"It's a (bleeped) good thing you sent me that 'present'!" he snarled. "For days I've been considering taking you off this assignment!" I was trembling. And this upset me more. That is the trouble with Lombar: he is not consistent. He'd forbidden me to take bribes and yet, while he must realize, despite my deception, that I had taken one, he was leaving me on because I had violated his orders . . . no, no. I was simply confused and thinking in a confused way. And it was also unjust. If he just knew all the good work I'd been putting in ...
"You reported," Lombar said, "that certain boxes were going aboard and I myself saw some being loaded. You are going to lead us to those boxes!" Somebody shoved a bilious yellow cover suit at me. It said, KILL 'EM EXTERMINATORS on the back. I hastily struggled into it.
I saw that there were three others in the back of the van. Iknew two of them. One was named Prii, an expert on opening and closing anything so that no one would know it had been touched. The second was Bam, the top-rated saboteur of the Apparatus – quite famous actually amongst the top criminals of the Confederacy. The third one was a plump scientist I did not know: but that is not unusual – the Apparatus has literally thousands of scientists in its employ, experts on the most minute trivia one has ever heard of. They, too, were in bilious yellow cover suits and helmets.
Lombar was peeking through a can't-see-in side window. He was looking in the direction of the hangar offices. "Hah, the contractor has arrived." I peeked. A fancy aircar had landed and a very fat man in a very fancy suit was making his way somewhat anxiously to the office.
"Now, you little fat (bleepard)," muttered Lombar as though to the distant contractor, "Get into your act!" Shortly, a guard ran from the office.
Heller was working with a group of men. He had a little hull-sounding device in his hand that tests the absorption quality, the thickness of plates and security of joints. Swinging from a rope, he was going all along the side of the hull, verifying each plate. It's what they do both before and after a new coating. He was working very quickly, tapping himself along with hull shoes, quite an athletic feat, actually. The others were recording his reads and adjusting his and their own ropes. He had his little red racing cap on the back of his head and the figures he was giving were being uttered in a continuous stream, hearable above the din.
The guard, pretty clumsy, clambered up on a staging below Heller and, yelling at the top of his voice, got attention. Heller called for a young engineer who took over Heller's hull-sounding device and, much more slowly, began to do what Heller had been doing.
Heller slipped down his rope. He hit the pavement and trotted toward the office.
"Now fall for it, you (bleeped), rotten snob," said Lombar as though giving orders to the distant Heller.
The newly arrived contractor was showing Heller a blueprint. Heller glanced back at the tug as though unwilling to interrupt his work. But the contractor kept at him. Heller shrugged.
The day subofficer from Snelz's platoon and one other guard went over at Heller's beckon. Shortly all four, the guards, contractor and Heller went out and climbed into the contractor's limousine. It took off.
Lombar laughed a very nasty laugh. "Typical of a lousy, rotten Royal officer! Contractor comes up with some stupid problem, begs for help, says his draftsmen can't get on unless he has expert guidance. And the Royal officer, he just thinks the world can't get on without him. Conceited (bleepard)! Know all!" He raised his voice in a mimic, " 'Anybody need my Royal help?' " He snarled, "No wonder Voltar can't get anyplace with the likes of him running things! I sure can read Heller right! Stupid snob!" He opened the door and waved his arm to the rest of us. "Come on! Let's get at that cargo!" Carrying various pieces of exterminator equipment, we walked in a businesslike way over to the airlock and entered. No one paid any attention to us, not even the guards.
I unlatched and lifted the deckplates of the passageway and very shortly we were all down in the small, cramped hold. The last one in, Bam, the saboteur, dropped the deckplates down in place behind us. Prii, the open-close expert, pushed a glowlight up against the bulkhead so we could see.
There were sixteen cases lying there, quite long, quite tightly closed, all of them strapped securely in place for a voyage.
Prii got to work immediately. He took a quick series of pictures so he could restore things to exact position. Then he cast off the voyage clamps. Working with a little set of tools, he took the case tops off, stacking them to one side.
They were a very efficient team. The moment a case was opened, the scientist made a rapid tally of its content.
It was hot in the cramped hold. Tugs don't have any carrying space except for their own stores. Lombar smelled bad, even to me, in these close confines. Maybe it was the slums sweating out of him, the slums he so despised. I was worried that Heller might come back unexpectedly. We seemed to be squatting there for hours.
"This is all there is?" Lombar said to me.
I thought. There were the two little cases somewhere else in the ship. But I knew what those were. I nodded.
But Lombar wasn't looking at me. He answered his own question as usual. "Of course it is. I've studied her blueprints and she hasn't any other cargo space. I've gone over the work he has ordered and it's just hull, controls and electronic nonsense. No guns. That's good. She's defenseless. Shoot her down with one blast." I shuddered. Not with me aboard, I hoped.
"Well? Well?" said Lombar impatiently to the scientist. He was obviously getting tired of sitting there and the scientist, like all scientists in conference with themselves, was pottering along, looking at an object, looking up thoughtfully and then making notes. They can look so confoundedly wise when all they're really doing is thinking about a jolt break. Apparatus scientists are on the payroll to study the technology of the opposition and give opinions about it, not to do any real work.
They'd probably starve trying to earn a real paycheck.
Finally, the scientist finished. "The bulk of this stuff is just odds and ends: things you make repairs with like wires and capacitors and such. He must think he's going to be remote from base and that the ship must be liable to breakdown. Spares and such. Just junk." Lombar grunted. His face said he would expect that of a (bleeped) fool like Heller.
"Now," said the scientist, "boxes 2, 3, 4 and 5 are a different matter. They contain the essential parts to make a miniature heavy-metal conversion plant." I looked at them. Yes, it could be electrodes and metal crucible pans and small transformers and converters. They lay snugly in their packing, edges gleaming in the light, disturbed only enough to identify what they were.
"Hm!" said Lombar. "He thinks he is supposed to give them technology for cleaner fuel. So he isgoing to do something about fuel. I was very afraid of that!"
"Well, yes," said the scientist, easing his plumpness down on a crossbeam. "But he isn't being very clever. Blito-P3 already has atomic power. They use it to run steam engines. They have lots of uranium. They make it into bombs. Real nitwits, by the way.
"So if he thinks he is going to make any impression by trying to teach them to convert one heavy metal to another, he is very much paddling up the wrong sewer. They don't need more uranium. They will ignore him." Lombar was actually listening to somebody. I was amazed. "Good. Good. We can forget about boxes 2, 3, 4 and 5. I know somebody down there that will kill him if he tries it. So what's box 1?"