Carla recoiled in shock. My Rosenbloom! she thought. Its Billie! She reached down to pick up the brooch, watched Birdbright shift again, throwing one arm over Petrie’s shoulder.
Tears streamed down Carla’s cheeks and fell on the brooch, giving the image in the black glass a distorted appearance. She wiped her face with the back of one hand, snapped the brooch shut angrily.
I knew he was this way, she thought, forcing the tears to stop. I shouldn’t take it so hard. But I had so hoped . . .
The tears came anew now, and much harder than before. She sobbed and fell back on the couch in a fetal position with the brooch clutched tightly between her hands.
* * *
“I do not understand something,” a youngsayerman in the first row said.
Lin-Ti gazed down at him from the podium. It was the youngsayerman with the long body and fat features . . . the one who looked so much like Onesayer Edward.
“How did the history writers obtain details on the lives of the sayermen and of Sidney Malloy?” the youngsayerman asked. “The sayers never touch identity plates . . . and Malloy did not come in contact with one after losing his position in Central Forms.”
Lin-Ti smiled. “As we so often discover,” he said, “the words of Uncle Rosy hold true today, as they did centuries ago: ‘Much remains for you to learn, youngsayer. Much remains for you to learn. . . .’”
Chapter Sixteen
UP CLOSE WITH THE MASTER, FOR FURTHER READING AND DISCUSSION
“The facts with which we operate are not all the facts, but are merely all the facts available to us at a particular time.”
Spoken by Uncle Rosy (excerpt from E. Dade’s unpublished notes)
Friday, September 1, 2695
President Ogg used an automatic thumb to flip through a pile of papers on his desk, pausing to scan a bureau employment summary sheet. The report pleased him. Ogg glanced at his wrist digital and mentoed the desk intercom to call for his first afternoon coffee.
In the outer office, Carla Weaver looked up from her rota-typer screen to watch a pamphlet meckie roll toward her with its purple “TAKE SEVERAL” signs flashing. She thought of the brooch she had found on her coffee table that morning, smiled. Someone really cares about me, she thought, still feeling the effects of a Happy Pill she had taken half an hour earlier. Wonder who it is. Assuming the powers of the brooch to be technological in nature, she surmised that her benefactor might work in Bu-Tech.
“Hi, Wordie,” Carla said cheerily as the pamphlet meckie arrived and waited patiently. She short-stepped down from the rotatyper platform, took five pamphlets and placed them in her purse.
“Ringgg!” A bell sounded across the office. It was time for the first afternoon coffee break.
Billie Birdbright rolled by in a big hurry, dodging the workers who had begun to fill the aisles. “Excuse me! Excuse me, please!” Birdbright said nervously as he pushed his way through. He caught Carla’s pill-glossed gaze for a moment. She watched him disappear into the President’s office.
“Mr. President!” Birdbright exclaimed breathlessly as he rolled into the oval office. “Have you seen?”
President Ogg looked up calmly and replied, “This is my coffee break, Billie. Can’t it wait?”
“No, Mr. President! Look out your window!” Birdbright pointed.
Ogg spun his chair, saw a distant streaking emerald-green-and-red comet moving across the southeastern horizon. His jaw dropped. “Is that IT? I thought Drakus Ohm reported it was going off in another direction!”
“It changed, Mr. President . . . and came out of nowhere!”
Ogg moto-paced around his desk, then stopped and shot a terse command to his Chief of Staff: “Get me a trajectory report on it!”
“Just got it minutes ago, sir. Bu-Tech says the comet came in on us fast, then veered off. It’s in a holding pattern now.”
“A holding pattern? How can a comet be in a holding pattern?”
“That’s what the report said, sir.”
Ogg glared at the comet, saw it flash brilliantly, followed by a wisp of white light. Birdbright moved to the President’s side, and together they watched in astonishment as the comet began a most unusual series of maneuvers. It moved up and around, then back down and in zig-zags, trailing white smoke as it went.
“It’s writing something, Mister President!” Birdbright said.
Ogg did not reply, leaned close to the window to peer at the horizon. “WE . . . ARE . . . NOT . . .” he said, reading the skywriting,” . . . YOUR . . . GARBAGE . . . DUMP!” A muscle on the President’s cheek twitched.
Birdbright furrowed his brow. “What the hell does that mean, Mr. President?”
“How the hell do I know?” Ogg thought for a moment, then said, “Tell Bu-Tech to lay out a thick blanket of clouds until we can find out what’s going on. We can’t have consumers getting upset!”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Birdbright said, rolling quickly to the door.
Euripides Ogg shook his head sadly, muttered: “And I told everyone there was nothing to worry about.”
“What was that, sir?” Birdbright asked, pausing at the door.
“Nothing, Billie,” Ogg said, glaring at his Chief of Staff. “Now get it in gear, man! Get it in gear!”
Birdbright scurried out of the office.
President Ogg watched Birdbright go, then fixed his gaze on the “Faith, Consumption, Freeness” sign over the door. I have a feeling things aren’t going to be the same around here after this, he thought.
The End
Sidney's Comet Page 30