to
Featherweight."
"Another under-populated
world—and in the same cluster, I believe," Retief said. "Your people
must be unusually interested in that region of space."
"If that's all you wanted to
know, I'll be on my way. I have matters of importance to see to."
After Gulver left Retief called
Miss Furkle in. "I'd like to have a break-out of all the student movements
that have been planned under the present program," he said. "And see
if you can get a summary of what MEDDLE has been shipping lately."
Miss Furkle bridled. "If Mr.
Magnan were here, I'm sure he wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of
other departments. I . . . overheard your conversation with the gentleman from
the Croanie Legation—"
"The lists, Miss Furkle."
"I'm not accustomed,"
Miss Furkle said, "to intruding in matters outside our interest
cluster."
"That's worse than listening
in on phone conversations, eh? But never mind. I need the information, Miss
Furkle."
"Loyalty to my Chief-"
"Loyalty to your pay-check
should send you scuttling for the material I've asked for," Retief said.
"I'm taking full responsibility. Now scat."
The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped
a key. "MUDDLE, Retief speaking . .."
Arapoulous' brown face appeared on
the desk screen.
"How do, Retief. Okay if I
come up?"
"Sure, Hank. I want to talk to
you."
In the office, Arapoulous took a
chair. "Sorry if I'm rushing you, Retief," he said. "But have
you got anything for me?"
Retief waved at the wine bottles.
"What do you know about Croanie?"
"Croanie? Not much of a place.
Mostly ocean. All right if you like fish, I guess. We import some seafood from
there. Nice prawns in monsoon time. Over a foot long."
"You on good terms with
them?"
"Sure, I guess so. Course,
they're pretty thick with Boge."
"So?"
"Didn't I tell you? Boge was
the bunch that tried to take us over here a dozen years back. They would have
made it, too, if they hadn't had a lot of bad luck. Their armor went in the
drink, and without armor they're easy game."
Miss Furkle buzzed. "I have your
lists," she said shortly.
"Bring them in, please."
The secretary placed the papers on
the desk. Arapoulous caught her eye and grinned. She sniffed and marched from
the room.
"What that gal needs is a
slippery time in the grape mash," Arapoulous observed. Retief thumbed
through the papers, pausing to read from time to time. He finished and looked
at Arapoulous.
"How many men do you need for
the harvest, Hank?" Retief inquired.
Arapoulous sniffed his wine glass.
"A hundred would help,"
he said. "A thousand would be better. Cheers."
"What would you say to two
thousand?"
"Two thousand? Retief, you're
not foolin'?"
"I hope not." He picked
up the phone, called the Port Authority, and asked for the dispatch clerk.
"Hello, Jim. Say, I have a
favor to ask of you. You know that contingent of Bogan students; they're
travelling aboard the two CDT transports. I'm interested in the baggage that
goes with the students. Has it arrived yet? Okay, I'll wait. . . ."
Jim came back to the phone.
"Yeah, Retief, it's here. Just arrived. But there's a funny thing. It's
not consigned to d'Land; it's ticketed clear through to Lovenbroy."
"Listen, Jim," Retief
said. "I want you to go over to the warehouse and take a look at that
baggage for me."
Retief waited while the dispatch
clerk carried out the errand. The level in the two bottles had gone down an
inch when Jim returned to the phone.
"Hey, I took a look at that
baggage, Retief. Something funny going on. Guns. 2mm needlers, Mark XII hand
blasters, power pistols—"
"It's okay, Jim. Nothing to
worry about. Just a mix-up. Now, Jim, I'm going to ask you to do something more
for me. I'm covering for a friend; it seems he slipped up. I wouldn't want word
to get out, you understand. I'll send along a written change order in the
morning that will cover you officially. Meanwhile, here's what I want you to
do. . . ."
Retief gave instructions, then rang
off and turned to
Featherweight."
"Another under-populated
world—and in the same cluster, I believe," Retief said. "Your people
must be unusually interested in that region of space."
"If that's all you wanted to
know, I'll be on my way. I have matters of importance to see to."
After Gulver left Retief called
Miss Furkle in. "I'd like to have a break-out of all the student movements
that have been planned under the present program," he said. "And see
if you can get a summary of what MEDDLE has been shipping lately."
Miss Furkle bridled. "If Mr.
Magnan were here, I'm sure he wouldn't dream of interfering in the work of
other departments. I . . . overheard your conversation with the gentleman from
the Croanie Legation—"
"The lists, Miss Furkle."
"I'm not accustomed,"
Miss Furkle said, "to intruding in matters outside our interest
cluster."
"That's worse than listening
in on phone conversations, eh? But never mind. I need the information, Miss
Furkle."
"Loyalty to my Chief-"
"Loyalty to your pay-check
should send you scuttling for the material I've asked for," Retief said.
"I'm taking full responsibility. Now scat."
The buzzer sounded. Retief flipped
a key. "MUDDLE, Retief speaking . .."
Arapoulous' brown face appeared on
the desk screen.
"How do, Retief. Okay if I
come up?"
"Sure, Hank. I want to talk to
you."
In the office, Arapoulous took a
chair. "Sorry if I'm rushing you, Retief," he said. "But have
you got anything for me?"
Retief waved at the wine bottles.
"What do you know about Croanie?"
"Croanie? Not much of a place.
Mostly ocean. All right if you like fish, I guess. We import some seafood from
there. Nice prawns in monsoon time. Over a foot long."
"You on good terms with
them?"
"Sure, I guess so. Course,
they're pretty thick with Boge."
"So?"
"Didn't I tell you? Boge was
the bunch that tried to take us over here a dozen years back. They would have
made it, too, if they hadn't had a lot of bad luck. Their armor went in the
drink, and without armor they're easy game."
Miss Furkle buzzed. "I have your
lists," she said shortly.
"Bring them in, please."
The secretary placed the papers on
the desk. Arapoulous caught her eye and grinned. She sniffed and marched from
the room.
"What that gal needs is a
slippery time in the grape mash," Arapoulous observed. Retief thumbed
through the papers, pausing to read from time to time. He finished and looked
at Arapoulous.
"How many men do you need for
the harvest, Hank?" Retief inquired.
Arapoulous sniffed his wine glass.
"A hundred would help,"
he said. "A thousand would be better. Cheers."
"What would you say to two
thousand?"
"Two thousand? Retief, you're
not foolin'?"
"I hope not." He picked
up the phone, called the Port Authority, and asked for the dispatch clerk.
"Hello, Jim. Say, I have a
favor to ask of you. You know that contingent of Bogan students; they're
travelling aboard the two CDT transports. I'm interested in the baggage that
goes with the students. Has it arrived yet? Okay, I'll wait. . . ."
Jim came back to the phone.
"Yeah, Retief, it's here. Just arrived. But there's a funny thing. It's
not consigned to d'Land; it's ticketed clear through to Lovenbroy."
"Listen, Jim," Retief
said. "I want you to go over to the warehouse and take a look at that
baggage for me."
Retief waited while the dispatch
clerk carried out the errand. The level in the two bottles had gone down an
inch when Jim returned to the phone.
"Hey, I took a look at that
baggage, Retief. Something funny going on. Guns. 2mm needlers, Mark XII hand
blasters, power pistols—"
"It's okay, Jim. Nothing to
worry about. Just a mix-up. Now, Jim, I'm going to ask you to do something more
for me. I'm covering for a friend; it seems he slipped up. I wouldn't want word
to get out, you understand. I'll send along a written change order in the
morning that will cover you officially. Meanwhile, here's what I want you to
do. . . ."
Retief gave instructions, then rang
off and turned to
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