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diff --git a/old/64448-0.txt b/old/64448-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a3e381b..0000000 --- a/old/64448-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,999 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Happy Rain Night, by Dean Evans - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Happy Rain Night - -Author: Dean Evans - -Release Date: February 03, 2021 [eBook #64448] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAPPY RAIN NIGHT *** - - - - -HAPPY RAIN NIGHT - -By DEAN EVANS - -_It was the Big Sleep for those at Residential -Number 327 this night ... this very dark Martian -night ... this very good night for the Synthi-Rain._ - -[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from -Planet Stories March 1954. -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -It was the eve of the annual synthi-rain and all Mars was settling -down for the big sleep that always went with it. Everything was ready, -reso-skins had been peeled off the pumps a week before. - -_Uh huh_, thought the lone attendant at the fuelport outside the city. -You could tell everything was ready, even the traffic was thinning. -Hadn't been a 'copter or anything in for fuel in the last ten minutes. - -He eyed the wall clock inside his cubicle. Almost eleven. Might as -well close up and go on home, there wouldn't be any more customers in -tonight. - -He suddenly decided to modify that thought as an old hull-weary job -came banging clumsily down into cradle number one and slumped, little -vibration tentacles rippling here and there over its surface. He -sighed, went out the lock, went over to the cradle. - -There was a woman in the ship. Not much of a woman, but you never knew -what the big gambling city of Fraon would draw next in the line of -tourists. All kinds. - -Like this one. This one could be called typical. Wild black hair on -the dame. Not long, but wild. A little sloppy, like the last-season's -modo-strap she wore on the white skin between her breasts. The strap -looked fringy. - -"Fuel, Miss?" he asked. - -But the woman didn't seem to hear. She was studying a small scanning -disc, turning it this way and that like somebody pruning herself. Only -not. She was giving the place the once over. - -"Yeah," she said finally. "Yeah, but not the kind you think...." -she stopped. She glared suddenly across the ramps at another jet--a -Security Ship--that was coming in fast, settling for the cradle next -to hers. - -"No," she said. "No. Changed my mind. How far's Fraon from here?" - -"You're on the edges now. Follow the bottom lane and drop when you see -the lights. That be all?" - -But the woman didn't answer. She yanked at controls inside the cabin -and the old beat up jet rose with a tired, grumbling roar like the sigh -of a very old man contemplating the long long years that have gone. - -Ten minutes later she looked down, yanked once more on the controls. -She'd almost overshot. The ship shuddered violently fore to aft and -then jammed down inside the Administration Port. - -She hunched her shoulders inside the plastiskin, let her eyes go up to -a sucker sign off in the distance. She read: - - CITY OF FRAON, - GAMBLER'S PARADISE - -And in smaller letters beneath: - - COME CLEAN--GO AWAY THE SAME - -She curled her lip. Between Fraon and the city of Jao to the south, the -planet had quite a bit of "Paradise." Of the two cities, though, Fraon -was the larger; Fraon would be the logical one. That's why she'd chose -to try it first. That's where _he_ would come. - -She left the ship and made her way over to the Guide, a small niche -of a place set into the corner of the now darkened Administration -building. The Guide was open but it didn't look as though it was doing -any business. She went inside. - -There weren't any customers at all. The only person in the place was -a young, greasy looking man, an attendant, who just now was looking -bored and fingering a black pencil line mustache. - - * * * * * - -The greasy looking man raised his eyes. His finger left off caressing -his mustache, and he studied the woman coming toward the desk. H'mm. -Nice build. A little on the rough side, like something left out in -the atmosphere too long, but all in all not too bad. Beggars can't be -choosers. Not on Rain Night they can't. Not way out here on the edge of -nothing at eleven in the evening when everybody's gone home, they can't. - -He pushed the machine of buttons across the desk toward the woman. -"Just in off the deserts?" he asked. - -The woman tossed hair out of her eyes. She gave the greasy man a look. -She eyed his mustache. She didn't say anything. - -The greasy man grinned. Not hard to get, he thought, just a little -careful. A little careful till she found out what he had to -offer--generally speaking. - -"Five more minutes before we close," he said, his grin changing to a -leer. "You look a little lonely, sister. Me, I'm right there beside you -yanking on the same controls. Look, it's Rain Night, sure, and most -everything'll be closed in another hour but I know of a place ..." he -left the rest unsaid. He raised an eyebrow significantly. - -The woman didn't say anything. She dropped a teel credit into the slot -on the control box, punched a button. Nothing happened. Then the teel -came rattling back at her through the reject. She looked up. - -"Something?" the greasy man said. - -"Yeah. I punch the button for a room and all that happens is my money -coming back." - -"A room?" He looked incredulous. "On Rain Night? Don't be absurd, -sister. All taken days ago. Might try the 'Coptels. They might have a -vacancy. But why worry about that? Like I said...." - -He leaned over the counter, leaned over toward the woman. Leaned right -into a heat gun that had appeared like old-time magic in the woman's -right hand. - -"Hey!" - -"You're the soul of Martian generosity," the woman said evenly. "On you -it sprouts ears. I could see that eight lanes up. Open the bank, I -need a fistful of credits." - -"Huh?" - -"Open the bank." - -He was getting to believe it. And not liking it. He glared at the -woman, then glared down at the heat gun in her hand. He growled -indignantly: - -"Why you lousy space tramp, I oughta...." - -"Hold it!" Something hard was in the woman's voice. - -But he didn't hold it. His hand went out darting, and his fingers -clutched for the alarm buttons on the bank. And they almost made it, -those fingers of his. They came within a thought-space of making it. - -But didn't, actually. - -The heat gun made a funny sound like a tiny jet biting at solid -atmosphere. The greasy man's hand stayed for an instant, his fingers -playing little chords of agony in the air. - -Somebody like him. After that his body folded forward and his head came -down over the machine. His mustache, somehow, didn't look so very good -now. - -The woman went around the counter, punched the control buttons on the -rear of the bank. At once two compartments came out and she looked -down into a mess of teel credits that would choke a moon crater. She -frowned. Then she transferred the platinum teels to the big pocket in -her plastiskin, closed the compartments, went around to the front of -the desk again, and looked down at the buttons. - -She dropped a teel in the slot and touched the 'Coptel button. The -greasy man had been right, there were some left. From the side of the -machine came her reservation identity key. - -She had a last word for the greasy man: "Happy Rain Night, Buster." - -She went out of the place, went back to her ship, dropped the identity -key in a small slot on the instrument panel and closed the control -lever. From here on the 'Coptel would do the directing and controlling -of the weary ship. She leaned back, felt at the bulging pocket in her -plastiskin. - -She needed those teel credits. She didn't know how much, but she knew -she'd need a lot, for _he_ could always be found where the money was. -Or the women. Or both. - - * * * * * - -The 'Coptel court was empty. Cold winds just in off the deserts swept -little memories of sand around, flicking at 'Coptel walls with a dry, -brittle sound. The woman left her ship, went through the 'Coptel lock, -dumped the bag she'd taken with her from the ship onto the bed. She -looked around. Then sniffed softly. It didn't matter what the place -looked like, she wouldn't be here long enough to notice. - -She showered, and for the next ten minutes worked hard on her hair. -After that she went to the bag over on the bed and took from it a new -plastiskin with a gleaming, golden-colored modo-strap. She pulled it -over very white thighs, struggled her arms in. All that remained was to -transfer the teel credits and the gun. After that she went out to the -ship and set the controls for take-off in fifteen minutes. - -Going down the 'Coptel ramp to the spacelators she chuckled softly to -herself. The ship would go up to the eighth lane and stay there. She -wondered what the Security people would think when they found it up -there with nobody in it. - -The croupier at the telecto-spin table was a funny sort of a guy, a -philosophic guy. Standing at one table night after night you get like -that. He liked to study the people who came here to _Half-Century -House_ to gamble. Some could afford it, some could not. - -That black-haired woman over by the quarter-teel machines for instance. -The one with the cheap new plastiskin with the phony golden modo-strap -on it. Take her. Ten to one she worked somewhere in a mining office and -managed to put away, by great sacrifice, a little something from her -salary each week. - -Ten to one she'd done this for a year just so she could come up here -to Fraon and have herself a whirl in the gaming houses for one or two -days. How do you like that? And ten to one she'd go home broke as hell -and go back to the slaving routine some more. Unless, of course, she -could discover for herself some other less laborious way of making a -fast teel. - -Not a bad looking woman, either, he thought. There was something--some -tiny little thing--about her that puzzled him, but he couldn't put -his finger on it. He watched her play the machines, watched her as -she scanned the place with dark eyes that missed about as much as -the teel-collector on tax day. Odd. She didn't seem to be paying any -attention to the machines she was playing, she seemed more interested -in the motley crowd in the place. - -Oh, well. Just another woman. Another twenty minutes and they'd be -closing up and he could go home for the big sleep everybody enjoyed -during the synthi-rain. He spun his wheel idly and looked away. - -"You running this wheel or just modeling for a space artist?" - -The croupier jerked his eyes around. Then he blinked. The woman with -the black hair and the golden modo-strap was standing at his wheel -giving him a sour eye. He pulled himself together, worked a little -house-smile for her. - -"Dreaming," he admitted. "Like to try the wheel?" He felt sorry for -her. Poor kid, she should stick to the quarter-teel machines. - -He watched her flip the pocket in her plastiskin. He watched her with -eyes that began to bulge as he saw the amount of credits she piled out -on the table in front of him. - -"What's the current odds on whether the scientists have figured out -whether space is infinite?" she asked. - -His eyes were still bulging, but he looked away, checked on the chart. -My God, the long shots these amateurs take! "One hundred and two -thousand to one," he said. "As of ten twenty-two tonight, which is the -last quotation I have." - -The woman nodded. "That gives me plenty of room for my elbows. Spin the -wheel and see how I'm doing." - -The croupier hesitated. "Those credits," he said warningly. "You mean -to bet them all?" He made a rapid calculation out of the corner of his -eye. "You must have five or six hundred thousand...." - -That made the woman grin. "Shucks," she said. "What do you take me for?" - -The croupier blinked again. He was quite sure he didn't know. - - * * * * * - -"Bet one thousand only," she said. She watched him sigh with relief. -Funny, she thought. The guy had a conscience, and in a place like this. -She watched him spin, watched the teleckto-spin whirr, slow, come to a -clicking stop. - -"Ninety-nine thousand six hundred and four," he said. "To one." - -"Uh huh. And now what does the chart say?" - -The croupier checked. "One hundred and two thousand to one. It hasn't -changed. Sorry, Miss." He raked in the teels. - -"That was fun," said the woman. "So much fun I'm getting bored stiff. -Rake in the rest of these teels, too. Stick 'em in your pocket." - -"WHAT?" The croupier's eyebrows jumped. - -"Yeah." - -He blinked. Studied. Blinked again. His philosophic thoughts were going -out the space lock fast. He was trying to revise, trying to bring -himself up to date. He wasn't getting anywhere. That golden-modo-strap -_was_ phony. A child could see it was. And yet.... - -"I'm not so good on my telepathy tonight," he said coldly. - -"Skip it. I'm like a guy named Slan you used to read about. Had shields -up around my brain." - -That brought a cell of silence around the table. The croupier didn't -speak, didn't blink, didn't breathe, didn't do anything. - -"Looking for a man," said the woman finally. "Space-happy guy named -Artie Sterling. Know him?" - -The croupier caught a glint of something hard in the woman's eyes. He -still didn't say anything. - -"Don't think you're selling a good joe down the canal," the woman went -on. "If you thought that, drop it. There isn't a creeping, crawling, -oozing thing on all Mars to compare with him. I know. Who would know -better than me?" - -The croupier still didn't say anything. But his eyes said it for him; -they were asking a question as big as space itself. - -"The guy's my husband," said the woman. She stopped. She studied the -worry lines that responsibility had embedded in the croupier's forehead. - -She said: "You look like a nice hard-working man, to me. A good family -man. You probably got a nice wife, couple of nice kiddies at home. You -worry a little sometimes, though, because the money a croupier makes -isn't a hell of a lot. And growing youngsters need this and that and -the bills pile up and a man worries and the end isn't in sight because -you're young yet and there's years and years of struggle still coming -up." - -The croupier swallowed. He took a breath. He looked down at the -thousands of teel credits on the table. He looked up again. - -"Look at me," said the woman. "Look at what the guy did to me. You can -see it in my eyes." - -The croupier did look. Then he took another breath and then he looked -down once more at the money on the table, and then he did something -that would probably make him spit for the rest of his life every time -he stared into a mirror. He whispered: - -"Yeah. I know Artie Sterling. He was in here this evening early." - -_Uh huh. And now the big one._ "Where'd he go?" - -The croupier took a last long drowning breath and his rake started to -pull in the teels. "Okay, lady, okay. The guy's shacked up right now in -Residential, Number 327. With somebody else's wife. That what you want -to know? That what you wanted me to say?" - -The woman didn't answer. She let her eyes slit contemptuously for an -instant before she turned, moved away from the table, and went quickly -toward the lock that led to the spacelators outside. - - * * * * * - -Artie Sterling pulled the woman's arms from around his neck. "Look, -baby," he said. His handsome forehead wrinkled, a little annoyed. - -"Arthur...." - -"Time to be shoving off, baby." - -"Shoving off?" The woman's large brown eyes balled with dismay. - -"Yeah. Frankly ..." he lifted his shoulders lightly "... frankly, the -only reason I dropped in tonight was to sort of say goodbye. Get it?" - -"Arthur!" There was shock in the woman's voice. - -"Yeah. Look. Let's not push it into a corner like somebody's unwanted -asteroid. Let's look at the thing. We've been slicker than the skids -on the spacelator, baby, but it can't last forever. Sooner or later -that husband of yours is gonna open his dopey eyes. And then what?" He -made a little mocking shudder. "And baby, if there's anything I _don't_ -want, it's to tangle with the Chief of all Space Security." - -He grinned at the small figure of the woman beside him. "Up to now it's -been great laughs on dull nights, but you know something? Every now -and then I ask myself: suppose this guy, this Chief of Security--your -husband, you know--suppose one of these nights he should get off a -little early. Suppose he should come home an hour or two before we -expect him?" - -"Oh!" The woman smiled nervously. "That what's worrying you, honey? -That's silly. John never does that. Never comes home early. Forget it." - -Artie Sterling raised an impatient eyebrow. How do you tell off a dame -when she doesn't want to believe it? He untangled himself from the -woman's arms. He got to his feet. He said sharply: - -"Look, baby. Here it is: it's done, see? Great fun, like I said, but -it's done. Gone. Burned out like the hulls of hell. I'm shoving off." - -That one did it. The woman was suddenly aware of it. He could tell that -by the way her eyes shot open and then dulled quickly. That's the way -they all act at first. They get over it, of course, but at first it's -always like that. - -He watched her get to her feet. Admiringly. He still appreciated the -neat little figure she had. Still admitted she was a doll to look at. -He watched her go to a black metallic desk against a wall. Open the -center drawer. He said protesting: "Baby, I don't want that bracelet -back I gave you. Hell, that's a souvenir. Keep it. When old Artie gives -a gal something he means it." - -"I'm not giving back the bracelet, Arthur." The woman's hand went into -the drawer, came out again. The hand held a heat gun. "No, Arthur. Not -the bracelet." - -"Baby!" Utter shock laved the handsome man's features. - -"You wanted goodbye, Arthur? All right. If that's the way you want it. -If you're sure." - -"_For God's sake....!_" - -"The night of the big sleep, Arthur." Her finger jerked on the heat -trigger. - -The man was only human after all. His hands came clutching tight, -pressing frantically at a spot about where his navel would be. But it -was late for that, and when he fell it was straight forward and down. - -The woman looked at the handsome black waves of his hair. Death doesn't -change that. No, not immediately, it doesn't. She sobbed once and -fainted. - -The guy had been right, although he didn't know it. And the woman had -been dead wrong, although she didn't know it. Chief of Security, John -Henderson, had on this night of the synthi-rain, quit a little early. -Had, on this not-very-busy night gotten home a little sooner than -usual. About an hour and a half sooner, to be precise. He had come in -through the rear lock. Had come in quietly, for he planned a little -surprise for his wife. Had stood very quietly in the doorway of the -darkened anteroom that led directly to the living room. And he had -listened. And he had watched. - -He came through the doorway. He leaned down over his wife, took the gun -from her hand and laid it on a table. He leaned down once more, took -the woman in his arms. There was something quite impossible to express -in his eyes. - -He took her to the bedroom, put her down carefully, studied the -shock-stiffness of her form. He went to a wall cabinet, got a -hypodermic, found an artery in the woman's arm. Her breathing at once -calmed, flattened. Sleep-breathing now. - -The man back in the living room was a little larger problem. He was -quite heavy for his slender build. Henderson half carried, half -dragged, the body out through the front lock and out to the 'copter -port alongside the house. - -Artie Sterling's 'copter was there. Henderson had seen it when he came -home but there hadn't been any significance to it then. He stuffed the -body into the freight deck. Then he carefully latched the lock shut. -Registration numbers on the ship gleamed dully in the half darkness. -_X-13-X._ "X," the unknown. "13," the ill-fated. - -He went back to the house, pulled the metal lock to behind him. He -stood rigidly for a long long while. Thinking. - -He went over to the transmitter set in the corner of the room and -looked down at it. He brought his right hand up, let it hover over the -control buttons. - -The room was as silent as a room can ever be. - -A buzzer suddenly bracked out. It was a loud, naked, startling sound. -Like a bugle in an empty church. Henderson jerked. He gulped in a -trembling breath, turned, nervously wet his lips. He went over to the -outside front lock and pulled it open. - - * * * * * - -It was a black-haired woman who had wide, wild eyes. The woman was -wearing a golden-colored modo-strap between dead white breasts. And in -her hand she clutched a heat gun. - -"Back it right in, Buster!" The woman's voice was harsh. "You're not -the one I want, but right now I'm not too choosey." - -Henderson swallowed. He took a few backward steps. Then a few more. He -watched the woman's shoulder nudge the lock shut. He watched her come -toward him. - -"That's far enough. Where is he? Where's Artie Sterling?" - -Henderson didn't say anything. The woman's skin. White. Prison white. -He knew. - -The woman saw the heat gun on the table. She smiled, not amused, and -picked it up. That made two guns leveled at Henderson. - -"What I couldn't do with these. All right, where is he?" - -But he didn't answer. Adjustment is a method thing. - -The woman rapped: "Look, I got the word. They said I'd find my husband -with somebody's wife. Here. At 327 Residential. That jar your memory?" - -It seemed to. Henderson said softly: "Your husband?" - -"Yeah. Up here with a guy's wife. How do you like that? There ain't -enough unmated kids around, he wants the married ones, too." - -"He isn't here." - -"Huh?" a little admiration lit up the woman's eyes. "Look, guy, you got -guts. I'll hand you that. But tonight I ran across another who had guts -too. You oughta see him now." - -There was a silence then. You take away the sounds and there are always -silences. And then: - -"The guy's my husband, see? And once there was a time when I loved him. -I loved him hard enough to figure he'd appreciate a little loyalty. I -did five long years for that mistake. There was this woman--even then -he had them, it seems--and I had the silly notion she was chasing him, -instead of the other way around. So she died a little. And I did five -years like I said. Can't you tell? Can't you see it on me?" - -Henderson nodded. - -"Sure. White, I am. You get that way after five years. Where is he?" -The woman bared teeth. "Can't figure it, huh? Look, even in prison -you get to hear things. Like I heard about him hanging out the -'business-as-usual' sign all the years I was inside. With the woman, -I mean. Do you think he ever came to see me? Do you think he sent me -letters? Post cards even?" - -"All right. Yes, he was here. He isn't here now." - -"Where is he?" - -Henderson sighed. He looked into the guns in the woman's hands. "Did -you ever hear of Jao?" - -"Sure. Gambling city. Down south." - -"Yes. And did you ever hear of Sarah Henderson?" - -"No." - -"My wife." He said it simply. - -It took a few moments but the woman got it. She began to nod, began to -get the comprehension in her stark eyes. She said after a little while: -"I see, guy. I know how you feel. Is that what you had the gun out for? -Uh huh. I can feel for you, believe me. Look. Yu got a can?" - -"What?" - -"Crate. Ship. 'Copter." - -Another silence. - -"Look. There's one outside. I saw it when I got off the spacelators. -I'm going to sort of borrow it for a while. I've been doing it for -weeks now chasing that bum all over the planet. So one more won't -matter. I'm heading for Jao. Security will get it back for you. All I -want is a little time." - - * * * * * - -Henderson shook his head. "You won't make it. The rains have already -started. All ships are grounded for the next twenty-four hours. -Security ordinance." The woman snorted. "I'll chance that. All I ask -from you is a few hours before you report the stolen ship. Get it? And -in return I'm doing you a favor when I find him. I'm trusting you, you -trust me." - -Henderson sighed. He looked at his heat gun in the woman's hand, looked -up then into the woman's eyes. - -She nodded. Put his gun back on the table. "Yeah. See what you mean. I -won't need yours. A deal?" - -"A deal." He watched her go. He listened to the 'copter take off. After -that there was another silence in the room, a very heavy silence. - -He slowly crossed to the transmitted set in the corner. Hesitated. -Slowly brought up his hand and touched a button. The little screen -came into life. He said softly: - -"Henderson to Flight 9." - -"Flight 9. Yes, Chief." - -His voice became even softer: "A 'copter. Registration X-13-X. Pilot -Arthur Sterling. Took off five minutes ago from Fraon. Headed for Jao." - -"One moment, Chief, I'll put radar on it." A pause. Then: "Right, sir. -Got it. Coming fast. Helluva nerve that guy's got. Don't he know all -ships are supposed to be grounded?" - -Henderson shook his head. "It's all right. He had a little trouble. I -gave permission to continue flight. Contact Jao, tell them I said not -to bother it. Got that?" - -"Whatever you say, Chief. Right." - -"Thanks." Henderson flicked the set off. He looked over at the gun on -the table. He picked it up, took it with him into the bedroom. He laid -it on the unoccupied pillow next the sleeping woman's head. He didn't -look down at her now. He quietly went back to the living room, went to -a black metallic desk up against a wall. From it he took a very small -box with a little gold plate inset in the lid. Engraving on the plate -winked up in the light: - - _From Sarah to John_ - -Wedding present. - -He lifted the lid, looked down at a tiny reel of tape inside. He -touched a button under the lid. Music filled the room quite softly -for a moment. Organ music. Wedding music. And then no more music. But -voices, a man's voice, and a woman's voice. When it got to the part -where the woman's voice said, "I take thee, John ..." he stopped it. -He re-reeled the tape, put it back where it had been before. Then his -trembling fingers touched the erase button, held it there until the -entire little reel had run off. - -After that there wasn't anything else to do but go to the front lock, -go outside, go away from Residential Number 327. The night was dark, -very dark. A very good night for the Rain. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAPPY RAIN NIGHT *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Happy Rain Night</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Dean Evans</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 03, 2021 [eBook #64448]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAPPY RAIN NIGHT ***</div> - - - -<div class="titlepage"> -<h1>HAPPY RAIN NIGHT</h1> - -<h2>By DEAN EVANS</h2> - -<p><i>It was the Big Sleep for those at Residential<br /> -Number 327 this night ... this very dark Martian<br /> -night ... this very good night for the Synthi-Rain.</i></p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Planet Stories March 1954.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>It was the eve of the annual synthi-rain and all Mars was settling -down for the big sleep that always went with it. Everything was ready, -reso-skins had been peeled off the pumps a week before.</p> - -<p><i>Uh huh</i>, thought the lone attendant at the fuelport outside the city. -You could tell everything was ready, even the traffic was thinning. -Hadn't been a 'copter or anything in for fuel in the last ten minutes.</p> - -<p>He eyed the wall clock inside his cubicle. Almost eleven. Might as -well close up and go on home, there wouldn't be any more customers in -tonight.</p> - -<p>He suddenly decided to modify that thought as an old hull-weary job -came banging clumsily down into cradle number one and slumped, little -vibration tentacles rippling here and there over its surface. He -sighed, went out the lock, went over to the cradle.</p> - -<p>There was a woman in the ship. Not much of a woman, but you never knew -what the big gambling city of Fraon would draw next in the line of -tourists. All kinds.</p> - -<p>Like this one. This one could be called typical. Wild black hair on -the dame. Not long, but wild. A little sloppy, like the last-season's -modo-strap she wore on the white skin between her breasts. The strap -looked fringy.</p> - -<p>"Fuel, Miss?" he asked.</p> - -<p>But the woman didn't seem to hear. She was studying a small scanning -disc, turning it this way and that like somebody pruning herself. Only -not. She was giving the place the once over.</p> - -<p>"Yeah," she said finally. "Yeah, but not the kind you think...." -she stopped. She glared suddenly across the ramps at another jet—a -Security Ship—that was coming in fast, settling for the cradle next -to hers.</p> - -<p>"No," she said. "No. Changed my mind. How far's Fraon from here?"</p> - -<p>"You're on the edges now. Follow the bottom lane and drop when you see -the lights. That be all?"</p> - -<p>But the woman didn't answer. She yanked at controls inside the cabin -and the old beat up jet rose with a tired, grumbling roar like the sigh -of a very old man contemplating the long long years that have gone.</p> - -<p>Ten minutes later she looked down, yanked once more on the controls. -She'd almost overshot. The ship shuddered violently fore to aft and -then jammed down inside the Administration Port.</p> - -<p>She hunched her shoulders inside the plastiskin, let her eyes go up to -a sucker sign off in the distance. She read:</p> - -<p class="ph1">CITY OF FRAON,<br /> -GAMBLER'S PARADISE</p> - -<p>And in smaller letters beneath:</p> - -<p class="ph1">COME CLEAN—GO AWAY THE SAME</p> - -<p>She curled her lip. Between Fraon and the city of Jao to the south, the -planet had quite a bit of "Paradise." Of the two cities, though, Fraon -was the larger; Fraon would be the logical one. That's why she'd chose -to try it first. That's where <i>he</i> would come.</p> - -<p>She left the ship and made her way over to the Guide, a small niche -of a place set into the corner of the now darkened Administration -building. The Guide was open but it didn't look as though it was doing -any business. She went inside.</p> - -<p>There weren't any customers at all. The only person in the place was -a young, greasy looking man, an attendant, who just now was looking -bored and fingering a black pencil line mustache.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The greasy looking man raised his eyes. His finger left off caressing -his mustache, and he studied the woman coming toward the desk. H'mm. -Nice build. A little on the rough side, like something left out in -the atmosphere too long, but all in all not too bad. Beggars can't be -choosers. Not on Rain Night they can't. Not way out here on the edge of -nothing at eleven in the evening when everybody's gone home, they can't.</p> - -<p>He pushed the machine of buttons across the desk toward the woman. -"Just in off the deserts?" he asked.</p> - -<p>The woman tossed hair out of her eyes. She gave the greasy man a look. -She eyed his mustache. She didn't say anything.</p> - -<p>The greasy man grinned. Not hard to get, he thought, just a little -careful. A little careful till she found out what he had to -offer—generally speaking.</p> - -<p>"Five more minutes before we close," he said, his grin changing to a -leer. "You look a little lonely, sister. Me, I'm right there beside you -yanking on the same controls. Look, it's Rain Night, sure, and most -everything'll be closed in another hour but I know of a place ..." he -left the rest unsaid. He raised an eyebrow significantly.</p> - -<p>The woman didn't say anything. She dropped a teel credit into the slot -on the control box, punched a button. Nothing happened. Then the teel -came rattling back at her through the reject. She looked up.</p> - -<p>"Something?" the greasy man said.</p> - -<p>"Yeah. I punch the button for a room and all that happens is my money -coming back."</p> - -<p>"A room?" He looked incredulous. "On Rain Night? Don't be absurd, -sister. All taken days ago. Might try the 'Coptels. They might have a -vacancy. But why worry about that? Like I said...."</p> - -<p>He leaned over the counter, leaned over toward the woman. Leaned right -into a heat gun that had appeared like old-time magic in the woman's -right hand.</p> - -<p>"Hey!"</p> - -<p>"You're the soul of Martian generosity," the woman said evenly. "On you -it sprouts ears. I could see that eight lanes up. Open the bank, I -need a fistful of credits."</p> - -<p>"Huh?"</p> - -<p>"Open the bank."</p> - -<p>He was getting to believe it. And not liking it. He glared at the -woman, then glared down at the heat gun in her hand. He growled -indignantly:</p> - -<p>"Why you lousy space tramp, I oughta...."</p> - -<p>"Hold it!" Something hard was in the woman's voice.</p> - -<p>But he didn't hold it. His hand went out darting, and his fingers -clutched for the alarm buttons on the bank. And they almost made it, -those fingers of his. They came within a thought-space of making it.</p> - -<p>But didn't, actually.</p> - -<p>The heat gun made a funny sound like a tiny jet biting at solid -atmosphere. The greasy man's hand stayed for an instant, his fingers -playing little chords of agony in the air.</p> - -<p>Somebody like him. After that his body folded forward and his head came -down over the machine. His mustache, somehow, didn't look so very good -now.</p> - -<p>The woman went around the counter, punched the control buttons on the -rear of the bank. At once two compartments came out and she looked -down into a mess of teel credits that would choke a moon crater. She -frowned. Then she transferred the platinum teels to the big pocket in -her plastiskin, closed the compartments, went around to the front of -the desk again, and looked down at the buttons.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>She dropped a teel in the slot and touched the 'Coptel button. The -greasy man had been right, there were some left. From the side of the -machine came her reservation identity key.</p> - -<p>She had a last word for the greasy man: "Happy Rain Night, Buster."</p> - -<p>She went out of the place, went back to her ship, dropped the identity -key in a small slot on the instrument panel and closed the control -lever. From here on the 'Coptel would do the directing and controlling -of the weary ship. She leaned back, felt at the bulging pocket in her -plastiskin.</p> - -<p>She needed those teel credits. She didn't know how much, but she knew -she'd need a lot, for <i>he</i> could always be found where the money was. -Or the women. Or both.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The 'Coptel court was empty. Cold winds just in off the deserts swept -little memories of sand around, flicking at 'Coptel walls with a dry, -brittle sound. The woman left her ship, went through the 'Coptel lock, -dumped the bag she'd taken with her from the ship onto the bed. She -looked around. Then sniffed softly. It didn't matter what the place -looked like, she wouldn't be here long enough to notice.</p> - -<p>She showered, and for the next ten minutes worked hard on her hair. -After that she went to the bag over on the bed and took from it a new -plastiskin with a gleaming, golden-colored modo-strap. She pulled it -over very white thighs, struggled her arms in. All that remained was to -transfer the teel credits and the gun. After that she went out to the -ship and set the controls for take-off in fifteen minutes.</p> - -<p>Going down the 'Coptel ramp to the spacelators she chuckled softly to -herself. The ship would go up to the eighth lane and stay there. She -wondered what the Security people would think when they found it up -there with nobody in it.</p> - -<p>The croupier at the telecto-spin table was a funny sort of a guy, a -philosophic guy. Standing at one table night after night you get like -that. He liked to study the people who came here to <i>Half-Century -House</i> to gamble. Some could afford it, some could not.</p> - -<p>That black-haired woman over by the quarter-teel machines for instance. -The one with the cheap new plastiskin with the phony golden modo-strap -on it. Take her. Ten to one she worked somewhere in a mining office and -managed to put away, by great sacrifice, a little something from her -salary each week.</p> - -<p>Ten to one she'd done this for a year just so she could come up here -to Fraon and have herself a whirl in the gaming houses for one or two -days. How do you like that? And ten to one she'd go home broke as hell -and go back to the slaving routine some more. Unless, of course, she -could discover for herself some other less laborious way of making a -fast teel.</p> - -<p>Not a bad looking woman, either, he thought. There was something—some -tiny little thing—about her that puzzled him, but he couldn't put -his finger on it. He watched her play the machines, watched her as -she scanned the place with dark eyes that missed about as much as -the teel-collector on tax day. Odd. She didn't seem to be paying any -attention to the machines she was playing, she seemed more interested -in the motley crowd in the place.</p> - -<p>Oh, well. Just another woman. Another twenty minutes and they'd be -closing up and he could go home for the big sleep everybody enjoyed -during the synthi-rain. He spun his wheel idly and looked away.</p> - -<p>"You running this wheel or just modeling for a space artist?"</p> - -<p>The croupier jerked his eyes around. Then he blinked. The woman with -the black hair and the golden modo-strap was standing at his wheel -giving him a sour eye. He pulled himself together, worked a little -house-smile for her.</p> - -<p>"Dreaming," he admitted. "Like to try the wheel?" He felt sorry for -her. Poor kid, she should stick to the quarter-teel machines.</p> - -<p>He watched her flip the pocket in her plastiskin. He watched her with -eyes that began to bulge as he saw the amount of credits she piled out -on the table in front of him.</p> - -<p>"What's the current odds on whether the scientists have figured out -whether space is infinite?" she asked.</p> - -<p>His eyes were still bulging, but he looked away, checked on the chart. -My God, the long shots these amateurs take! "One hundred and two -thousand to one," he said. "As of ten twenty-two tonight, which is the -last quotation I have."</p> - -<p>The woman nodded. "That gives me plenty of room for my elbows. Spin the -wheel and see how I'm doing."</p> - -<p>The croupier hesitated. "Those credits," he said warningly. "You mean -to bet them all?" He made a rapid calculation out of the corner of his -eye. "You must have five or six hundred thousand...."</p> - -<p>That made the woman grin. "Shucks," she said. "What do you take me for?"</p> - -<p>The croupier blinked again. He was quite sure he didn't know.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Bet one thousand only," she said. She watched him sigh with relief. -Funny, she thought. The guy had a conscience, and in a place like this. -She watched him spin, watched the teleckto-spin whirr, slow, come to a -clicking stop.</p> - -<p>"Ninety-nine thousand six hundred and four," he said. "To one."</p> - -<p>"Uh huh. And now what does the chart say?"</p> - -<p>The croupier checked. "One hundred and two thousand to one. It hasn't -changed. Sorry, Miss." He raked in the teels.</p> - -<p>"That was fun," said the woman. "So much fun I'm getting bored stiff. -Rake in the rest of these teels, too. Stick 'em in your pocket."</p> - -<p>"WHAT?" The croupier's eyebrows jumped.</p> - -<p>"Yeah."</p> - -<p>He blinked. Studied. Blinked again. His philosophic thoughts were going -out the space lock fast. He was trying to revise, trying to bring -himself up to date. He wasn't getting anywhere. That golden-modo-strap -<i>was</i> phony. A child could see it was. And yet....</p> - -<p>"I'm not so good on my telepathy tonight," he said coldly.</p> - -<p>"Skip it. I'm like a guy named Slan you used to read about. Had shields -up around my brain."</p> - -<p>That brought a cell of silence around the table. The croupier didn't -speak, didn't blink, didn't breathe, didn't do anything.</p> - -<p>"Looking for a man," said the woman finally. "Space-happy guy named -Artie Sterling. Know him?"</p> - -<p>The croupier caught a glint of something hard in the woman's eyes. He -still didn't say anything.</p> - -<p>"Don't think you're selling a good joe down the canal," the woman went -on. "If you thought that, drop it. There isn't a creeping, crawling, -oozing thing on all Mars to compare with him. I know. Who would know -better than me?"</p> - -<p>The croupier still didn't say anything. But his eyes said it for him; -they were asking a question as big as space itself.</p> - -<p>"The guy's my husband," said the woman. She stopped. She studied the -worry lines that responsibility had embedded in the croupier's forehead.</p> - -<p>She said: "You look like a nice hard-working man, to me. A good family -man. You probably got a nice wife, couple of nice kiddies at home. You -worry a little sometimes, though, because the money a croupier makes -isn't a hell of a lot. And growing youngsters need this and that and -the bills pile up and a man worries and the end isn't in sight because -you're young yet and there's years and years of struggle still coming -up."</p> - -<p>The croupier swallowed. He took a breath. He looked down at the -thousands of teel credits on the table. He looked up again.</p> - -<p>"Look at me," said the woman. "Look at what the guy did to me. You can -see it in my eyes."</p> - -<p>The croupier did look. Then he took another breath and then he looked -down once more at the money on the table, and then he did something -that would probably make him spit for the rest of his life every time -he stared into a mirror. He whispered:</p> - -<p>"Yeah. I know Artie Sterling. He was in here this evening early."</p> - -<p><i>Uh huh. And now the big one.</i> "Where'd he go?"</p> - -<p>The croupier took a last long drowning breath and his rake started to -pull in the teels. "Okay, lady, okay. The guy's shacked up right now in -Residential, Number 327. With somebody else's wife. That what you want -to know? That what you wanted me to say?"</p> - -<p>The woman didn't answer. She let her eyes slit contemptuously for an -instant before she turned, moved away from the table, and went quickly -toward the lock that led to the spacelators outside.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Artie Sterling pulled the woman's arms from around his neck. "Look, -baby," he said. His handsome forehead wrinkled, a little annoyed.</p> - -<p>"Arthur...."</p> - -<p>"Time to be shoving off, baby."</p> - -<p>"Shoving off?" The woman's large brown eyes balled with dismay.</p> - -<p>"Yeah. Frankly ..." he lifted his shoulders lightly "... frankly, the -only reason I dropped in tonight was to sort of say goodbye. Get it?"</p> - -<p>"Arthur!" There was shock in the woman's voice.</p> - -<p>"Yeah. Look. Let's not push it into a corner like somebody's unwanted -asteroid. Let's look at the thing. We've been slicker than the skids -on the spacelator, baby, but it can't last forever. Sooner or later -that husband of yours is gonna open his dopey eyes. And then what?" He -made a little mocking shudder. "And baby, if there's anything I <i>don't</i> -want, it's to tangle with the Chief of all Space Security."</p> - -<p>He grinned at the small figure of the woman beside him. "Up to now it's -been great laughs on dull nights, but you know something? Every now -and then I ask myself: suppose this guy, this Chief of Security—your -husband, you know—suppose one of these nights he should get off a -little early. Suppose he should come home an hour or two before we -expect him?"</p> - -<p>"Oh!" The woman smiled nervously. "That what's worrying you, honey? -That's silly. John never does that. Never comes home early. Forget it."</p> - -<p>Artie Sterling raised an impatient eyebrow. How do you tell off a dame -when she doesn't want to believe it? He untangled himself from the -woman's arms. He got to his feet. He said sharply:</p> - -<p>"Look, baby. Here it is: it's done, see? Great fun, like I said, but -it's done. Gone. Burned out like the hulls of hell. I'm shoving off."</p> - -<p>That one did it. The woman was suddenly aware of it. He could tell that -by the way her eyes shot open and then dulled quickly. That's the way -they all act at first. They get over it, of course, but at first it's -always like that.</p> - -<p>He watched her get to her feet. Admiringly. He still appreciated the -neat little figure she had. Still admitted she was a doll to look at. -He watched her go to a black metallic desk against a wall. Open the -center drawer. He said protesting: "Baby, I don't want that bracelet -back I gave you. Hell, that's a souvenir. Keep it. When old Artie gives -a gal something he means it."</p> - -<p>"I'm not giving back the bracelet, Arthur." The woman's hand went into -the drawer, came out again. The hand held a heat gun. "No, Arthur. Not -the bracelet."</p> - -<p>"Baby!" Utter shock laved the handsome man's features.</p> - -<p>"You wanted goodbye, Arthur? All right. If that's the way you want it. -If you're sure."</p> - -<p>"<i>For God's sake....!</i>"</p> - -<p>"The night of the big sleep, Arthur." Her finger jerked on the heat -trigger.</p> - -<p>The man was only human after all. His hands came clutching tight, -pressing frantically at a spot about where his navel would be. But it -was late for that, and when he fell it was straight forward and down.</p> - -<p>The woman looked at the handsome black waves of his hair. Death doesn't -change that. No, not immediately, it doesn't. She sobbed once and -fainted.</p> - -<p>The guy had been right, although he didn't know it. And the woman had -been dead wrong, although she didn't know it. Chief of Security, John -Henderson, had on this night of the synthi-rain, quit a little early. -Had, on this not-very-busy night gotten home a little sooner than -usual. About an hour and a half sooner, to be precise. He had come in -through the rear lock. Had come in quietly, for he planned a little -surprise for his wife. Had stood very quietly in the doorway of the -darkened anteroom that led directly to the living room. And he had -listened. And he had watched.</p> - -<p>He came through the doorway. He leaned down over his wife, took the gun -from her hand and laid it on a table. He leaned down once more, took -the woman in his arms. There was something quite impossible to express -in his eyes.</p> - -<p>He took her to the bedroom, put her down carefully, studied the -shock-stiffness of her form. He went to a wall cabinet, got a -hypodermic, found an artery in the woman's arm. Her breathing at once -calmed, flattened. Sleep-breathing now.</p> - -<p>The man back in the living room was a little larger problem. He was -quite heavy for his slender build. Henderson half carried, half -dragged, the body out through the front lock and out to the 'copter -port alongside the house.</p> - -<p>Artie Sterling's 'copter was there. Henderson had seen it when he came -home but there hadn't been any significance to it then. He stuffed the -body into the freight deck. Then he carefully latched the lock shut. -Registration numbers on the ship gleamed dully in the half darkness. -<i>X-13-X.</i> "X," the unknown. "13," the ill-fated.</p> - -<p>He went back to the house, pulled the metal lock to behind him. He -stood rigidly for a long long while. Thinking.</p> - -<p>He went over to the transmitter set in the corner of the room and -looked down at it. He brought his right hand up, let it hover over the -control buttons.</p> - -<p>The room was as silent as a room can ever be.</p> - -<p>A buzzer suddenly bracked out. It was a loud, naked, startling sound. -Like a bugle in an empty church. Henderson jerked. He gulped in a -trembling breath, turned, nervously wet his lips. He went over to the -outside front lock and pulled it open.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was a black-haired woman who had wide, wild eyes. The woman was -wearing a golden-colored modo-strap between dead white breasts. And in -her hand she clutched a heat gun.</p> - -<p>"Back it right in, Buster!" The woman's voice was harsh. "You're not -the one I want, but right now I'm not too choosey."</p> - -<p>Henderson swallowed. He took a few backward steps. Then a few more. He -watched the woman's shoulder nudge the lock shut. He watched her come -toward him.</p> - -<p>"That's far enough. Where is he? Where's Artie Sterling?"</p> - -<p>Henderson didn't say anything. The woman's skin. White. Prison white. -He knew.</p> - -<p>The woman saw the heat gun on the table. She smiled, not amused, and -picked it up. That made two guns leveled at Henderson.</p> - -<p>"What I couldn't do with these. All right, where is he?"</p> - -<p>But he didn't answer. Adjustment is a method thing.</p> - -<p>The woman rapped: "Look, I got the word. They said I'd find my husband -with somebody's wife. Here. At 327 Residential. That jar your memory?"</p> - -<p>It seemed to. Henderson said softly: "Your husband?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah. Up here with a guy's wife. How do you like that? There ain't -enough unmated kids around, he wants the married ones, too."</p> - -<p>"He isn't here."</p> - -<p>"Huh?" a little admiration lit up the woman's eyes. "Look, guy, you got -guts. I'll hand you that. But tonight I ran across another who had guts -too. You oughta see him now."</p> - -<p>There was a silence then. You take away the sounds and there are always -silences. And then:</p> - -<p>"The guy's my husband, see? And once there was a time when I loved him. -I loved him hard enough to figure he'd appreciate a little loyalty. I -did five long years for that mistake. There was this woman—even then -he had them, it seems—and I had the silly notion she was chasing him, -instead of the other way around. So she died a little. And I did five -years like I said. Can't you tell? Can't you see it on me?"</p> - -<p>Henderson nodded.</p> - -<p>"Sure. White, I am. You get that way after five years. Where is he?" -The woman bared teeth. "Can't figure it, huh? Look, even in prison -you get to hear things. Like I heard about him hanging out the -'business-as-usual' sign all the years I was inside. With the woman, -I mean. Do you think he ever came to see me? Do you think he sent me -letters? Post cards even?"</p> - -<p>"All right. Yes, he was here. He isn't here now."</p> - -<p>"Where is he?"</p> - -<p>Henderson sighed. He looked into the guns in the woman's hands. "Did -you ever hear of Jao?"</p> - -<p>"Sure. Gambling city. Down south."</p> - -<p>"Yes. And did you ever hear of Sarah Henderson?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"My wife." He said it simply.</p> - -<p>It took a few moments but the woman got it. She began to nod, began to -get the comprehension in her stark eyes. She said after a little while: -"I see, guy. I know how you feel. Is that what you had the gun out for? -Uh huh. I can feel for you, believe me. Look. Yu got a can?"</p> - -<p>"What?"</p> - -<p>"Crate. Ship. 'Copter."</p> - -<p>Another silence.</p> - -<p>"Look. There's one outside. I saw it when I got off the spacelators. -I'm going to sort of borrow it for a while. I've been doing it for -weeks now chasing that bum all over the planet. So one more won't -matter. I'm heading for Jao. Security will get it back for you. All I -want is a little time."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Henderson shook his head. "You won't make it. The rains have already -started. All ships are grounded for the next twenty-four hours. -Security ordinance." The woman snorted. "I'll chance that. All I ask -from you is a few hours before you report the stolen ship. Get it? And -in return I'm doing you a favor when I find him. I'm trusting you, you -trust me."</p> - -<p>Henderson sighed. He looked at his heat gun in the woman's hand, looked -up then into the woman's eyes.</p> - -<p>She nodded. Put his gun back on the table. "Yeah. See what you mean. I -won't need yours. A deal?"</p> - -<p>"A deal." He watched her go. He listened to the 'copter take off. After -that there was another silence in the room, a very heavy silence.</p> - -<p>He slowly crossed to the transmitted set in the corner. Hesitated. -Slowly brought up his hand and touched a button. The little screen -came into life. He said softly:</p> - -<p>"Henderson to Flight 9."</p> - -<p>"Flight 9. Yes, Chief."</p> - -<p>His voice became even softer: "A 'copter. Registration X-13-X. Pilot -Arthur Sterling. Took off five minutes ago from Fraon. Headed for Jao."</p> - -<p>"One moment, Chief, I'll put radar on it." A pause. Then: "Right, sir. -Got it. Coming fast. Helluva nerve that guy's got. Don't he know all -ships are supposed to be grounded?"</p> - -<p>Henderson shook his head. "It's all right. He had a little trouble. I -gave permission to continue flight. Contact Jao, tell them I said not -to bother it. Got that?"</p> - -<p>"Whatever you say, Chief. Right."</p> - -<p>"Thanks." Henderson flicked the set off. He looked over at the gun on -the table. He picked it up, took it with him into the bedroom. He laid -it on the unoccupied pillow next the sleeping woman's head. He didn't -look down at her now. He quietly went back to the living room, went to -a black metallic desk up against a wall. From it he took a very small -box with a little gold plate inset in the lid. Engraving on the plate -winked up in the light:</p> - -<p class="ph1"><i>From Sarah to John</i></p> - -<p>Wedding present.</p> - -<p>He lifted the lid, looked down at a tiny reel of tape inside. He -touched a button under the lid. Music filled the room quite softly -for a moment. Organ music. Wedding music. And then no more music. But -voices, a man's voice, and a woman's voice. When it got to the part -where the woman's voice said, "I take thee, John ..." he stopped it. -He re-reeled the tape, put it back where it had been before. Then his -trembling fingers touched the erase button, held it there until the -entire little reel had run off.</p> - -<p>After that there wasn't anything else to do but go to the front lock, -go outside, go away from Residential Number 327. The night was dark, -very dark. A very good night for the Rain.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAPPY RAIN NIGHT ***</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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