Page 61 - Tales Apocalyptic and Dystopian

High Tex and the Orbies

Tex opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a slim metal case.
He released a catch and it opened into a gleaming winking display
board. Ottley’s eyes bugged. Electronics! Before he could take a step
closer to examine the wondrous contraption, Tex brought down the
butt of his zip gun on it. Something cracked. He hammered it again,
and again, emotion rising with each upward stroke. Ottley froze,
dismayed as much by the Provisioner’s ferocity as the destruction of
the last link between the earth and the space station—indeed,
perhaps the last functioning radio on the planet.
High Tex flung the apparatus to the floor and stamped on it.
Ottley was stunned. He did not know what to say first. Out came:
“But how did you get it in the first place?”
“Dumb luck,” snapped High Tex, his tongue loosened. “I was the
only guy with initiative around here when they came down fifteen
years ago to get half a ton of iron. Seems they had lost one of their
solar power vanes to a meteor strike, and couldn’t cannibalize
anything for building material. They wouldn’t stick around this
godforsaken planet to gather the stuff, so I took the commission. I
was squatting here with some other people. They became my agents,
sworn to secrecy and protecting the business. I’m the only one left,
now. The others died or took their profits and headed for happier
hunting grounds. It took us two months to round up the scrap metal
from old automobiles, railroad track, building ruins—anywhere we
could beg, borrow or steal it—and pound it into rough ingots. They
had left me a radio—this one—to contact them when the shipment
was ready. That’s how it started. Seven times they have sent me an
order, and seven times I have satisfied it. I don’t think they realized I
could adjust the settings on the radio to listen in on a lot of their
internal communications. I was an electronics techie before the
Ecospasm, but played the dumb savage for the Orbies. Usually I
knew what they wanted before they asked, and I was able to get a
jump on it.”
“So you knew ahead of time about their need for—a boy?”
“Need? I wouldn’t call it that. Over the years I pieced together a
picture of life up there. The public was not informed about the
existence of the orbital sanctuary before the Ecospasm, so my
knowledge is far from complete. It must be a cross between a
submarine and a resort hotel. Its population might be several

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