Pulp Fiction, 1955 · page 10 of 36
American Science Fiction #41 — page 10: what you’re looking at
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10 STOPWATCH ON tree tops; and through it all the steady chatter of natives saying over and over _ again,. “Simba,” “Mungo,” “N’Gana,” “Bwana,” stray ‘bits of Swahili floating in my mind. When I awoke, we were three hours out of Santa Maria in the Azores after refuelling. I took out my pocket calendar and checked off another day. Only twelve more remained to Chet- zisky’s deadline. The plane swung down over the “west African coast and then. turned inland, Thirty-two hours after leav- ing Washington, it touched down on the runway at N’Dolo. airfield in Leopoldville, Belgian Congo. “Zero hour,” I thought with a quiver of excitement as I stooped through the cabin door onto the landing ramp. On hand to meet me was George Disney, head of the com- mission, who drove me to the Hotel Albert where I was to put up. He was the leisurely type. Pilon, he said, was up country. He could be €alled down, or I might go up, just as I wished. In any case I was to — consider myself a welcome guest of the Disneys. Disney’s conversation _had a soft, easy charm. He sipped his aperitif ‘without any sense of urg- ency, an affable victim of the tropical languor.. I proposed leaving right away to meet Pilon. His eyes took on the. hurt look of a polite host whose sug- ‘gestions have been refused. I pressed my point and he reluctantly ‘ consented tO arrange transport. He left without finishing his drink, a silent rebuke for what he felt was my unseemly haste, I suppose. In half an hour I was flying over the wooded savanahs of Kwango to- wards the mountains of Lualaba Ka- sal. The plane set down at Katanga eight hours later, where I fretted for . ‘twenty minutes before the commis- sion jeep picked me up for the © bumpy ride along a piste through ‘a forest of giant trees, CHAPTER 3 I FOUND Pilon at camp, sitting in his tent in the middle of a jungle - clearing, making coffee over a Primus oa. message a few. hours before. from __ room and here I am sitting in the — THE WORLD stove. 1 introduced myself. He said he knew I was coming; had received Disney, I accepted his coffee and — eased into a casual interrogation, «=I wove my opening questions | around bits of information I had — gleaned of Pilon’s movements from Disney and the jeep driver. I want- ed to test his straightforwardness, But I had to be careful about my questions. ;Having no official cre- — dentials, I dare not overstep my — mark and draw a challenge for them. Disney had accepted me, without ~— question, solely on the strength of Armstrong’s cable. Ss “Just think,” I said with the prop- a er air of: wonderment, “last Tuesday I was lecturing quietly in a cClass- ~ NM T a eed . vil PRP TTI ae ae ee ee jungle. What were you doing last a Tuesday?” — His blue eyes narrowed. “Tues- — = day?” He paused. “Yes, I was check ing ore samples up in the Lake — Mwera region.’ 3 ‘That was true, I bnew Pilon con- Ss tinued to answer. me truthfully and — with apparent frankness. But I was not satisfied; his eyes had a sly, mocking look to them as if: he were really aware of the purpose of my _ visit and enjoyed this verbal sparring, = : I distrusted him. — Suddenly he broke in vehemently _ on one of my queries, “Why all. | these questions? Am | suspected of == subversive activities?” I said nothing, scrutinizing him closely. I felt he was acting, his an- = ger a mere pretense to force me to — the point. of my visit. I stalled for time to think, refilling my cup from — the pot on the Primus.. =. “May I see. your credentials, To I froze in the act of stirring my = coffee. Was Pilon just being nasty? Or had the timidity of my. question- = : ing given Me away?. . I couldn’t afford. to be. trapped. Not only would my. trip to the Con- | = go be fruitless, but worse, Armstrong = would be hauled on “the carpet for — his part in it and severely disciplined | I myself would probably face ugly — disleyalty charges. A bold bluff was my only way outs: ee eee ccs a: = :