Asimov's Science Fiction - June 2014 by Penny Publications Page A

they are able to nab them—if they are still alive, of course."
    Orphan was uneasy at his companion's acute observations, but also impressed. "What do you do?" he asked curiously. "Are you yourself in the police force?" Even as he spoke, though, the thought occurred to him that it was unlikely—a member of the police would not be traveling toward the uncertain ground that was France.
    "Oh, no, nothing of the sort," his companion said, then added, with some uncertainty, "I'm a writer." "Oh," Orphan said, surprised and to an extent relieved. "What do you write?" An embarrassed look grew on the man's face, as if already predicting his companion's reaction and dreading it. "Scientific romance," he said, "speculative fiction, don't you know. Though I've only had one novel published, recently."
    "But that's great," Orphan said, smiling, and his companion, smiling back at him with not-inconsiderable relief, extended his hand to Orphan and said, "Herbert Wells. Please, call me Herb."
    "Orphan," Orphan said, and they shook hands warmly.
    "It is getting rather chilly," Herb commented. "Would you care to join me below for a cup of tea?"
    "I'd like that," Orphan said. He liked Herb almost immediately—he seemed an open, honest man—a refreshing change from those souls he had encountered in the web of deceit that he had been floundering in since that long-ago visit of his to Gilgamesh. He stuffed the newspaper into his pack and followed Herb down the stairs and into the
Charon
's dining room.
    They sat over cups of hot tea at a table by a window that overlooked the sea. Darkness had fallen, and the sea had become rougher, sending waves and flakes of white foam against the side of the ferry.
    "Have you been to France before?" Orphan asked.
    His companion shook his head. "My first time," he said. "It should prove to be an interesting place...." his voice faded and he contemplated his tea with unseeing eyes. "I do wonder what life under the Republic is like."
    Orphan nodded. He, too, had wondered that, ever since departing from the Bookman's presence. He wondered, and he worried.
    A tacit silence, therefore, fell between them. Though travel to France was not prohibited, neither was it encouraged. And any discussion of the merits of the French Republic over the Everlasting Empire could bring potential trouble.
    "So what does bring you across the channel?" Orphan asked at last. "If you don't mind me asking, at least."
    "Oh, no, absolutely," Herb said, looking pleased at the question. "It's quite all right. You see, I've been invited as a guest to a most curious event—I'm quite looking forward to it, actually!—taking place in Paris from tomorrow. It's a literary convention—a kind of gathering of like-minded people, all of whom are, as it turns out, fans of the scientific romance!"
    "That does sound interesting," Orphan said. He tried to picture it in his mind. While working at Payne's he had sold the occasional novel of scientific romance, such as Bulwer Lytton's
The Coming Race
or Mary Shelley's
The Last Man,
and though the buyers ranged across the social strata, they seemed almost to form a stratum composed entirely of themselves: earnest, serious men (for they were almost exclusively male) whose eyes seemed to light up at the mention of their favorite book or author, and who often carried on at some length regarding the merit of this or that imaginary device before parting with their meager cash.
    The thought made him smile. "I would have liked to see that," he said.
    "Well, then, you should come along!" Herb said enthusiastically.
    "I don't think I can," Orphan said. He thought again of his parting with the Bookman, and of the instructions he had received. There was a man he had to meet, at a certain place and at a certain time. "But, if you are willing, and seeing that we are going the same way, perhaps we could travel together."
    "Splendid!" Herb said, and he clapped Orphan enthusiastically on the back. He was quite young, the