（外文电子版资料）Robert Silverberg - The Palace at Midnight.pdf

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Robert%20Silverberg%20-%20The%20Palace%20at%20Midnight.txt Version 1.0 dtd 040400 THE PALACE AT MIDNIGHT By Robert Silverberg The foreign minister of the Empire of San Francisco was trying to sleep late. Last night had been a long one, a wild if not particularly gratifying party at the Baths, too much to drink, too much to smoke, and he had seen the dawn come up like thunder out of Oakland crost the Bay. Now the telephone was ringing. He integrated the first couple of rings nicely into his dream, but the next one began to undermine his slumber, and the one after that woke him up. He groped for the receiver and, eyes still closed, managed to croak, Christensen here. Tom, are you awake? You dont sound awake. Its Morty, Tom. Wake up. The undersecretary for external affairs. Christensen sat up, rubbed his eyes, ran his tongue around his lips. Daylight was streaming into the room. His cats were glaring at him from the doorway. The little Siamese pawed daintily at her empty bowl and looked up expectantly. The fat Persian just sat. Tom? Im up! Im up! What is it, Morty? I didnt mean to wake you. How was I supposed to know, one in the afternoon- What is it, Morty? We got a call from Monterey. Theres an ambassador on the way up, and youve got to meet with her. The foreign minister worked hard -at clearing the fog from his brain. He was thirty-nine years old, and all night parties took more out of him than they once had. You do it, Morty. You know I would, Tom. But I cant. Youve got to handle this one yourself. Its prime. Prime? What kind of prime? You mean, like a great dope deal? Or are they declaring war on us? How would I know the details? The call came in, and they said it was prime. Ms. Sawyer must confer with Mr. Christensen. It wouldnt involve dope, Tom. And it cant be war, either. Shit, why would Monterey want to make war on us? Theyve only got ten soldiers, I bet, u