge Field. “What the hell is this?” he demanded. “I thought I was the one man in the world with that secret.”
    â€œHimmelHerrGott! “ Judge Field replied impatiently. “You are all alike. You dream you are the one men with a secret, the one men with a wrong, the one men with an injustice, with a girl, without a girl, with or without anything. God damn. You bore me, you one-man dreamers. Get lost.”
    Judge Field shouldered him aside. General Balorsen shoved him back. Judith Field ignored him. Balorsen’s robot sneakily tripped him into a comer of the crowd where a Grssh, also in a crowded comer on Neptune, appeared, did something unspeakable to Halsyon and disappeared with him, screaming, jerking and sobbing into a horror that was a delicious meal for the Grssh but a plasti-nightmare for Halsyon . . .
    From which his mother awakened him and said, “This’ll teach you not to sneak peanut-butter sandwiches in the middle of the night. Jeffrey.”
    â€œMama?”
    â€œYes. It’s time to get up, dear. You’ll be late for school.”
    She left the room. He looked around. He looked at himself. It was true. True! The glorious realization came upon him. His dream had come true. He was ten years old again, in the flesh that was his ten-year-old body, in the home that was his boyhood home, in the life that had been his life in the nineteen thirties. And within his head was the knowledge, the experience, the sophistication of a man of thirty-three.
    â€œOh joy!” he cried. “It’ll be a triumph. A triumph!”
    He would be the school genius. He would astonish his parents, amaze his teachers, confound the experts. He would win scholarships. He would settle the hash of that kid Rennahan who used to bully him. He would hire a typewriter and write all the successful plays and stories and novels he remembered. He would cash in on that lost opportunity with Judy Field behind the memorial in Isham Park. He would steal inventions and discoveries, get in on the ground floor of new industries, make bets, play the stock-market. He would own the world by the time he caught up with himself.
    He dressed with difficulty. He had forgotten where his clothes were kept. He ate breakfast with difficulty. This was no time to explain to his mother that he’d gotten into the habit of starting the day with Irish coffee. He missed his morning cigarette. He had no idea where his school-books were. His mother had trouble starting him out.
    â€œJeff’s in one of his moods,” he heard her mutter. “I hope he gets through the day.”
    The day started with Rennahan ambushing him at the Boy’s Entrance. Halsyon remembered him as a big tough kid with a vicious expression. He was astonished to discover that Rennahan was skinny and harassed, and obviously compelled by some bedevilments to be omnivorously aggressive.
    â€œWhy, you’re not hostile to me,” Halsyon exclaimed. “You’re just a mixed-up