Tunnel in the Sky (36 page)

   
“Really? They were more strict in my day.”

   
“All of that group will get special credit. What they learned cannot be learned in classrooms.”

   
Seeing that his father was inclined to argue Rod changed the subject. “Sis, that reminds me. I gave one of the girls your name, thinking you were still in the Corps- she wants to be appointed cadet, you see. You can still help her, can't you?”

   
“I can advise her and perhaps coach her for the exams. Is this important to you, Buddy?”

   
“Well, yes. And she is number-one officer material. She's a big girl, even bigger than you are- and she looks

   
a bit like you. She is smart like you, too, around genius, and always good-natured and willing- but strong and fast and incredibly violent when you need it . . . sudden death in all directions.”

   
“Roderick.” His father glanced at the lamp.

   
“Uh, sorry, Dad. I was just describing her.”

   
“Very well. Son . . . when did you start picking up your meat with your fingers?”

   
Rod dropped the tidbit and blushed. “Excuse me. We didn't have forks.”

   
Helen chuckled. “Never mind, Rod. Pater, it's perfectly natural. Whenever we paid off any of our girls we always put them through reorientation to prepare them for the perils of civil life. And fingers were made before forks.”

   
“Mmm . . no doubt. Speaking of reorientation, there is something we must do, daughter, before this family will be organized again.”

   
“So?”

   
“Yes. I mean the transfer of guardianship. Now that I am well, by a miracle, I must reassume my responsibilities.”

   
Rod's mind slipped several cogs before it penetrated that Dad was talking about him. Guardian? Oh . . . Sis was his guardian, wasn't she? But it didn't mean anything.

   
Helen hesitated. “I suppose so, Pater,” she said, her eyes on Rod, “if Buddy wants to.”

   
“Eh? That is not a factor, daughter. Your husband won't want the responsibility of supervising a young boy- and it is my obligation . . . and privilege.”

   
Helen looked annoyed. Rod said, “I can't see that it matters, Dad. I'll be away at college-and after all I am nearly old enough to vote.”

   
His mother looked startled. “Why, Roddie dear!”

   
“Yes,” agreed his father. “I'm afraid I can't regard a gap of three years as negligible.”

   
“What do you mean, Dad? I'll be of age in January.”

   
Mrs. Walker clasped a hand to her mouth. “Jerome we've forgotten the time lag again. Oh, my baby boy!”

   
Mr. Walker looked astonished, muttered something about “-very difficult” and gave attention to his plate. Presently he looked up. “You'll pardon me, Rod. Nevertheless, until you are of age I must do what I can; I hardly think I want you to live away from home while at college.”

   
“Sir? Why not?”

   
“Well- I feel that we have drifted apart, and not all for the best. Take this girl you spoke of in such surprising terms. Am I correct in implying that she was, eh a close chum?”

   
Rod felt himself getting warm. “She was my city manager,” he said flatly.

   
“Your what?”

   
“My executive officer. She was captain of the guard, chief of police, anything you want to call her. She did everything. She hunted, too, but that was just because she liked to. Carol is, uh- well, Carol is swell.”

   
“Roderick, are you involved with this girl?”

   
“Me? Gosh, no! She was more like a big sister. Oh, Carol was sweet on half a dozen fellows, one time or another, but it never lasted.”

   
“I am very glad to hear that you are not serously interested in her. She does not sound like desirable companionship for a young boy.”

   
“Dad- you don't know what you are saying!”

   
“Perhaps. I intend to find out. But what is this other matter? 'City Manager!' What were you?”

   
“I,” Rod said proudly, “was Mayor of Cowpertown.”

   
His father looked at him, then shook his head. “We'll speak of this later. Possibly you need, eh- medical help.” He looked at Helen. “We'll attend to the change in guardianship tomorrow. I can see that there is much I must take care of.”

   
Helen met his eyes. “Not unless Buddy consents.”

   
“Daughter!”

   
“The transfer was irrevocable. He will have to agree or I won't do it!”

   
Mr. Walker looked shocked, Mrs. Walker looked stricken. Rod got up and left the room . . . the first time anyone had ever done so while the Lamp of Peace was burning. He heard his father call after him but he did not turn back.

   
He found Matson in his room, smoking and reading. “I grabbed a bite and let myself in quietly,” Matson explained. He inspected Rod's face. “I told you,” he said slowly, “that it would be rough. Well, sweat it out, son, sweat it out.”

   
“I can't stand it!”

   
“Yes, you can.

   
In Emigrants' Gap the sturdy cross-country wagons were drawn up in echelon, as they had been so often before and would be so many times again. The gate was not ready; drivers gathered at the booth under Liberty's skirts, drinking coffee and joking through the nervous wait. Their professional captain was with them, a lean, homely young man with deep lines in his face, from sun and laughing and perhaps some from worry. But he did not seem to be worrying now; he was grinning and drinking coffee and sharing a doughnut with a boy child. He was dressed in fringed buckskin, in imitation of a very old style; he wore a Bill Cody beard and rather long hair. His mount was a little pinto, standing patiently by with reins hanging. There was a boot scabbard holding a hunting rifle on the nigh side of the saddle, but the captain carried no guns on his person; instead he wore two knives, one on each side.

   
A siren sounded and a speaker above the Salvation Army booth uttered: “Captain Walker, ready with gate four.”

   
Rod waved at the control booth and shouted, “Call off!” then turned back to Jim and Jacqueline. “Tell Carol I'm sorry she couldn't get leave. I'll be seeing you.”

   
“Might be sooner than you think,” asserted Jim. “My firm is going to bid this contract.”

   
“Your firm? Where do you get that noise? Have they made him a partner, Jackie?”

   
“No,” she answered serenely, “but I'm sure they will as soon as he is admitted to the Outlands bar. Kiss Uncle Rod good-by, Grant.”

   
“No,” the youngster answered firmly.

   
“Just like his father,” Jimmy said proudly. “Kisses women only.”

   
The count was running back down; Rod heard it and swung into saddle. “Take it easy, kids.” The count passed him, finished with a shouted, “ONE!”

   
“Reins up! Reeeiins UP!” He waited with arm raised and glanced through the fully-dilated gate past rolling prairie at snow-touched peaks beyond. His nostrils widened.

   
The control light turned green. He brought his arm down hard and shouted, “Roll 'em! Ho!” as he squeezed and released the little horse with his knees. The pinto sprang forward, cut in front of the lead wagon, and Captain Walker headed out on his long road.