Read Ebook: Date line by Loomis Noel M Napoli Vincent Illustrator

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Ebook has 102 lines and 5519 words, and 3 pages

bout the quality of reproduction of color in his moving scenes. He knew what they'd say, that the time-warp or something distorted the color and they had trouble getting the right kind of screens and so on, and he knew they couldn't help it, but he just wanted to jack them up on general principles. And, besides, Stieve had to do something to get his mind off of 1930 and the Mayor's wife--to say nothing of the Mayor's wife's maid. After all, he'd just been spreading a little good will.

But he didn't get to Engineering. He ran into Smullen on the autowalk. Smullen looked worried.

"I'll try to dream up something," Stieve promised. He was so grateful to Smullen for letting him get out of 1930 that he would have promised to bring back the anchor of Columbus' flagship.

Smullen caught the cross-walk to his own suite. "See me in the morning."

Well, as soon as Stieve should get back from 1492, he'd go to work on Pluto and he'd come up with something that would make Smullen very happy. Stieve made a silent promise to that effect.

Then he met Murphy and said, "How about trading posts?"

Murphy said. "Nix. I've just been through the Crusades, and that was tough. Nothing else is going to happen for ten years, when the Mongols will invade Europe, so I'm going to take it easy. I've been working hard ever since the Magna Charta was signed."

Stieve was disgruntled. Murphy always was lazy, anyway. Stieve got off the walk at Engineering, then he saw it was only twenty minutes till takeoff time. He turned around and went back. His time cartridge would be ready just after lunch, at fifty-four o'clock, to be exact, under the metric system of counting time. That wasn't general yet, but the Time Travel people used it exclusively.

He took the air-tube to Medlock's post. Medlock was watching the clock as Stieve came in.

"Make it fast," he said. "You're due in a minute and a half."

"I hope Prem has got things organized," Stieve said as he settled into the straps.

"Don't worry," Medlock advised. "Prem always gets things organized. That's what I like about old-style robots. They have originality. These new androids are nice-looking and all, but they haven't got the brains of a sick goose."

Stieve had a familiar feeling of ominousness as he heard Medlock's remark about Orig Prem's organizational ability. He hoped--

The time cartridge whirled. Stieve was slightly sick; the coruscating spiral of vari-colored lights always bothered him. Then it steadied. Stieve closed his eyes for the feeling that was like a free fall. He opened them when the acceleration stopped.

He was standing on a warm, sandy shore. There was a ship a mile out at sea, her canvas billowing--and two caravels. He wished he had thought to bring a glass so he could check the names for sure. Then he heard a voice behind him--a deep, guttural, grunting voice:

"Lookum through telescope, mister. Ten cents for seeum Santa Maria. Only ten cents forum look, mister."

Stieve jumped a foot. But before he could turn around he knew the answer. Orig Prem had had two weeks on this island that now, on the twelfth day of October, 1492, was called by the Indians Guanahani--and two weeks--well, Stieve should have known better.

The Indian was naked except for a breech-cloth and a feather in his hair. But he had a telescope set up, with a sign on it that said, "See Columbus's ships just as if they were in your own back yard. 10c. U.S., 2230." And in small letters: "Orig Prem Enterprises."

Stieve snorted. He began to look around. He was in the center of a regular old-fashioned Coney Island beach, with a couple of hundred huge striped umbrellas, and fat Indian chiefs lying in the sand while their squaws built sand castles over their stomachs.

Stieve groaned. He thought: Thank goodness Prem couldn't get a ferris wheel in the time cartridge.

Stieve lit a cigarette. Almost immediately a giant breech-clouted redskin picked the cigarette out of his mouth.

"No smokum on beach," he told Stieve. "Anyhow, this Fourteen-Ninety-Two. White man doesn't haveum cigarettes yet." He took a puff on Stieve's cigarette and gagged. "Ugh. Tastum terrible. How you smokeum that stuff. Smellum like old tires burning. Oh, pardon me, we don't haveum tires yet."

"Hey," said Stieve, "where's Orig Prem?"

The Indian brightened. "Oh, Prem very fine fellow. He head of Chamber of Commerce Welcome Committee. He very busy man today."

"If you ask me," Stieve said dryly, "he's been busy for two weeks."

Quickly Stieve went to the nearest popcorn stand. The sign said: "Fresh buttered popcorn, 1930 style, 15c. Orig Prem Enterprises."

Stieve said, "One bag, please." Then he stared.

The girl, dressed in a freshly starched blue apron, was lovely. She had nice, soft copper-colored skin, black, shining hair in two big braids, and large, lustrous black eyes.

"Say," said Stieve, "you ought to be in pictures."

She blushed becomingly. "That's what Mr. Prem says. He thinks he can get me a screen-test."

"Oh, blast Prem!" Stieve paid for his popcorn. "Just the same," he said, staring, "you can come and play in my yard any time you want to."

"Oh, thank you, sir."

Stieve went out toward the dock. It was covered with red and yellow bunting. The three ships apparently were anchored now, and he thought they were getting ready to put out some rowboats. Stieve looked around. It wasn't like Prem to miss anything. Prem hadn't. A board painted black said:

BULLETIN BOARD

Santa Maria due at 2:15. On time. Advertising space on reverse side of this board, by courtesy of Orig Prem Enterprises.

Stieve snorted hard. But when he reached the dock and saw the be-feathered dignitaries of Guanahani sitting importantly around the microphone, and Prem bustling to and fro arranging things, he was somewhat mollified.

Prem had mounted the video scanner very nicely, and now the boats were putting out. Yes, it looked like a good day. He shook hands with Prem, and Prem was as delighted as a little puppy. He introduced Stieve to the chief, and said:

"If you will handle the microphone, sir, I will do my utmost with the scanner."

"Okay. But how long a speech is old Pain-in-the-Face going to make here?"

"I have asked him to cut it short, but he's Acting Mayor. He has his own ideas."

"Well, we'll make the best of it. What's the program?"

"Program, mister? Program?" A ten-year-old Indian thrust a program in Stieve's face. "Twenty-five cents, mister. Only got a few left. Can't tell a Spaniard from an Indian without a program."

Stieve sucked in his breath and looked at Prem, but Prem was very busy adjusting the microphone for height.

The program said, "Address of welcome, 3:15 P.M. Reply by Sr. Cristoforo Colombo."

Well, the boats were pulling up. A tall man stood in the prow of the first one. He had white hair and beard, his nose was aquiline and his eyes blue. He faced the beach regally, but when the boat was grounded he leaped overboard and waded through the water and strode up the beach.

"And to think," Prem muttered, "that I built this dock to save him from getting wet!"

But the tall man strode up to the grandstand. The big Indian chief rose to meet him.

"How!" he said gravely. "I makeum you welcome to New World. This great day for you, black day for Indians. But this history. I greetum you. Have a smoke."

The tall man's eyes were dancing. "Thank you very much," he said gravely. "Smoking has not been introduced in Europe as yet. But I could go for a drop of wine." He added: "I am very happy to be here. It was a long trip."

"Will you please step closer to the microphone?" asked Stieve. "We're on the air in 2230, you know. Ladies and gentlemen, you are hearing the voice of Mr. Christopher Columbus."

The tall man looked doubtfully at the microphone, but Prem smiled and nodded encouragingly. The tall man stepped closer as if he was about to swallow the microphone. "Hello, mom," he said gravely. "It was a wet crossing, but we made it. I hereby declare America officially discovered."

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