His last comment had been too much. "It would be worth it."What could I say to that?

I laughed.

He turned bright red.

"You're laughing at me!"

He stood up and glared down.

"No, I'm not," I said, "I'm laughing at me. I shouldn't have beenbothered by what you said, but I was. That tells me something funnyabout me."

"What?"

"I'm getting sentimental in my old age, and that's funny."

"Oh." He turned his back on me and walked over to the window andstared out. Then he jammed his hands into his pockets and turnedaround and looked at me.

"Aren't you happy?" he asked. "Really, I mean? You've got money,and no strings on you. You could pick up and leave on the next I-Vthat passes, if you wanted to."

"Sure I'm happy," I told him. "My coffee was cold. Forget it."

"Oh," again. He turned back to the window in time to catch abright flash full in the face, and to have to compete with thunder toget his next words out. "I'm sorry," I heard him say, as in thedistance. "It just seems to me that you should be one of the happiestguys around..."

"I am. It's the weather today. It's got everybody down in themouth, yourself included."

"Yeah, you're right," he said. "Look at it rain, will you?Haven't seen any rain in months..."

"They've been saving it all up for today."

He chuckled.

"I'm going down for a cup of coffee and a sandwich before I signin. Can I bring you anything?"

"No, thanks."

"Okay. See you in a little while."

He walked out whistling. He never stays depressed. Like a kid'smoods, his moods, up and down, up and down...And he's a Hell Cop.Probably the worst possible job for him, having to keep up hisattention in one place for so long. They say the job title comes fromthe name of an antique flying vehicle--a hellcopper, I think. We sendour eyes on their appointed rounds, and they can hover or soar or backup, just like those old machines could. We patrol the city and theadjacent countryside. Law enforcement isn't much of a problem on Cyg.We never peek in windows or send an eye into a building without aninvitation. Our testimony is admissible in court--or, if we're fastenough to press a couple buttons, the tape that we make does an evenbetter job--and we can dispatch live or robot cops in a hurry,depending on which will do a better job.

There isn't much crime on Cyg, though, despite the fact thateverybody carries a sidearm of some kind, even little kids. Everybodyknows pretty much what their neighbors are up to, and there aren't toomany places for a fugitive to run. We're mainly aerial traffic cops,with an eye out for local wildlife (which is the reason for all thesidearms).

S.P.C.H. is what we call the latter function--Society for thePrevention of Cruelty to Us--Which is the reason each of myhundred-thirty eyes has six forty-five caliber eyelashes.

There are things like the cute little panda-puppy--oh, about threefeet high at the shoulder when it sits down on its rear like a teddybear, and with big, square, silky ears, a curly pinto coat, large,limpid, brown eyes, pink tongue, button nose, powder puff tail, sharplittle white teeth more poisonous than a Quemeda Island viper's, andpossessed of a way with mammal entrails like unto the way of animaginative cat with a rope of catnip.

Then there's a _snapper_, which _looks_ as mean as it sounds: afeathered reptile, with three horns on its armored head--one beneatheach eye, like a tusk, and one curving skyward from the top of itsnose--legs about eighteen inches long, and a four-foot tail which itraises straight into the air whenever it jogs along at greyhoundspeed, and which it swings like a sandbag--and a mouth full of long,sharp teeth.

Also, there are amphibious things which come from the ocean by wayof the river on occasion. I'd rather not speak of them. They're kindof ugly and vicious.

Anyway, those are some of the reasons why there are Hell Cops--notjust on Cyg, but on many, many frontier worlds. I've been employed inthat capacity on several of them, and I've found that an experiencedH.C. can always find a job Out Here. It's like being a professionalclerk back home.

Chuck took longer than I thought he would, came back after I wastechnically off duty, looked happy though, so I didn't say anything.There was some pale lipstick on his collar and a grin on his face, soI bade him good morrow, picked up my cane, and departed in thedirection of the big washing machine.

It was coming down too hard for me to go the two blocks to my caron foot.

I called a cab and waited another fifteen minutes. Eleanor haddecided to keep Mayor's Hours, and she'd departed shortly after lunch;and almost the entire staff had been released an hour early because ofthe weather. Consequently, Town Hall was full of dark offices andechoes. I waited in the hallway behind the main door, listening tothe purr of the rain as it fell, and hearing its gurgle as it foundits way into the gutters. It beat the street and shook thewindowpanes and made the windows cold to touch.

I'd planned on spending the evening at the library, but I changedmy plans as I watched the weather happen. --Tomorrow, or the next day,I decided. It was an evening for a good meal, a hot bath, my ownbooks and brandy, and early to bed. It was good sleeping weather, ifnothing else. A cab pulled up in front of the Hall and blew its horn.

I ran.

The next day the rain let up for perhaps an hour in the morning. Thena slow drizzle began; and it did not stop again.

It went on to become a steady downpour by afternoon.

The following day was Friday, which I always have off, and I wasglad that it was.

Put dittoes under Thursday's weather report. That's Friday.

But I decided to do something anyway.

I lived down in that section of town near the river. The Noblewas swollen, and the rains kept adding to it. Sewers had begun toclog and back up; water ran into the streets. The rain kept comingdown and widening the puddles and lakelets, and it was accompanied bydrum solos in the sky and the falling of bright forks and sawblades.Dead skytoads were washed along the gutters, like burnt-out fireworks.Ball lightning drifted across Town Square; Saint Elmo's fire clung tothe flag pole, the Watch Tower, and the big statue of Wyeth trying tolook heroic.

I headed uptown to the library, pushing my car slowly through thecountless beaded curtains. The big furniture movers in the sky wereobviously non-union, because they weren't taking any coffee breaks.Finally, I found a parking place and I umbrellaed my way to thelibrary and entered.

I have become something of a bibliophile in recent years. It isnot so much that I hunger and thirst after knowledge, but that I amnews-starved.

It all goes back to my position in the big mixmaster. Admitted,there are _some_ things faster than light, like the phase velocitiesof radio waves in ion plasma, or the tips of the ion-modulatedlight-beams of Duckbill, the comm-setup back in Sol System, wheneverthe hinges of the beak snap shut on Earth--but these are highlyrestricted instances, with no application whatsoever to the passageof shiploads of people and objects between the stars. You can'texceed lightspeed when it comes to the movement of matter. You canedge up pretty close, but that's about it.

Life can be suspended though, that's easy--it can be switched offand switched back on again with no trouble at all. This is why _I_have lasted so long. If we can't speed up the ships, we _can_ slowdown the people--slow them until they stop--and _let_ the vessel, movingat near-lightspeed, take half a century, or more if it needs it, toconvey its passengers to where they are going. This is why I am veryalone. Each little death means resurrection into both another landand another time. I have had several, and _this_ is why I have becomea bibliophile: news travels slowly, as slowly as the ships and thepeople. Buy a newspaper before you hop aboard a ship and it willstill be a newspaper when you reach your destination--but back whereyou bought it, it would be considered an historical document. Send aletter back to Earth and your correspondent's grandson may be able toget an answer back to your great-grandson, if the message makes realgood connections and both kids live long enough.