The History of Writing (VIII.) (a)

"Dick's Button to Sheepshead Port, Dick's Button to Sheepshead Port, do you read me?" 

"This is Sheepshead Port. We read you, Dick's Button. Go ahead with your message." 

"Copy that, Sheepshead. Dick's Button is looking to port. --" 

"Tell him we're aheah of schedule." 

"Yeah, yeah. Sheepshead?" he said. "The vessel in question was slated for return on..." He thought. "May 14th. Year of '25. We're three days ahead of schedule. Give you a minute to check the register." 

The port-radio operator checked. "Got ya, sailor. Seems like you were. Anything big I need t' worry about?"

"No injuries. No trouble. Routine early-return." 

"Score something good, did ya?" 

He and the other man faintly smiled with their eyes. "I wouldn'," he said, low enough the port wouldn't catch it. His smile dipped into a grin, "Suit yourself." "Nothing beyond the usual," said the man holding the receiver. "Standard. Standard-sized luck." 

"Seems like all we ever get here," said the man at port. "Alright, Dick's Button. That'll do it. I'm sending you to Plateau K-18. Brooklyn. You know it?" 

"Where they used to offer up heretics as sacrifices if I'm not mistaken." 

"Excuse me?" 

"Bless you." 

"No, I mean... What?" 

"Don't trouble yourself. We know where we're going. Be there in a couple hours. Give you notice when we dock." 

"Thanks for cooperating, gentlemen... Sir."  

"No problemo, Sheepshead. Over and out." 





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