The Sky Is Falling | Page 7

night." She turned her back on him and took something from a chest beside the bed.
"Ser Perth will be here in a moment. He'll want to find you on your feet and dressed."
Hanson was beginning to feel annoyance at the suddenly cocksure and unsympathetic girl,
but he stood fully erect and flexed his muscles. There wasn't even a trace of bedsoreness,
though he had been flat on his back long enough to grow callouses. And as he examined
himself, he could find no scars or signs of injuries from the impact of the bulldozer--if
there had ever really been a bulldozer.
He grimaced at his own doubts. "Where am I, anyhow, Nema?"
The girl dumped an armload of clothing on his bed and looked at him with controlled
exasperation. "Dave Hanson," she told him, "don't you know any other words? That's the
millionth time you've asked me that, at least. And for the hundredth time, I'll tell you that
you're here. Look around you; see for yourself. I'm tired of playing nursemaid to you."
She picked up a shirt of heavy-duty khaki from the pile on the bed and handed it to him.
"Get into this," she ordered. "Dress first, talk later."
She stalked out of the room.
Dave did as she had ordered, busy with his own thoughts as he discovered what he was to
wear. He was still wearing something with a vague resemblance to a short hospital gown,
with green pentacles and some plant symbol woven into it, and with a clasp to hold it
together shaped into a silver crux ansata. He took it off and hurled it into a corner
disgustedly.

He picked up the khaki shirt and put it on; then, with growing curiosity, the rest of the
garments, until he came to the shoes. Khaki shirt, khaki breeches, a wide, webbed belt, a
flat-brimmed hat. And the shoes--they weren't shoes, but knee-length leather boots, like a
dressy version of lumberman's boots or a rougher version of riding boots. He hadn't seen
even pictures of such things since the few silent movies run in some of the little art
theaters. He struggled to get them on. They were an excellent fit, and comfortable enough,
but he felt as if his legs were encased in hardened concrete when he was through. He
looked down at himself in disgust. He was in all respects costumed as the epitome of the
Hollywood dream of a heroic engineer-builder, ready to drive a canal through an isthmus
or throw a dam across a raging river--the kind who'd build the dam while the river raged,
instead of waiting until it was quiet, a few days later. He was about as far from the
appearance of the actual blue-denim, leather-jacket engineers he had worked with as
Maori in ancient battle array.
He shook his head and went looking for the bathroom, where there might be a mirror. He
found a door, but it led into a closet, filled with alembics and other equipment. There was
a mirror hung on the back of it, however, with a big sign over it that said "Keep Out." He
threw the door wide and stared at himself. At first, in spite of the costume, he was pleased.
Then the truth began to hit him, and he felt abruptly sure he was still raging with fever
and delirium.
He was still staring when Nema came back into the room. She pursed her lips and shut
the door quickly. But he'd already seen enough.
"Never mind where I am," he said. "Tell me, who am I?"
She stared at him. "You're Dave Hanson."
"The hell I am," he told her. "Oh, that's what I remember my father having me christened
as. He hated long names. But take a good look at me. I've been shaving my face for years
now, and I should know it. That face in the mirror wasn't it! There's a resemblance. But a
darned faint one. Change the chin, lengthen my nose, make the eyes brown instead of
blue, and it might be me. But Dave Hanson's at least five inches shorter and fifty pounds
lighter, too. Maybe the face is plastic surgery after the accident--but this isn't even my
body."
The girl's expression softened. "I'm sorry, Dave Hanson," she said gently. "We should
have thought to warn you. You were a difficult conjuration--and even the easier ones
often go wrong these days. We did our best, though it may be that the auspices were too
strong on the soma. I'm sorry if you don't like the way you look. But there's nothing we
can do about it now."
Hanson opened the door again, in spite of Nema's quick frown, and looked at himself.
"Well," he admitted, "I guess it could be