The Keith Laumer MEGAPACK®: 21 Classic Stories. Keith Laumer
better waste no time getting over to Indoctrination,” Magnan said.
Retief stood up. “If I hurry, maybe I can catch the cartoon.”
“The allusion escapes me,” Magnan said coldly. “And one last word. The Soetti are patrolling the trade lanes into Jorgensen’s Worlds; don’t get yourself interned.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Retief said soberly. “In a pinch, I’ll mention your name.”
“You’ll be traveling with Class X credentials,” Magnan snapped. “There must be nothing to connect you with the Corps.”
“They’ll never guess,” Retief said. “I’ll pose as a gentleman.”
“You’d better be getting started,” Magnan said, shuffling papers.
“You’re right,” Retief said. “If I work at it, I might manage a snootful by takeoff.” He went to the door. “No objection to my checking out a needler, is there?”
Magnan looked up. “I suppose not. What do you want with it?”
“Just a feeling I’ve got.”
“Please yourself.”
“Some day,” Retief said, “I may take you up on that.”
II
Retief put down the heavy travel-battered suitcase and leaned on the counter, studying the schedules chalked on the board under the legend “ALDO CERISE—INTERPLANETARY.” A thin clerk in a faded sequined blouse and a plastic snakeskin cummerbund groomed his fingernails, watching Retief from the corner of his eye.
Retief glanced at him.
The clerk nipped off a ragged corner with rabbitlike front teeth and spat it on the floor.
“Was there something?” he said.
“Two twenty-eight, due out today for the Jorgensen group,” Retief said. “Is it on schedule?”
The clerk sampled the inside of his right cheek, eyed Retief. “Filled up. Try again in a couple of weeks.”
“What time does it leave?”
“I don’t think—”
“Let’s stick to facts,” Retief said. “Don’t try to think. What time is it due out?”
The clerk smiled pityingly. “It’s my lunch hour,” he said. “I’ll be open in an hour.” He held up a thumb nail, frowned at it.
“If I have to come around this counter,” Retief said, “I’ll feed that thumb to you the hard way.”
The clerk looked up and opened his mouth. Then he caught Retief’s eye, closed his mouth and swallowed.
“Like it says there,” he said, jerking a thumb at the board. “Lifts in an hour. But you won’t be on it,” he added.
Retief looked at him.
“Some…ah…VIP’s required accommodation,” he said. He hooked a finger inside the sequined collar. “All tourist reservations were canceled. You’ll have to try to get space on the Four-Planet Line ship next—”
“Which gate?” Retief said.
“For…ah…?”
“For the two twenty-eight for Jorgensen’s Worlds,” Retief said.
“Well,” the clerk said. “Gate 19,” he added quickly. “But—”
Retief picked up his suitcase and walked away toward the glare sign reading To Gates 16-30.
“Another smart alec,” the clerk said behind him.
* * * *
Retief followed the signs, threaded his way through crowds, found a covered ramp with the number 228 posted over it. A heavy-shouldered man with a scarred jawline and small eyes was slouching there in a rumpled gray uniform. He put out a hand as Retief started past him.
“Lessee your boarding pass,” he muttered.
Retief pulled a paper from an inside pocket, handed it over.
The guard blinked at it.
“Whassat?”
“A gram confirming my space,” Retief said. “Your boy on the counter says he’s out to lunch.”
The guard crumpled the gram, dropped it on the floor and lounged back against the handrail.
“On your way, bub,” he said.
Retief put his suitcase carefully on the floor, took a step and drove a right into the guard’s midriff. He stepped aside as the man doubled and went to his knees.
“You were wide open, ugly. I couldn’t resist. Tell your boss I sneaked past while you were resting your eyes.” He picked up his bag, stepped over the man and went up the gangway into the ship.
A cabin boy in stained whites came along the corridor.
“Which way to cabin fifty-seven, son?” Retief asked.
“Up there.” The boy jerked his head and hurried on. Retief made his way along the narrow hall, found signs, followed them to cabin fifty-seven. The door was open. Inside, baggage was piled in the center of the floor. It was expensive looking baggage.
Retief put his bag down. He turned at a sound behind him. A tall, florid man with an expensive coat belted over a massive paunch stood in the open door, looking at Retief. Retief looked back. The florid man clamped his jaws together, turned to speak over his shoulder.
“Somebody in the cabin. Get ’em out.” He rolled a cold eye at Retief as he backed out of the room. A short, thick-necked man appeared.
“What are you doing in Mr. Tony’s room?” he barked. “Never mind! Clear out of here, fellow! You’re keeping Mr. Tony waiting.”
“Too bad,” Retief said. “Finders keepers.”
“You nuts?” The thick-necked man stared at Retief. “I said it’s Mr. Tony’s room.”
“I don’t know Mr. Tony. He’ll have to bull his way into other quarters.”
“We’ll see about you, mister.” The man turned and went out. Retief sat on the bunk and lit a cigar. There was a sound of voices in the corridor. Two burly baggage-smashers appeared, straining at an oversized trunk. They maneuvered it through the door, lowered it, glanced at Retief and went out. The thick-necked man returned.
“All right, you. Out,” he growled. “Or have I got to have you thrown out?”
Retief rose and clamped the cigar between his teeth. He gripped a handle of the brass-bound trunk in each hand, bent his knees and heaved the trunk up to chest level, then raised it overhead. He turned to the door.
“Catch,” he said between clenched teeth. The trunk slammed against the far wall of the corridor and burst.
Retief turned to the baggage on the floor, tossed it into the hall. The face of the thick-necked man appeared cautiously around the door jamb.
“Mister, you must be—”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Retief said, “I want to catch a nap.” He flipped the door shut, pulled off his shoes and stretched out on the bed.
* * * *
Five minutes passed before the door rattled and burst open.
Retief looked up. A gaunt leathery-skinned man wearing white ducks, a blue turtleneck sweater and a peaked cap tilted raffishly over one eye stared at Retief.
“Is this the joker?” he grated.
The thick-necked man edged past him, looked at Retief and snorted, “That’s him, sure.”
“I’m