The more I thought of it, the more I wondered why I was so determined to find Miss Snow White. She'd only be a hindrance to me, really, what with short-circuiting my spotting technique. And a man on a mission of such grave importance wouldn't simply seek out a girl because she had cornsilk hair and red velvet lips, would he? Well, would he?
As I thought all of this, I was striding swiftly along Von Braun Street, the main thoroughfare, ignoring the stares of passers-by as they spotted the golden collapser belted about my waist. Passing a small bar, I happened to glance in through the window. And there was her photograph on the stereo over the bar. The men along its polished metal length were staring at her with interest.
Curious and puzzled, I turned back and went inside the bar to hear what was being said about her.
"Shoot to kill! Repeat: Shoot to kill!" said the announcer's voice from the speaker. "She is not to be obeyed under any circumstances. The Amnesty is a forgery. Repeat: A forgery."
I found myself leaning weakly against a wall by the door as the sense of the message came home to me. Baxter had lost no time making up for my stupidity in losing the Amnesty. He didn't dare admit it had been stolen, because Amnesty-bearers, like myself, were considered by the populace to be intelligent, and very clever. It wouldn't do to weaken public opinion of IS.
But to kill! From Baxter's viewpoint, it made sense. If she were simply shot down, then she couldn't mention the fact that it had been stolen, either.
As a patriot, I should have been happy to see my government operating with such efficient dispatch. For some reason, I was not happy at all. I thought of those soft warm lips pressing gently upward upon my own, albeit in the act of deception, and felt suddenly sick inside.
"Something for you, buddy?"
I looked up. The bartender, his voice mirroring the polite caution with which people spoke to collapser toters, was down at my end of the bar, by the doorway, his face strained into a nervously hearty anxiety to please.
Irritably, I leaned forward to rasp a negation into his face at close range, and then I decided to create no more ruckus than I had to. "Okay," I grunted.