The Sky Is Falling | Page 2

He tried to reach for his glasses to adjust them. There were no glasses! That hit him
harder than any other discovery. He must be delirious and imagining the room. Dave
Hanson was so nearsighted that he couldn't have seen the men, much less the clothing,
without corrective lenses.
The middle-aged man with the small mustache bent over the chart near his feet. "Hmm,"
the man said in the voice of the first speaker. "Mars trines Neptune. And with Scorpio so
altered ... hmm. Better add two cc. of cortisone to the transfusion."
Hanson tried to sit up, but his arms refused to bear his weight. He opened his mouth. A
slim hand came to his lips, and he looked up into soothing blue eyes. The nurse's face
was framed in copper-red hair. She had the transparent skin and classic features that
occur once in a million times but which still keep the legend of redheaded enchantresses
alive. "Shh," she said.

He began to struggle against her hand, but she shook her head gently. Her other hand
began a series of complicated motions that had a ritualistic look about them.
"Shh," she repeated. "Rest. Relax and sleep, Dave Hanson, and remember when you were
alive."
There was a sharp sound from the doctor, but it began to blur out before Hanson could
understand it. He fought to remember what he'd heard the nurse say--something about
when he was alive--as if he'd been dead a long time.... He couldn't hold the thought. At a
final rapid motion of the girl's hand his eyes closed, the smell faded from his nose and all
sounds vanished. Once there was a stinging sensation, as if he were receiving the
transfusion. Then he was alone in his mind with his memories--mostly of the last day
when he'd still been alive. He seemed to be reliving the events, rethinking the thoughts
he'd had then.
It began with the sight of his uncle's face leering at him. Uncle David Arnold Hanson
looked like every man's dream of himself and every woman's dreams of manliness. But at
the moment, to Dave, he looked more like a personal demon. His head was tilted back
and nasty laughter was booming through the air of the little office.
"So your girl writes that your little farewell activity didn't fare so well, eh?" he chortled.
"And you come crawling here to tell me you want to do the honorable thing, is that it? All
right, my beloved nephew, you'll do the honorable thing! You'll stick to your contract
with me."
"But--" Dave began.
"But if you don't, you'd better read it again. You don't get one cent except on completion
of your year with me. That's what it says, and that's what happens." He paused, letting the
fact that he meant it sink in. He was enjoying the whole business, and in no hurry to end
it. "And I happen to know, Dave, that you don't even have fare to Saskatchewan left. You
quit and I'll see you never get another job. I promised my sister I'd make a man of you
and, by jumping Jupiter, I intend to do just that. And in my book, that doesn't mean you
run back with your tail between your legs just because some silly young girl pulls that old
chestnut on you. Why, when I was your age, I already had...."
Dave wasn't listening any longer. In futile anger, he'd swung out of the office and gone
stumbling back toward the computer building. Then, in a further burst of anger, he swung
off the trail. To hell with his work and blast his uncle! He'd go on into town, and
he'd--he'd do whatever he pleased.
The worst part of it was that Uncle David could make good on his threat of seeing that
Dave got no more work anywhere. David Arnold Hanson was a power to reckon with. No
other man on Earth could have persuaded anyone to let him try his scheme of building a
great deflection wall across northern Canada to change the weather patterns. And no
other man could have accomplished the impossible task, even after twelve countries
pooled their resources to give him the job. But he was doing it, and it was already
beginning to work. Dave had noticed that the last winter in Chicago had definitely shown

that Uncle David's predictions were coming true.
Like most of the world, Dave had regarded the big man who was his uncle with
something close to worship. He'd jumped at the chance to work under Uncle David. And
he'd been a fool. He'd been doing all right in Chicago. Repairing computers didn't pay a
fortune, but it was a good living, and he was good at it. And there was Bertha--maybe not
a