Part 62 (1/2)

The Brazilian said, ”His voice is so clear, suddenly.”

”He's terribly tired,” said Carlotta. ”He doesn't know what he's

saying. I should have just taken him right home. The interview's over.

It's too much of a strain on him.”

”Could we not have him continue a small while longer? But perhaps we

should allow him to rest for a little,” the Brazilian suggested.

”Rest,” Uncle James said. ”That's all I f.u.c.king want. But they don't

ever let you rest. You fight the Crusades, you fight the Peloponnesian,

you fight the Civil, you get so tired, you get so f.u.c.king tired. All

those wars. I fought 'em all. Every one of them at once. You run the

simulations and you've got the n.a.z.is over here and Hannibal there and

the Monterey crowd trying to bust in up the center, and Hastings, and

Tours, and San Jose-Grant and Lee-Charlemagne-Napoleon-Eisenhower-Patton . .

His voice was still weirdly lucid and strong.

But it was terrible to sit here listening to him babbling like this.

Enough is enough, Carlotta decided. She reached down quickly and hit

main cerebral and put him to sleep. Between one moment and the next

he shut down completely.

The Brazilian gasped. ”What has happened? He has not died, has he?”

”No, he's all right. Just sleeping. He was too tired for this. I'm