Mack Reynolds: Ability Quotient

Bert shook her hand and grinned. “Unfortunately, he happens to be my closest friend.” He held a chair for her. “Beer?”

“Fine.”

He pushed his glass of beer over to her and ordered another for himself.

The girl looked at Jim. “We’re not going to be seeing as much of each other as we thought. I’m going to have to change my schedule. I’m dropping both the Chaucer and the French.”

Jim said in protest, “Aw, the devil.”

Bert looked at him. “Chaucer? You?”

Jim was indignant. “What’s wrong with me and Chaucer? Maybe I love all those old Greeks, too.”

Jill looked at him suspiciously. “Jim Hawkins, did you sign up for that course because I was in the class?”

The lanky one cleared his throat and looked at his watch. He jerked his head in a gesture of resignation. “I’m going to have to go.” He looked at Bert suspiciously. “I don’t trust you with my girl, old buddy.”

Bert Alshuler put his hand over his heart. “You’re my own old buddy.”

Jim said, “Ha.” He came to his feet, and said, “Don’t you two do anything I would do.”

Jill said, “Ha.”

When Jim was gone, Jill looked after him reflectively. “He’s a nice guy,” she said, but there was friendly camaraderie in her voice, rather than an emotion indicating a relationship between man and woman.

He said, “Yeah. He saved my life eleven times.”

She looked at him, startled. “Eleven times? Where in the name of heavens were you?”

“Saving his life.”

She frowned, as though seeking the joke. “I mean where were the two of you?”

“Back to back in a machine gun nest. The gun was jammed and all we had were our automatics. Later on when the relief came, we counted them. There were ten on my side and eleven on his. If he hadn’t been there, those eleven gooks would have come up on my back. If I hadn’t been there, those ten would have come up on his. I figure I owe him one life.” He added softly, “And I hope some day to catch up with him. Jim’s the best.”

“Gooks?”

He looked at her. “Listen, when they’re trying to kill you, you don’t have polite names for them. They’re Gook’s, or Krauts, or Huns, or some such.”

She nodded. “I see.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll have to hustle along too.” She looked into his face frankly. “Rather short notice, but I think I like you, Bert Alshuler. What was that Killer bit when he introduced us? Are you mad for the ladies or something?”

He stood at the same time she did and walked along beside her to the door. “No,” he said wryly. “Kind of a old nickname back in the army. I’m not very smart with the ladies. I… I guess I got a late start. They hauled me into the military before I was out of short pants practically. At the door he said, I suppose I ought to go on back to my mini-apartment and get around to unpacking. Things have been so hectic these past couple of days that I’m still living out of my suitcases.”

“Which way are you going?”

“I’m over in the Parthenon Building.”

“Well, so am I. I understand that the juniors and seniors call our quarters the dungeons. They’re not as bad as all that, though.”

“Sort of cramped. The new buildings have more room, now they’ve got the housing shortage licked. What’s the population of this university city now?” He fell in step beside her, somewhat surprised that he didn’t have to slow his pace to accommodate to her hers. She was a brisk little thing.

“Something like three hundred thousand,” she said. “The use of TV and the computers came just in time. What in the name of heavens would they have done with this educational revolution if they had to teach in the old manner?”

“When the need for railroads came along, railroads were invented,” he misquoted. He took her in from the side of his eyes. “Jim likes you pretty well. I know Jim.”

She looked straight ahead. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? Jim’s the best.”

She sighed and said, “I have to look up twice to see the top of him.”

He was unhappy, but there was nothing to say. Jim Hawkins had always had hard luck with his women— the women he was serious about. Practically all men liked him. Well, practically all women liked him too, but those who had really mattered to him didn’t go further than that; they only liked him.

They were coming up to the high-rise building that contained their respective apartments. They were silent now. At the elevator banks, she turned to him and extended her hand again. “Nice to have met you, Bert, Jim has mentioned you, more than once.”

He stared at the elevator door which closed behind her. In the past, when Jim Hawkins had come up with a new girl he was hot about, Bert Alshuler had steered clear. He didn’t know if he was going to be able to do it this time, or not.

He entered an empty elevator and said into the screen, “Sixty-third floor.”

He was still bemused, thinking of Jim and the girl, when he reached his floor and walked down the corridor to his door. The door screen picked him up upon approach and opened, and he was in the small living room-cum-bedroom-cum-kitchenette before the other had any indication of his approach.

Bert Alshuler stopped abruptly. “Looking for something?” he snapped.

The stranger had been bent over one of his suitcases, rummaging through it. He came erect and faced the apartment’s tenant, his face embarrassed.

He was a fraction smaller than Bert which made him about five-eight, about one-fifty and he looked to be in his middle thirties which gave him almost another ten years. He was dressed well but conservatively by present day standards, and was obviously no ordinary prowler.

Bert said, “How in the hell did you get in here?”

The stranger sat down on the couch which became a bed at night and looked defiant. He said, “What did you discuss with Professor Katz? I came to find what you discussed with Katz.”

“Did you expect to find it in my suitcase?”

“I thought I might find some indication. What did he want of you?”

Bert Alshuler was intrigued. He sat down on the mini-apartment’s sole comfort chair and eyed the newcomer. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Over the other’s face came a look of determination. He said, “I insist that you divulge to me the reason for your interview this morning with Leonard Katz.”

Bert said mildly, “Fine. Who are you?”

“That I am not ready to tell you.”

“Great. Then why don’t you get lost, in view of the fact that I’m about to hang one on your for breaking into my apartment and going through my private possessions?”

The stubborn determination intensified. The stranger put his hand inside his jacket and came forth with a pistol. He pointed it at Bert Alshuler. “Tell me immediately what it was that Professor Katz wanted with you this morning.”

Bert Alshuler looked at the other for a long considering moment. He ran the palm of his right hand over his mouth in a gesture of disgust and leaned forward slightly in the chair.

“You want to know something?” he said. “I’m an old combat man. I’ve been hit more times than I can offhand remember, but never with a gun of that small a caliber. It’s a twenty-two with a two-inch barrel, a very inaccurate gun. You want to know something else? On top of everything else, I’ll bet you’re a lousy shot. And I’ll bet that I can get out of this chair and rush you before you can finish me with that popgun.” He waited another long moment before adding, “Want to try? If you do, start shooting, friend.”

The other bug-eyed him.

Bert tensed up and repeated, “Start shooting, friend.”