Graveyard of Dreams | Page 6

put on to show that he had reached manhood, and a man carried for the rest of his life
out of habit.
Why, there wouldn't be a shooting a year in Litchfield, if you didn't count the farm

tramps and drifters, who kept to the lower level or camped in the empty buildings at the
edge of town. Or maybe that was it; maybe Litchfield was peaceful because everybody
was armed. It certainly wasn't because of anything the Planetary Government at
Storisende did to maintain order.
After divesting himself of his gun, Tom Brangwyn took over the bartending, getting out
glasses and filling a pitcher of brandy from a keg in the corner.
"Everybody supplied?" Fawzi was asking. "Well, let's drink to our returned emissary.
We're all anxious to hear what you found out, Conn. Gentlemen, here's to our friend
Conn Maxwell. Welcome home, Conn!"
"Well, it's wonderful to be back, Mr. Fawzi--"
"No, let's not have any of this mister foolishness! You're one of the gang now. And drink
up, everybody. We have plenty of brandy, even if we don't have anything else."
"You telling us, Kurt?" somebody demanded. One of the distillery company; the name
would come back to Conn in a moment. "When this crop gets pressed and fermented--"
"When I start pressing, I don't know where in Gehenna I'm going to vat the stuff till it
ferments," Colonel Zareff said. "Or why. You won't be able to handle all of it."
"Now, now!" Fawzi reproved. "Let's not start moaning about our troubles. Not the day
Conn's come home. Not when he's going to tell us how to find the Third Fleet-Army
Force Brain."
"You did find out where the Brain is, didn't you, Conn?" Brangwyn asked anxiously.
That set half a dozen of them off at once. They had all sat down after the toast; now they
were fidgeting in their chairs, leaning forward, looking at Conn fixedly.
"What did you find out, Conn?"
"It's still here on Poictesme, isn't it?"
"Did you find out where it is?"
He wanted to tell them in one quick sentence and get it over with. He couldn't, any more
than he could force himself to squeeze the trigger of a pistol he knew would blow up in
his hand.
"Wait a minute, gentlemen." He finished the brandy, and held out the glass to Tom
Brangwyn, nodding toward the pitcher. Even the first drink had warmed him and he
could feel the constriction easing in his throat and the lump at the pit of his stomach
dissolving. "I hope none of you expect me to spread out a map and show you the cross on
it, where the Brain is. I can't. I can't even give the approximate location of the thing."

Much of the happy eagerness drained out of the faces around him. Some of them were
looking troubled; Colonel Zareff was gnawing the bottom of his mustache, and Judge
Ledue's hand shook as he tried to relight his cigar. Conn stole a quick side-glance at his
father; Rodney Maxwell was watching him curiously, as though wondering what he was
going to say next.
"But it is still here on Poictesme?" Fawzi questioned. "They didn't take it away when they
evacuated, did they?"
Conn finished his second drink. This time he picked up the pitcher and refilled for
himself.
"I'm going to have to do a lot of talking," he said, "and it's going to be thirsty work. I'll
have to tell you the whole thing from the beginning, and if you start asking questions at
random, you'll get me mixed up and I'll miss the important points."
"By all means!" Judge Ledue told him. "Give it in your own words, in what you think is
the proper order."
"Thank you, Judge."
Conn drank some more brandy, hoping he could get his courage up without getting drunk.
After all, they had a right to a full report; all of them had contributed something toward
sending him to Terra.
"The main purpose in my going to the University was to learn computer theory and
practice. It wouldn't do any good for us to find the Brain if none of us are able to use it.
Well, I learned enough to be able to operate, program and service any computer in
existence, and train assistants. During my last year at the University, I had a part-time
paid job programming the big positron-neutrino-photon computer in the astrophysics
department. When I graduated, I was offered a position as instructor in positronic
computer theory."
"You never mentioned that in your letters, son," his father said.
"It was too late for any letter except one that would come on the same ship I did. Beside,
it wasn't very important."
"I think it was." There was a catch