Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [151]
"It's not the duke, it's that sneaky little Krupkin who thinks I'm going to spill a lot of secrets," Lafayette corrected the P.P.S. "Listen, Groanwelt, as a loyal Melanger, you should be fighting Krupkin, not helping him. His scheme is to take over the whole country and use it as a base of operations to launch an attack on Artesia!"
"Politics," Groanwelt said apologetically, "was never a big hobby wit' me. I mean, administrations come and go, but the need for a skilled specialist remains constant—"
"Don't you have any patriotism?" O'Leary challenged. "This man's a maniac! He'll loot Melange of everything useful: food, weapons, raw materials—and—"
"Sure, fella. But look, OK if we get started? You can talk while I work. How's about getting the shirt off and stepping over here so's I can buckle you up in working position?"
"C-couldn't I just toast my toes for a few minutes longer?"
"Good notion. I'll help you off wit' the boots, and we'll strap the ankles up nice to hold 'em in optimum position. Too close, and you get a lot o' smoke; too far, and you don't get the full effect, like—"
"On second thought, why don't I tell you whatever you want to know right now, and save you all that effort?" O'Leary suggested hurriedly. "Where shall I start? With my arrival on top of the windmill, two weeks ago? Or was it three? Or should I go farther back, to when I had everything in the world a sane man could want, and it wasn't enough? Or—"
"Hey, hey, hold on, pal!" Groanwelt lowered his voice, looking around nervously. "What you trying to do, put me out o' business?"
"Not at all, but it just happens I'm in a talkative mood this evening—"
"It's morning. Geeze, kid, you're out o' touch."
"Yes, morning, evening, it doesn't matter, I love to talk night and day. Now, as I was saying—"
"Shhhh!" The P.P.S. laid a thick finger across his pooched-out lips. "Have a heart! You want to lose me the best post on the ducal staff? You go blowing your gaff wit'out me even laying a iron to you, and somebody's going to start getting ideas about redundant personnel. At my age, I can't take no RIF, kid. So be a sweet guy and button it up, hah?"
"I . . . I'll tell you what," Lafayette proposed, eyeing the smoking forceps in the technician's hairy fist. "You hold off with the irons for a few minutes—just until I do a few yoga exercises to heighten my appreciation of your virtuosity—and I'll try to bottle up the speech I want to make."
"Say, that's white o' you, neighbor!"
"Think nothing of it, Groanwelt. Glad to be helpful. By the way, do you have any idea what became of the young lady who arrived when I did?"
"Oh, her? Yeah. Say, cleaned up, she wouldn't be a bad-looking little piece, you know? I think I seen the boys handing her over to the housekeeper. Seems like your pal Prince Krupkin's got some kind o' special plans for her." Groanwelt winked.
"The rat," Lafayette snarled between his teeth. "Groanwelt, you seem like a decent sort of chap: are you going to sit quietly by while that unprincipled crook carries out his plans right over your head, without a word?"
The P.P.S. sighed. "Yeah, I know, the idealism o' yout'. You young guys think you can cure the world o' its ills. But as you get a little older, you find out it ain't so easy. Me, I've settled for the pride o' craftsmanship: the integrity o' the skilled technician. I give every job the best that's in me, no shoddy work to have to be ashamed of later. I mean, when people are looking at a project o' mine, I want to be able to hold my head up, right? Speaking o' which, maybe we better start in; old Rodolpho's likely to show up any minute to check on progress—"
"He just