That was before he discovered Boone in a stroke of pure luck. But having discovered him, there had been the problem of getting him in contact with the Hopkins Acre family. More shifty-footed maneuvers had been called for—a whisper of rumor to Martin to send him to Corcoran and another rumor for Corcoran to take to Martin to scare him into leaving without his larger traveler.
Horseface had learned of Corcoran’s weird vision before and of his friendship with Boone. A little prodding of Corcoran had sent the man to the Everest to gaze at Martin’s suite and see the traveler.
Corcoran, Horseface admittted to himself, could have been a mistake. He had expected Boone to step around a corner into the traveler alone, leaving Corcoran behind. He had underestimated Boone’s talent. But fortunately, Corcoran had caused no trouble. The discovery of the strange tree had been a danger point, but all had worked out well in the end.
Someday, Horseface told himself, he must take the time to find out what Corcoran’s tree really was, though he could probably never learn what race or people was responsible for it, nor why it had been placed in that period on Earth.
In the end, he decided, all comes out better even than he could have hoped. There was still work to do, of course. He would have to find mates for the yet unborn children of Boone and Enid. Perhaps suitable ones could be found on one of the planets colonized by the humans. But the big job was done.
Idly, he pulled the visor closer to check on Martin. He seemed to have an odd compulsion to keep track of Martin, though the man was stashed away where he could not escape. Still, Martin was a slippery character.
In the visor plate, he saw the interior of a temple filled with starry-eyed worshippers. Martin, decked out in gold and purple vestments, stood before an ornate altar. The killer monster’s brain case rested on a pedestal against the altar, glowing in the flickering light of many candles. It was apparent that Martin was in the middle of a spirited harangue. Suddenly he flung up his arms and the crowd leaped to its feet, mouths open in what must have been wildly happy response.
Martin had it made. He had the power that he had wanted and no one to challenge him. He was safely trapped in his own self-glorification. And yet, Horseface knew with some disgust, he’d keep on checking on Martin.
There was still one more chore to do now. It was not necessary, perhaps, but in all decency it should be done. The visor showed the far future now, where a glitter of sparkles rested in the faint shadow of an ancient tree while the world swirled slowly in its orbit around a swollen, blood-red, dying sun.
As Horseface began to clamber onto the net, The Hat came awake again and sat up groggily.
What are you doing now? he asked.
“I’m bringing Henry back to the family,” Horseface told him. “I don’t know what Henry may think about it, but the rest of the family will be glad to see him. Do you want to come along?”
The Hat shook his head. There you go again, he told Horseface. Interfering. Still a busybody.
The net vanished, and The Hat collapsed upon the table, a limp, lumpy, and much-abused plaything.
About the Author
During his fifty-five-year career, Clifford D. Simak produced some of the most iconic science fiction stories ever written. Born in 1904 on a farm in southwestern Wisconsin, Simak got a job at a small-town newspaper in 1929 and eventually became news editor of the Minneapolis Star-Tribune, writing fiction in his spare time.
Simak was best known for the book City, a reaction to the horrors of World War II, and for his novel Way Station. In 1953 City was awarded the International Fantasy Award, and in following years, Simak won three Hugo Awards and a Nebula Award. In 1977 he became the third Grand Master of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, and before his death in 1988, he was named one of three inaugural winners of the Horror Writers Association’s Bram Stoker Award for Lifetime Achievement.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1986 by Clifford D. Simak
Cover design by Jason Gabbert
ISBN: 978-1-5040-2411-2
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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Highway of Eternity Page 30