She marched straight over and picked up the box I'd marked Fragile Heirlooms.She picked it up and held it to her chest. I was going to snatch it back when I saw the butt of a blastpistol sticking out of her apron pocket.
Ske had scooped up the remainder of my things along with copious quantities of floor dirt and marched out with them.
Meeley and I stood glaring at each other. That is to say, she glared. I was frantic. I couldn't leave without the one set of Heller monitors I had.
"Fifty credits," she said.
Beaten, I got out my wallet. I didn't have all that much left. And the thought of being bested yet again by this tyrant brought in a flood of bitter memories. I owed her. I really owed her. Oh, what wouldn't I give to ...
I had a counterfeit hundred. It had some blood on one end from the hypnotist. I suddenly had to fight to keep a glorious grin from coming onto my face.
I shoved the counterfeit hundred at her. "I am giving you this in memory of my pleasant stay here," I said. "If you want to reserve this room for my return, that is up to you. But you deserve what you have earned." They would seize and execute her when she tried to present it.
She looked at the bill. She was no trained cashier.
Then she looked at me with a strange twist of her head.
"Good-bye, Meeley," I said. "May you really enjoy your immediate future." I strode out with the box.
We flew through the moonlit night. Voltar's second moon was rising now and the Apparatus hangar was a weird patchwork of thin double shadows.
I was amazed how late it was. Nearly 4:00 A.M. I felt awful for more reasons than no sleep but no sleep was adding to the depression.
Ske refused to help me get my baggage to the ship. I found a hand dolly by myself, loaded it and pushed it to the airlock. When I started to pick it up and carry it in, I was infuriated to see that Ske had just been sauntering along behind me, hands in pockets.
"Carry this stuff aboard!" I demanded.
He just stood there. I could have killed him.
Suddenly I decided on something. I dissembled. Now was the time to get even with him for his nastiness these past weeks.
"Ske," I said, "you feel aggrieved that I did not make you rich. Actually I am very sorry I have not helped your career along to the place it should go." Into the maw of Hells, I privately added.
I reached into my pocket and got out my wallet. "You know that I came into some money lately. It will be no real use to me where I am going." Indeed it wouldn't, or here either. "You should be rewarded for your service. I should not be miserly about it." I fished out the remainder of the counterfeits. Bloodstains would not deter Ske and he sure was no trained cashier. I handed him the wad.
He looked at it, he looked at me. First he used one eye and then he used the other, as though he was not seeing right.
"Well, carry the baggage into the ship," I said. "Come on, come on!" He put the money in his pocket and started to pick up baggage. I myself cradled the Heller monitors and went aboard.
A fresh temporary sign on the last cabin down the passage before the voice-operated door said: Officer Gris Ske dumped my things on the floor and, after a couple more loads, finished up.
I followed him back to the airlock.
"Good-bye, Ske," I said. "Whatever happens to you, I hope it is what you truly deserve." He just walked off across the hangar without looking back.
How is it, I wondered, that Heller can give people money and they are happy and I give them money and they look at me so oddly? I'd have to study up on it in the psychology texts.
Chapter 7
I did not have any inkling whatever that I was about to begin what will rank as one of the most awful days of my life.
I went back into the ship. I was tired, I was depressed. I felt all rumpled up, inside and out. If I could only get some sleep!
And there was Heller in the passageway outside my door. He had on a clean, blue, Fleet work-jumper, unwrinkled and creased just so. He had his inevitable red racing cap on the back of his neatly combed blond hair. He looked, despite the hour, rested and glowing with health. I hated him.
His first words increased the intensity of my emotion. "What the blast crash is this horrible stink?" Then he was staring into my cubicle.
I edged past him into my room. "It's my baggage." True, it was literally thrown all over the place. True, Ske had even packed decayed, broken, disposable dishes.
"Look," said Heller, "if you were to step aboard a Fleet vessel with gear like this, dirty as you are, they'd execute you! A spacevessel operates on a closed atmosphere system. This grit would clog the air recirculation filters and I don't think the deodorizers would handle it." He was being patient. "There's a crew laundry and cleaner in the opposite passageway. Throw this stuff in there and get it all washed quickly. You haven't got much time: the groundside water and sewage and power connections will be disconnected in an hour. So speed it up." The thought of packing this gear anywhere appalled me. I wanted some sleep. Just a little sleep. Then a horrible thought hit me. The electronics of the monitor equipment would be ruined. Threat provokes fast thought. "I can't," I blurted out. "I've got guns, bias-ticks in this gear!" It had to work.
It didn't. A shocked look came over his face. "Hey, don't you know this whole ship will be awash with excess electrical charge? It could set them off!"
"I thought you fixed that." He shook his head. But he wasn't thinking about that. Apparently, all he was registering was my objections. He stepped over to me and, in a fast frisk, began to remove blasticks, stunguns, the bladegun from my pockets. "You're a walking arsenal! If that stuff went off, you could blow us out of space!" He stepped over to the wall and gave a knob a spin. A locker opened. "This is a shielded, antiexplosion repository." He started throwing my weapons into it. "Now get any other explosives out of your baggage and throw them in there." Thankfully, I shoved the "Fragile Heirlooms" box in after them.
Heller was looking at my gear again. "It's full of just plain dirt!" (Bleep) that Ske for packing even floor sweepings!
Heller had gone to a passageway locker and gotten some things. "This is a cleaning sheet roll. You pack your uniforms into the slots, roll it up and stuff it in the cleaning machine. They'll come out washed and pressed. Next, this is a dirty clothes and linen cleaning sheet roll. Stuff your underclothes and socks and so on in that, roll it up and put it in the washing machine. These are waterproof bags: put all your papers and notes and so forth in them." He was about to leave when he turned back and looked. "I don't see any dress uniform in that gear." I had never bought a General Services dress uniform. "They don't wear them on Earth!" I meant to be scathing.
"You'll need one for launching." I was too sleepy and roughed up to comprehend why in Hells you needed a dress uniform to launch a ship. (Bleep) these Fleet guys. They were crazy!
"Your driver is still out there. I'll give him some money and he can rush over and get a shop open and bring one back." I groaned. I couldn't cope with all this mania for looking nice. My reluctance must have provoked him.
He stood back and pointed toward the airlock. "You take all that baggage back outside the ship and sort it out into these rolls and bags, take the rolls over to the laundry. And include that uniform you've got on. Then take a shower. You've got to be quick. You won't have facilities much longer!" I nearly wept. All I wanted was some sleep. I actually ached. (Bleep) these Fleet guys. He wasn't in the Fleet now! Who cared if the air filters of the ship all clogged up?
I carried all my baggage outside the ship and began to sort it on the hangar floor.