The Sheep Look Up by John Brunner Read Free Book Online Page B

much at this table as someone in a Bolivian mountain village gets in a day.” And sometimes there were strange unexciting dishes: glutinous African sauces of fine-chopped okra, tasteless cakes of anonymous grain, samples of relief shipments sympathizers had paid for and mailed to the wat.
    “This is what we’re giving away,” Decimus would say. “Not steak or chicken or big fat Idaho potatoes. This is made from”—and it could be algae, or yeast, or grass clippings, or on one occasion, incredibly, sawmill wastes. “See how you like it, and think of those who have only such shit to be grateful for!”
    But that had been a long time ago.
    Around the back of the store she found a half-empty parking lot. There was a door marked Employees Only. She found it barred from inside. Nearby, though, was a reeded-glass window. She could make out blurred images if she leaned close to the panes. Inside, red forms changing to white as the Santa Clauses stripped off their suits and padding.
    She listened, hoping to discern Austin’s voice.
    “In a bad way, aren’t you, pal? Ah, leave him be! Well, just don’t cough on me, I have kids at home and all the time doctor’s bills. Don’t we all?”
    And so on. Some of them went through a door at the back of the room and noise of running water indicated showers. A man in a dark suit appeared and shouted, “Easy with that water! There’s a shortage!”
    “Shortage hell.” Husky, consumptive; the voice might belong to the man who hadn’t been able to shout. Louder, he added, “Is it hot?”
    “Shit, of course not!” someone called back. “Tepid!”
    “In that case give me my pay and I’ll go. The doc warned me not to get chilled. So I won’t be wasting your precious water, okay?”
    “Don’t blame me.” With a sigh. “I don’t make the rules around here.”

    In the dusk none of the men noticed Peg as they headed toward their cars. Five got into three vehicles. The last traced a line of smoke across the lot—liable to be arrested, him. The sixth man didn’t make for a car.
    “Austin!” Peg said in a low voice.
    He didn’t break stride and scarcely looked around. “The girl reporter!” he said. “Finally decided to throw me to the wolves?”
    “What?” She fell in beside him, matching step for step the well-remembered paces that were too long for a man of his height, an average five-ten. Making the muscles do penance came naturally when Austin Train was around.
    “You mean you’re not here on business?” His tone was tinged with sarcasm.
    She prevaricated, pointing to her right beyond the lot; it was going to be hard to hear herself speak the news she had brought. “My car’s that way. Can I give you a lift? It is a Hailey!”
    “Ah. The precepts are being kept, hm? Steam is cleaner than gas! No, thanks. I walk. Have you forgotten?”
    She caught his hand and forced him to turn and face her. Looking at him, she found little change revealed by the poor light, apart from his having shaved off the beard he’d worn during his period of notoriety. The high cheekbones were the same, the curiously arched eyebrows, almost semicircular, the thin sour lips ... Though maybe his sparse brown hair had receded a trifle. It had been nearly three years.
    His mouth parodied a smile: a tilt of a few degrees at one corner. Abruptly furious, determined to wipe away his complacency, she burst out, “I came to tell you Decimus is dead!”
    And he said, “Yes. I know.”

    All those hours of searching, without food or rest, aware that every moment increased the likelihood of losing her job—gone to waste? Peg said weakly, “But it only happened this morning ...”
    “I’m sorry.” His look of mockery softened. “You loved him, didn’t you? Okay, I’ll come to your car.”
    Mechanically she walked on; now, for a change, he matched her strides, though it was perceptibly frustrating to his energetic frame. Nothing more was said until they reached the spot where she had