promises that can’t be kept, especially to youngsters with stars in their eyes.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” I said to him soberly before letting go of his cheeks.
The dear thing blushed. But he seemed very pleased.
I stayed up so late reading that book that the night nurse scolded me. However, nurses need something to scold about now and then. I’m not going to quote from the incredible document…but listen to these subjects:
Title first: The Only Deadly Weapon . Then—
Assassination as a Fine Art
Assassination as a Political Tool
Assassination for Profit
Assassins Who Changed History
The Society for Creative Euthanasia
The Canons of the Professional Assassins Guild
Amateur Assassins: Should They Be Exterminated?
Honorable Hatchet Men—Some Case Histories
“Extreme Prejudice”—“Wet Work”—Are Euphemisms Necessary?
Seminar Working Papers: Techniques & Tools
Whew! There was no good reason for my reading all of it. But I did. It had an unholy fascination. Dirty.
I resolved never to mention the possibility of changing tracks and not to bring up retraining again. Let Boss bring it up himself if he wanted to discuss it. I punched the terminal, got Archives, and stated that I needed the classified documents clerk to accept custody of classified item number such-and-such and please bring my receipt. “Right away, Miss Friday,” a woman answered.
Notoriety—
I waited with considerable unease for that youngster to show up. I am ashamed to say that this poisonous book had had a most unfortunate effect on me. It was the middle of the night, early morning; the place was dead quiet—and if the dear thing laid a hand on me, I was awfully likely to forget that I was technically an invalid. I needed a chastity girdle with a big padlock.
But it was not he; the sweet youngster had gone off duty. The person who showed up with my receipt was the older woman who had answered me on the terminal. I felt both relief and disappointment—and chagrin that I felt disappointed. Does convalescence make everybody irresponsibly horny? Do hospitals have a discipline problem? I have not been ill often enough to know.
The night clerk swapped my receipt for the book, then surprised me with: “Don’t I get a kiss, too?”
“Oh! Were you there?”
“Any warm body, dear; we were awfully short of effectives that night. I’m not the world’s greatest but I had basic training like anyone else. Yes, I was there. Wouldn’t have missed it.”
I said, “Thank you for rescuing me,” and kissed her. I tried to make this simply a symbol, but she took charge and controlled what sort of a buss it would be. Rough and rugged, namely. She was telling me clearer than words that anytime I wanted to work the other side of the street, she would be waiting.
What do you do? There seem to be human situations for which there are no established protocols. I had just acknowledged that she had risked her life to save mine—precisely that, as that rescue raid was not the piece of cake that Boss’s account made it appear to be. Boss’s habitual understatement is such that he would describe the total destruction of Seattle as “a seismic disturbance.” Having thanked her for my life how could I snub her?
I could not. I let my half of the kiss answer her wordless message—with my fingers crossed that I would never have to keep the implied promise.
Presently she broke the kiss but remained holding on to me. “Dearie,” she said, “want to know something? Do you remember how you told off that slob they called the Major?”
“I remember.”
“There is a bootleg piece of tape floating around of that one sequence. What you said to him and how you said it is highly admired by one and all. Especially me.”
“That’s interesting. Are you the little gremlin who copied that piece of tape?”
“Why, how could you think such a thing?” She grinned. “Do you mind?”
I thought it over for all of three milliseconds. “No. If the
“Thank you for rescuing me,” I said to him soberly before letting go of his cheeks.
The dear thing blushed. But he seemed very pleased.
I stayed up so late reading that book that the night nurse scolded me. However, nurses need something to scold about now and then. I’m not going to quote from the incredible document…but listen to these subjects:
Title first: The Only Deadly Weapon . Then—
Assassination as a Fine Art
Assassination as a Political Tool
Assassination for Profit
Assassins Who Changed History
The Society for Creative Euthanasia
The Canons of the Professional Assassins Guild
Amateur Assassins: Should They Be Exterminated?
Honorable Hatchet Men—Some Case Histories
“Extreme Prejudice”—“Wet Work”—Are Euphemisms Necessary?
Seminar Working Papers: Techniques & Tools
Whew! There was no good reason for my reading all of it. But I did. It had an unholy fascination. Dirty.
I resolved never to mention the possibility of changing tracks and not to bring up retraining again. Let Boss bring it up himself if he wanted to discuss it. I punched the terminal, got Archives, and stated that I needed the classified documents clerk to accept custody of classified item number such-and-such and please bring my receipt. “Right away, Miss Friday,” a woman answered.
Notoriety—
I waited with considerable unease for that youngster to show up. I am ashamed to say that this poisonous book had had a most unfortunate effect on me. It was the middle of the night, early morning; the place was dead quiet—and if the dear thing laid a hand on me, I was awfully likely to forget that I was technically an invalid. I needed a chastity girdle with a big padlock.
But it was not he; the sweet youngster had gone off duty. The person who showed up with my receipt was the older woman who had answered me on the terminal. I felt both relief and disappointment—and chagrin that I felt disappointed. Does convalescence make everybody irresponsibly horny? Do hospitals have a discipline problem? I have not been ill often enough to know.
The night clerk swapped my receipt for the book, then surprised me with: “Don’t I get a kiss, too?”
“Oh! Were you there?”
“Any warm body, dear; we were awfully short of effectives that night. I’m not the world’s greatest but I had basic training like anyone else. Yes, I was there. Wouldn’t have missed it.”
I said, “Thank you for rescuing me,” and kissed her. I tried to make this simply a symbol, but she took charge and controlled what sort of a buss it would be. Rough and rugged, namely. She was telling me clearer than words that anytime I wanted to work the other side of the street, she would be waiting.
What do you do? There seem to be human situations for which there are no established protocols. I had just acknowledged that she had risked her life to save mine—precisely that, as that rescue raid was not the piece of cake that Boss’s account made it appear to be. Boss’s habitual understatement is such that he would describe the total destruction of Seattle as “a seismic disturbance.” Having thanked her for my life how could I snub her?
I could not. I let my half of the kiss answer her wordless message—with my fingers crossed that I would never have to keep the implied promise.
Presently she broke the kiss but remained holding on to me. “Dearie,” she said, “want to know something? Do you remember how you told off that slob they called the Major?”
“I remember.”
“There is a bootleg piece of tape floating around of that one sequence. What you said to him and how you said it is highly admired by one and all. Especially me.”
“That’s interesting. Are you the little gremlin who copied that piece of tape?”
“Why, how could you think such a thing?” She grinned. “Do you mind?”
I thought it over for all of three milliseconds. “No. If the
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