Read Online Mission: Earth "Fortune of Fear" by Ron L. Hubbard - Free Book Online
Authors: Ron L. Hubbard
Tags: sf_humor
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on about something. Eventually he got my attention.
"What?" I said.
"Captain Bolz!" said the guard captain. "I'm trying to tell you that Captain Bolz of the Blixo is awfully upset with you. No one could find you anyplace. He has been wanting to get up to Istanbul but he said he couldn't leave until he saw you. He's been tearing the place to pieces looking for you for a day and a half. He's mad as screaming Devils about it. I'm trying to tell you that you've got to go see him right away, regardless of the time."
Oh, Gods. Fate was not out of ammunition. Here was more trouble.
PART THIRTY-SEVEN
Chapter 1
"Where the Hells have you been?" roared Captain Bolz.
He reared up off the gimbal bed in his cabin, a mass of chest hair and wrath.
I stood timidly in the oval doorway, twisting my karakul cap round and round in my hands. The master of the battered Blixo was not his usual self. No affable invitation to have a seat, no slightly fawning demeanor.
"It's been an awful trip!" he snarled. "A (bleeping) fairy running around flirting with my crew, a crazy, gibbering idiot of a doctor trying to convince the mates the ship would run better if he gave them flippers instead of hands, and the most beautiful woman I ever seen in my whole life locked up in her cabin and not even giving me an ankle glimpse. And then I arrive here and just before I slide in through the mountaintop the whole control panel tries to tell me I'm about to have a collision with a spaceship!"
I cringed. I knew why that was. The hypnohelmet breaker switch in my head!
"Then I get safely into the hangar," he ranted on, "after braving Gods know what perils and where are you? No Scotch. No 'Hello, Bolz,' and that ain't all! Three months ago when I was up in Istanbul, I meet this rich widow. And she says that she'll just die if I don't come back and, (bleep) it, Gris, here I am hanging around this stinking hangar for a day and a half and nobody can even find you!"
"Why did you have to see me?" I ventured timidly. And, indeed, it was true. He didn't have to clear in through me.
"First things first," he said. "Sit down in that chair! We can get this over with in time for me to be on that morning plane if we get moving."
I sat down in a gingerly way, my hand not far from my stungun butt. These spacers are peculiar people. They can get out of hand. Not only that, you have to be crazy to become a spacer in the first place. Just because some rich widow was waiting for him, he had no call to be so upset. Or did he?
He plopped a thick mass of paper down in front of me. Blank Voltar Apparatus gate passes. An unusual number.
"Stamp those and we can talk further," he threatened.
"Aren't these an awful lot?" I said. After all, one should have some care in authorizing official documents.
"It's none of your business, except the rich widow also owns a counterfeit Scotch distillery and Scotch is getting to be all the rage on Voltar-knocks them kicking! And I'm not offering you a piece of it-either the widow or the Scotch business-and I need so many cargo-gate passes because you might not be around very long."
Ominous. Distinctly ominous. I knew now that he had something up his sleeve. "You better tell me more," I said.
"I'll (bleep) well tell you more when you stamp those (bleeped) passes," said Bolz. "And don't date them.
Blank that part of your stamp. I can forge that much of it with my own."
Fate was having its way with me. I knew he wouldn't tell me until I stamped. I was already too beaten down to argue further. I got out my identoplate, blanked the date and began to stamp.
I stamped and stamped and stamped.
Captain Bolz got himself some hot jolt. He didn't offer me any. Then he finalized his packing of a trip bag and began to dress in Western clothes.
I stamped on and on. He could land a dozen spaceship freighter loads of Scotch, a case at a time, with all this.
At last I flexed my aching arm. I began to put my identoplate away.
Bolz, who had been tying
"What?" I said.
"Captain Bolz!" said the guard captain. "I'm trying to tell you that Captain Bolz of the Blixo is awfully upset with you. No one could find you anyplace. He has been wanting to get up to Istanbul but he said he couldn't leave until he saw you. He's been tearing the place to pieces looking for you for a day and a half. He's mad as screaming Devils about it. I'm trying to tell you that you've got to go see him right away, regardless of the time."
Oh, Gods. Fate was not out of ammunition. Here was more trouble.
PART THIRTY-SEVEN
Chapter 1
"Where the Hells have you been?" roared Captain Bolz.
He reared up off the gimbal bed in his cabin, a mass of chest hair and wrath.
I stood timidly in the oval doorway, twisting my karakul cap round and round in my hands. The master of the battered Blixo was not his usual self. No affable invitation to have a seat, no slightly fawning demeanor.
"It's been an awful trip!" he snarled. "A (bleeping) fairy running around flirting with my crew, a crazy, gibbering idiot of a doctor trying to convince the mates the ship would run better if he gave them flippers instead of hands, and the most beautiful woman I ever seen in my whole life locked up in her cabin and not even giving me an ankle glimpse. And then I arrive here and just before I slide in through the mountaintop the whole control panel tries to tell me I'm about to have a collision with a spaceship!"
I cringed. I knew why that was. The hypnohelmet breaker switch in my head!
"Then I get safely into the hangar," he ranted on, "after braving Gods know what perils and where are you? No Scotch. No 'Hello, Bolz,' and that ain't all! Three months ago when I was up in Istanbul, I meet this rich widow. And she says that she'll just die if I don't come back and, (bleep) it, Gris, here I am hanging around this stinking hangar for a day and a half and nobody can even find you!"
"Why did you have to see me?" I ventured timidly. And, indeed, it was true. He didn't have to clear in through me.
"First things first," he said. "Sit down in that chair! We can get this over with in time for me to be on that morning plane if we get moving."
I sat down in a gingerly way, my hand not far from my stungun butt. These spacers are peculiar people. They can get out of hand. Not only that, you have to be crazy to become a spacer in the first place. Just because some rich widow was waiting for him, he had no call to be so upset. Or did he?
He plopped a thick mass of paper down in front of me. Blank Voltar Apparatus gate passes. An unusual number.
"Stamp those and we can talk further," he threatened.
"Aren't these an awful lot?" I said. After all, one should have some care in authorizing official documents.
"It's none of your business, except the rich widow also owns a counterfeit Scotch distillery and Scotch is getting to be all the rage on Voltar-knocks them kicking! And I'm not offering you a piece of it-either the widow or the Scotch business-and I need so many cargo-gate passes because you might not be around very long."
Ominous. Distinctly ominous. I knew now that he had something up his sleeve. "You better tell me more," I said.
"I'll (bleep) well tell you more when you stamp those (bleeped) passes," said Bolz. "And don't date them.
Blank that part of your stamp. I can forge that much of it with my own."
Fate was having its way with me. I knew he wouldn't tell me until I stamped. I was already too beaten down to argue further. I got out my identoplate, blanked the date and began to stamp.
I stamped and stamped and stamped.
Captain Bolz got himself some hot jolt. He didn't offer me any. Then he finalized his packing of a trip bag and began to dress in Western clothes.
I stamped on and on. He could land a dozen spaceship freighter loads of Scotch, a case at a time, with all this.
At last I flexed my aching arm. I began to put my identoplate away.
Bolz, who had been tying
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