by Ron Hubbard
"Take all the time you want," he called back. "Time is something we have lots of!" We were in the salon with its gold dishes. Time, I thought sourly. Yes, you think you have time. You pulled a total swindle on me! You didn't have any idea of starting out! You were just looking for a fancy ship!
"I think," I said, somewhat stiffly, "that you have your nerve! You have been fooling me all day!" Heller shrugged and gave me a mild smile. "Well, Soltan, you did say that Spiteos was too uncomfortable." He started to offer me a gold canister filled with pink sparklewater. But I knew they didn't want me around. I said, "I'll see you tomorrow," and stalked out.
I knew I wouldn't be able to get Heller off this planet now with a whole bag of blasting charge. I was for it!
PART SIX
Chapter 1
It was a foolish thing to do, to walk out like that. But somehow I just couldn't stand to be that close to the Countess Krak. Inside the ship I had had pains in my stomach. Outside now, standing in the darkened hangar, the pains were gone. I felt hungry.
Things were quiet now: the excitement was over. The tup lorry must have come back for the decorations and empty canisters. There wasn't even the crumb of a sweetbun left on the makeshift bar.
Abruptly, the full extent of my foolishness came home to me. I was broke.Not only did I have not a single credit in my pockets but also my identoplate would be out-of-bounds: if I tried to use it for money or purchases of any kind, I would overdraw into next year's pay and even maybe get cashiered for debt.
Being an officer has its good points: one gets an identoplate, one gets paid; and in the ranks below, the finance officers routinely pay no pay at all. But being an officer also has its bad points: one has to pay for his own food and lodging and clothes, not only while on base duty but also on campaign.
If I could not lay my hands on a credit or two, I would not eat tonight! Or tomorrow either.
Over where the makeshift bar had been, I saw somebody sitting in a discarded gravity chair. In the dim light, I saw it was Snelz. Aha! A plan formed. I would scare some money out of Snelz!
When I came up, he remained slouching there, idly twirling his baton, humming quietly to himself, a song called "The Girls All Have Four (Boomps) in Old Kiboo," a favorite of the Fleet marines.
The calm mien of the man, well tupped and suppered, raised a vicious streak in me.
"Snelz," I said, in a very nasty voice, "do you realize that you have not only set loose a Spiteos prisoner but have also armed one with a blastrifle?"
"Oh, oh," he said mildly. "The lightning bolts of authority have been unleashed." It was possible that he was being brave because he was twirling a baton that was really a blastick. Ignoring his slur, I plowed on. "It is quite obvious that you must have had money to bribe the tunnel barrier guards. Otherwise you never could have gotten Krak out and could never hope to get her back in."
"Money?" said Snelz, tossing the baton aside and lighting a puffstick. "It would be far too dangerous to try to bribe those fellows: Hisst would hear about it for sure." He looked at me through the smoke. He saw I didn't believe him. His face is not unhandsome in a sort of Devils-take-you mold: he didn't look afraid the way I'd made him look before. I didn't think it was the blastick. He had put it down. What was I looking at here? Some renewed pride? Was his association with Heller pulling him back out of the depths? He wasn't cringing!
In a patient tone of voice, he said, "Oh, I see. You don't understand how we are operating to get her in and out. Well, I suppose you should know, if it will ease your mind. There was this transvestite . . ."
"Snelz," I threatened. "You had better not be spinning me some long string of lies!" He barked a small laugh. "Imagine that coming from you. Anyway, you know of course that Camp Endurance, aside from being a cover for Spiteos traffic, is there to dispose of Apparatus personnel who are designated as 'unsuitable' – though I might comment that it seems impossible to get lower than the low. How could anything be unsuitable for the Apparatus. I'm in it. You are too." I put my hand on my beltgun. He just laughed and blew a cloud of smoke. "So, as you in your lofty position may or may not know, they send in drafts from other Apparatus units, on or off this planet, for 'special training' at Camp Endurance: the 'special training' teaches them only how to die fast and fall, as a dead body, into the chasm."
"Oh come off it, Snelz. I know that. That's why it's nicknamed 'Camp Kill."' "Well, I'm glad you do know something," said Snelz. "I was beginning to wonder." It crossed my mind that association with Heller absolutely ruined personnel! "So, anyway," he continued languidly, "when I realized that this operation might be coming up, I told my platoon to keep their eyes open. And sure enough, there in an incoming draft of kill-bait, they spotted just what we wanted." He took another puff, blew it out and went on. "He was a fellow named Tweek. There he was standing in what they call an 'incoming garbage truck.' According to the records Timyjo managed to get a peek at, this Tweek had said 'no' when he should have said 'yes' to some horny senior and so, as you can't let thatsort of thing happen and still have discipline – and warm bed companions – he was shipped to Camp Kill.
"What we were looking for was someone that was the height and build of the Countess Krak. And that was Tweek. He was blond, similar eye color and even a little pretty, though of course," and he let out an adoring sigh, "no real comparison to the Countess who is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. Oranybody else has seen."
"Get on with this," I snapped. A twinge of pain had hit my stomach at the mention of her qualities.
"So we just kept track of the truckload. When they stood them up on the chasm rim, one guy didn't get killed: Tweek!"
"That cost money to bribe the execution squad!" I snapped, remembering why I was talking to him at all.
"Well, no, it didn't," said Snelz. "They execute them in the evening so the action isn't spotted by chance overflights and it just happened that, courtesy of Timyjo, Tweek had a safety line on him. When the execution guards had gone, we simply pulled up Tweek, hand over hand. As instructed, he had fallen early before the stutterguns went off and aside from a minor bruise or two, he was fine.
"We fed him up – you'd be amazed how they starve those garbage cargos – and by the time we needed him, I had him able to walk. His hair had grown pretty long both from his own habits and his long trip from the planet Flisten and, for a transvestite, he looked good.
"So what we did this afternoon was march a detachment of four men through the tunnels and Tweek was one of them. When we got to the cubicle of Countess Krak, we stripped Tweek and then the Countess Krak dressed herself in his uniform. Tweek got into her bed and there he is, snoring peacefully right this minute."
"Aha!" I felt I had him there. "You had to give this Tweek freak moneyto get him to do that!"
"Money?" said Snelz. "I'm afraid we gave him something a lot more valuable than that. We gave him his life. And when we're through with this operation, we'll find a dead one in the recruitment drafts for Camp Endurance – they sometimes fight between the prisons where they get them and the outfit to which they're assigned – and give those papers to Tweek and simply put him in the platoon. We're short several men, including the one whose skull you cracked. He's getting well, by the way. I'll have to teach you to hit harder one of these days. Ah, well, where was I before you started carping about money?
"Oh, yes. At dawn," Snelz continued, "when we're relieved here, we'll fly her back, march her in through the tunnels. She and Tweek will change clothes and out will march Tweek. And we'll just keep on doing that, day after day, from here onward. The Countess Krak will be visible all day long, right in her own training room, and at night nobody ever dares go near the cubicle of the Countess Krak. She has a reputation, you know."
"Fine, fine," I said. "But how did she get so well trained so fast to do a Fleet marine manual of arms! Andmarch drill!"
"Oh, didn't you see me down there training her one afternoon? Oh, I remember – we stayed back of a couple of the big shock machines
and you weren't much around. She learns awful fast – must come from being such a good trainer herself. But it was mostly me: I'm a pretty good drillmaster. Don't you think I did a fine job? It sure had you fooled today!" Thatmade me savage. "(Bleep) you, you'd still need money to bribe your way in and out through the tunnel. Troops can't go in there without authorization!"
"Oh, we have a reason. We're taking out some training equipment for evening use and returning it each morning because the training department says it needs it in the day."
"Even that would require money to buy a pass! You can't move in and out of Spiteos without a stamped pass!"
"Oh, don't you remember? You put your identoplate on a permanent pass for my platoon." He looked at me with a bit of mischief in his eye. "And in case that expires, you put your identoplate on a permanent equipment demand."
"I did no such thing!"
"Oh, yes, you did. This morning. Just before you woke up!" I was stunned. The guard that had awakened me! The dirty thief had picked my pocket of my identoplate and put it back in before he woke me up!
It made me furious. "Don't tell me Heller isn't paying you handsomely to do this, Snelz!" He looked at me wonderingly. "Well, I suppose he will one of these days. Gris, what is all this (bleep) about money-money-money? Do you think I'd take all this risk for just money? You've got a peculiar idea of life, Gris. One doesn't do everything just for money. Sometimes, like today, one does it just for fun. Try it." I turned on my heel and left him. I was desperate. I didn't need his advice. I was hungry and I was broke!
Chapter 2
My driver was sleeping peacefully in the airbus. I looked at him. He had been eating and drinking the whole (bleeping) day!
Abruptly, I had an idea. Heller had been shovelling money at him to buy things. This driver had once been a commercial shuttle pilot: he had murdered a flight attendant and had fled to another planet where he joined a smuggling ring; he had stolen stolen goods from them once too often and had been convicted; the Apparatus had taken him from prison, given him false identity papers, thinking to use him as part of their Theft Section. He hadn't been good enough and they had given him to me as a driver. With his criminal background, he would have stolen Heller blind!
I opened the door and hit him. It was not dangerous to do. He is a small fellow. Without giving him time to collect his wits, in a savage voice, I said, "Give me my share of the money you tore off from Heller today!" He sat up. He had had too much tup. Without even thinking, he said, "Oh, certainly I will, Officer Gris." I was saved! "All right," I snapped. "Hand it over!"
"Well, Gods, I'm sorry, Officer Gris. There ain't any left." He was trying to wake up. I helped him with a rough shake.
"Gods, Officer Gris. Don't do that. I got a headache. . . . The money? . . . the money? Oh, the money!"
"Don't stall! Give it to me straight! Now!" He was fumbling in his tunic. He had some pieces of paper. "Oh, yeah. I remember now. I got all the receipts. Gods, Officer Gris, you got no idea how much things cost! Do you know he spent three hundred and two credits through me today? The Fleet gave him the cleaning supplies for nothing – he has a pal in supply there and all it took was a note." He was fumbling with the receipts. "The tup truck cost a hundred and seventy-five credits. Oh, yes! It was the dresses!
"Officer Gris, I ain't ever going to get married. You won't believe it, but them dresses cost one hundred credits! Oh, that was embarrassing. I'd spent twenty-five credits for some other things. . . ." I shook him again, "Come to the point and stop stalling!"
"I'm trying to tell you," he wailed. "Where was I? You got me all mixed up and I lost a paper to boot. Ah, there it is. It was such a fancy store and they looked on me like dirt. I had the dresses all picked out and I only had ninety-eight credits of his money left and I knew he was really counting on me. I myself had two credits of my own so I put that with the ninety-eight and I got out of there with the dresses. I got it now. He owes me two credits." He thought for a moment. "I'll give him his receipts tomorrow and he'll sure pay me back my two credits. But that ain't important." A note of admiration crept into his voice. "Ain't he a really great guy, Officer Gris!" Such insolence! I hit him and I hit him hard.
The blood started trickling down the side of his mouth. He gathered up the receipts quietly. Without a word, he got into the driver's seat. That's how you have to treat this riffraff. It's all they understand. Lombar was right. They should be exterminated for the good of the Confederation.
I got in back. "Take me to my town hotel," I ordered. At least I had a place to sleep.
We flew through the early evening traffic toward the north end of Government City. The area has long been a sort of slum. That's why the Apparatus has its offices there. The offices themselves are on a cliff where the River Wiel takes a bend. But well inward from the cliff and down the hill, there is a sort of stew where Apparatus clerks gloom away their off-time and just a little further up is where some Apparatus officers live. The area stinks, not just from the dirty river but also from the dilapidated buildings themselves.
My "hotel" was not strictly speaking a hotel. It had been some notable's residence long ago and clapboard shacks had been added on and these were lorded over by a female who called herself Meeley. I had a small room there.
The airbus stopped at the side entrance, setting down in what had once been a small yard but was now a garbage dump. The driver usually sleeps there in the airbus so I left him and went up the crooked stairs to my room.
It was locked. Not just locked but barred.
I stamped over to a stairwell and yelled down for Meeley. I was gratified to hear a rush of feet. She was practically beating the stairs apart she was coming up so fast. For a moment I was gratified to get such quick response.
The light was dim and I did not anticipate anything. I could not see the expression on her ancient and cut-up face – she has several knife scars.
"Where's my money?" she demanded.
"Why, Meeley! You know I always pay you!"
"Always means never!" she shrieked. She has never liked me. "You been gone for days and days without no word. I thought we'd had the good luck you'd been killed like you deserve! You Apparatus scum is all alike. (Bleep) you!" She hit me!
"Open my room door!" I said, prudently stepping back.
She found a keyplate and dropped the bar. She flung the door open. She flashed on the lights!
Without another word, working like fury, she began grabbing up my things. She blasted past me and rushed to the balcony above the side yard. She pitched the whole armload down toward the airbus.
"Driver!" I yelled.
Meeley came rushing out of the room again with another armload. She hurled it into the night!
She returned and came out with an old pair of boots and my one bedcover and pitched those after the rest!
"Now get out!" she screamed. "I'm going to tell every lodging keeper in this whole area that you haven't paid a particle of rent for a year! GET OUT!" I thought I ought to look in the room to see if she had gotten everything. But I changed my mind. There are times to fight and times to run. She had always had a dislike for me for some reason.
My driver and I picked my things out of the garbage in the side yard, cleaned them off as best we could and bundled them into the airbus.
"Where to?" said the driver.
I couldn't think of anyplace.
"How about your office?" said the driver.
"Old Bawtch doesn't like that," I said.
"It's the only place you got," said the driver. "If you want my opinion, a desk is better than a gutter anytime. There really ain't room for two to sleep comfortable in this airbus. I'll take you to your office." There were cabins on that tug. But the very thought of it brought heavy pains into my stomach.
(Bleep) this mission. And (bleep) Heller! I ought to kill him!
And then I really got sick. A little later, the driver even had to help me to get up and stretch out on the hard desk.
It had b
een an awfulday!
Chapter 3
I woke up as I hit the floor in a shattering crash. It was daylight. Somebody had pulled me off the desk.
"You know you're not supposed to sleep in here," said old Bawtch, peevishly.
"Whose office is it, if it isn't mine?" I muttered from the floor under his big feet.
"Now get away from the side of the desk," he said. "I've got to stand there to put these papers down." And it was true. He was standing there with about a yard-high stack of documents and forms. I understood the situation then. He had needed the top of the desk to put this massive stack of papers on it.
I scrambled sideways out of the road and got to my feet. "That's an awful lot of papers," I said.
He had gotten the load down and was stacking it by categories. "You might drop by once in a while to validate forms. I can do all the rest of your work. But notpush your identoplate. You do remember how to push it onto a piece of paper, don't you?" I detected a sneer.
Bawtch, for some reason, has never liked me. He stands – I had better say stoops – about six feet tall. He has two wild tufts of gray wool that stand out on either side above his ears; his nose is so sharp you could cut paper with it; he wears black blinders to keep light from side-striking his protruding black eyes. He doesn't talk, really: he bites. I think about eighty years ago he had ambitions to be an officer. The highest he ever made was chief clerk of Section 451. I worked it all out once. He is just jealous.
He was standing there threateningly to ensure I sat down and started stamping. "You might at least bring me some of the clerk's hot jolt," I said.
"The office funds are totally depleted. We heard a rumor you had been transferred elsewhere and we had a party. Then we heard you had been left on post and we had a wake. There is no jolt, hot or otherwise." I sat down, got out my identoplate and started to stamp. I was hungry and wondered if paper were edible. If it were, there was sure a feast here. The Apparatus rides, walks and sleeps on forms, forms, forms, nearly all of them lies.
