Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [167]
"Oh?"
"Yeah. So, I'm shaking it around a little, and duh lids falls open. And guess what's inside?"
"Money? Jewels?" Lafayette hazarded, swallowing more wine. It was poor stuff, thin and sour. Too bad Central was keeping that Supressor focused on him; otherwise they could have just as easily been drinking Château Lafite-Rothschild . . .
"Naw," the Red Bull said disgustedly. "Dere was just some kind o' gadget, like a combination can opener and hot-patch kit. Only it looks like it's broke. I'm about to t'row it away, when I notice duh lettering on duh bottom."
"What did it say?" Lafayette inquired, yawning. " 'Made in Japan'?"
"Take a look fer yourself, pal." The Red Bull dipped a set of scarred knuckles inside his grimy leather jerkin, withdrew a small apparatus of the approximate appearance of a six-inch-high patent coffee maker—or possibly a miniature jukebox, Lafayette corrected himself. There was a round base, painted a dark red, surmounted by a clear plastic box inside which were visible a maze of wires, wheels, levers, gears, tiny bits of colored glass and plastic.
"What in the world is it?" he inquired. "Why, those look like condensers and transistors—but that's silly. No one's invented transistors yet, in Artesia."
"Great, chum!" the Red Bull exclaimed. "I knowed youse would have duh straight dope!"
"I don't have any dope, straight or otherwise," O'Leary objected. "I haven't the faintest idea what the thing is." He turned it around, frowning at it. "What does it do, Red Bull?"
"Huh? Beats me, bub. But what I figger is, it's gotta do something nifty—and all we got to do is dope out what, and we're in business!"
"Nonsense." Lafayette pushed the apparatus away. "Red Bull, it was nice seeing you again, but I'm afraid you're wasting my time with this Rube Goldberg. Are you sure you didn't cobble it up yourself? I never saw mechanical and electronic components jumbled together like that—"
"Whom, I?" the Red Bull said indignantly. "Pal, I wouldn't string youse! Like I says, I find duh gimcrack in duh cave, an'—"
"Phooey, Red Bull." Lafayette finished his wine and pushed the mug back. "I'm going home and to bed, where I belong. Drop around some evening and we'll talk over the good old days when I was a poor, homeless boob, with no friends, no money, and a death sentence hanging over me."
"Hey, wait, pal! You ain't seen what's wrote on duh bottom, which I din't t'row it away when I seen it!"
Lafayette grunted impatiently, picked up the gadget and peered at the underside of the base. He frowned, held it in a better light.
"Well," he exclaimed. "Why didn't you say so? This could be something important. Where did you say you found it?"
"Buried in duh cave. And as soon as I seen duh royal coat of arms, I glommed I was onto something big, right, pal?"
"Goruble's personal cartouche," Lafayette muttered. "But it looks as if it were stamped in the metal with a hand-punch. There's something else . . ."
"What does it say, chum?" The Red Bull leaned forward eagerly.
"Haven't you read it?" Lafayette inquired in surprise.
"Uh—I didn't go in much fer duh scholar bit when I was a nipper," the big man said abashedly.
"It's difficult to read in this light—but I can make out . . . PROPERTY OF CENTRAL PROBABILITY LABORATORY." He rubbed a finger at the tarnished surface; more letters appeared:
FOCAL REFERENT—VARIABLE (FULL RANGE) MARK III
WARNING—EXPERIMENTAL MODEL
FOR USE BY AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
"Chee," the Red Bull said reverently.
"Why, good lord," Lafayette said, "I'll bet this is part of the loot Goruble brought along to Artesia when he defected from the Central Monitor Service, twenty-five years ago! I remember that Nicodaeus said they'd recovered a Traveler-load of stuff from the lab he'd rigged up in the palace catacombs, but that the records seemed to indicate there was more that they couldn't find—" He broke off. "Red Bull—that cave