No sense in putting myself down. Besides, I was pretty good.
“Not bad,” I said.
“Good. Let’s make it two dollars a game. I think there’s time for fifty quick ones before breakfast”
I didn’t think it possible that anyone could beat me fifty straight games of checkers. Catlum won the first dozen games so fast that my head spun. He never paused. He just moved whenever his turn came. Then he poured us each a cup of coffee and we took them outside while his companion snored.
We looked out over the waters and I thought of Mark Twain and of all the things that had come down the river over the years.
“You running from something?” he asked.
“Running to something,” I answered.
“Well, good luck to you,” he said.
“Don’t you get bored pushing a barge?” I asked.
“Haven’t done it in a long time,” he said. “This is a sentimental journey.”
“Oh.” I was silent for a while. Then, “This must really have been something when it was all wild,” I observed.
He nodded.
“Pretty. Of course, the last time I came down this way I wound up in jail.”
We watched until our cups were empty and then we went back inside. He beat me another dozen games, and then a false dawn occurred in the east. I bore down, I played as well as I could, but he just kept winning. He chuckled each time, taking my two dollars or making change for me. I finally decided that he had to be taken down a peg. I coiled into the computer and installed the tightest impromptu game program I could come up with—which I guess was only as good as the programmer, because I leaned heavily on it for a time and he kept right on winning.
He got his hundred dollars sometime late that morning, and then I had to sack out on the other bunk while he went out to look at the cargo.
I don’t know how long I had been asleep when I dreamed my way through a Coil Effect. I was inside that ’copter again, skimming across the countryside, when suddenly I was flanked by a pair of heavier-looking machines. They opened fire without preamble, tearing my vehicle to bits. I remained within the computer’s shrinking sensorium as it plunged earthward. Then came the impact and I awakened briefly. I knew that it had been more than a dream. The feelings accompanying the phenomenon were second nature, and the ones I’d just experienced had been real.
But there was nothing to do at this point and my eyes were still heavy. I drifted back to sleep. I dreamed more dreams, but they were garden-variety and fugitive.
What finally slowly brought me around later was a moaning sound—repeated, drawn-out. I opened my eyes. The cabin was dark. The fellow on the other bunk was making the noises. For a minute, I was disoriented, and then I realized where I was.
I sat up on the edge of the bunk and massaged my brow. Had I really slept away most of the day? My body must have needed the rest badly, to put me out like that. I looked over at the other bunk. The man who tossed there, arm across his face, appeared to be in the throes of a horrible hangover. As this did not make him the best of company, I rose and turned toward the doorway, realizing as I did that I was ravenously hungry. I also wanted a bathroom.
I passed outside. Catlum was leaning against the bulkhead, grinniag at me.
“Just about time to go, Steve,” he said. “I was going to get you up in a few more minutes.”
I cast about in all directions. I did not see anything that lived up to my expectation of Vicksburg. I told him so.
“Well, you’ve got a good point there,” he said. “Vicksburg’s still a little ways downstream. But we’re already long past Transylvania. Most important of all, though, the captain’s waking up.”
“Wait a minute. Aren’t you Captain Catlum?”
“Indeed I am,” he answered. “Only I’m not captain of this particular vessel—one of those little fine points they sometimes get touchy about.”
“But when I saw you supervising the loading—”
“—I was doin’ a little favor for a friend who couldn’t say no to free drinks.”
“But what about the other guy? Aren’t there supposed to be two people aboard?”
“Alas! That other gentleman was taken out in a fist fight. It comes of drinking and carousing. He was in no shape to make the trip. Now, up forward there—”
“Hold on! It sounds as if you stole this vessel!”
“Lord, no! I’ve probably just saved that poor man’s job.” He jerked a massive thumb back toward the cabin. “I’ve no desire to embarrass him by waiting around for his thanks, though. Now, we’d better be jumpin’ in a few minutes. The water’ll be shallow off to port, near that promontory. We can just wade ashore.”
Wading, I reflected, tends to be easier when one is seven feet tall. But I said, “Why’d you do it?”
“I needed a ride to Vicksburg, too.”
I was about to say that the computer had him listed as captain, but how was I to know that? Instead, I said, “I’m going to hit the head first.”
“I’ll be gettin’ my gear while you do that thing.”
While I did that thing I also coiled into the computer and checked again. “Ship’s master: David G. Holland” I read. So Catlum had fudged the records, too, temporarily—just an observation, as I could hardly afford a holier-than-thou attitude on that count. But knowing my story about a Wilson at Deller’s referring me to him to be a complete fabrication, he must have been puzzled about how I did know his name and how I’d gotten my message into the computer. On the other hand, he didn’t seem to care and he hardly seemed the sort to go running to authorities about a fugitive. He might even be one himself. I decided that it was safe to accompany him ashore at the point he had indicated.
When the time came, we jumped. He did wade. I swam. My teeth were chattering when we finally reached the strand, but Catlum set up a brisk pace which was eventually warming.
“Where are we headed?” I finally asked him.
“Oh, a couple of more miles along the road here there’s a little eatery I know,” he said.
My stomach growled in reply.
“…Then a little further on there’s a small town with just about anything you’d want. Maybe even a new pair of pants.”
I nodded. My garments were even shabbier now. I was starting to look like a bum. He slapped me on the shoulder then and increased his pace. I forced myself to match it. I thought about the barge and its hungover captain, winding along the river up ahead. I had to acknowledge that if anyone somehow traced me to the barge the trail was going to be even more confused than I’d originally intended. I owed this oversized con man that much.
When we got to the restaurant I was almost dizzy with hunger. We settled at a table off to the side and I ordered a steak. My companion did what I’d only fantasized. He ordered three. He finished them, too, and started in on several pieces of pie while I was still working on mine. He called for coffee so often that the waitress left a pot on the table.
Finally, he sighed and looked at me and said, “You know, you could use a shave.”
I nodded.
“Didn’t bring my barber along,” I said.
“Wait a minute.” He leaned to the side and opened his duffle bag. He rummaged in it for several moments, then withdrew one of those plastic disposable razors and a small tube of shaving cream. He pushed them across the table toward me. “I always carry a couple of these for emergencies. You look like one.”
He poured himself another cup of coffee.
“Thanks,” I said, spearing the last edible morsel on my plate and glancing back toward the Men’s Room. “I’ll take you up on it.”
I went back and washed, lathered my face, shaved and combed my hair. The image which regarded me from the mirror actually looked presentable, well-nourished and rested then. Amazing. I disposed of the disposable and departed the facility.