He had no interest in the girl – boys were probably his twist. He had no interest in anything, apparently, but getting his twelve-hour shift over with, getting back to camp and his own vices.
It turned out that there had been a riot amongst military rank and file prisoners a century ago and so captures of nonofficer prisoners of possible future value were slammed into the military section. He explained all this to me, yawning.
I gave him the number of men, date and time they must have been entered. He looked at his watch as though I was using up valuable time. But he said, "Two more hours to go in this stinking place." He searched around and finally found the rosters under some abandoned equipment. He sat down at a mess table and began to go through them.
He shook his head. And just when I had decided they'd never arrived, he put his finger down on a page and traced it along.
"Your date is wrong," he said peevishly. "Forty-eight hours off. Here they are, but it's two days later than you said. You ought to keep better administration!" As though I had charge of their records! "They're in Block Five. You understand, I can't give you any other data than that. It isn't that it's secret, it just isn't here. 'Twenty men,' it says, 'military, potentially dangerous. Hold until further orders.' No other orders noted so they're still there. Jeemp!" he said to a lolling subofficer, "show this guy where's Block Five." I noted none of them gave the prostitute a passing glance. They were obviously daily back and forth from the camp. All the better. This crew in here would have no easy time of it as they would have buying from the usual wardens. The money, even counterfeit, would be nearly worthless to them and would be detected sooner as counterfeit. These tough mugs would kill them if they tried to pass it. Riot helmets. I was encouraged.
I thrust the prostitute along after Jeemp. We went through some old black tunnels and he finally stopped and pointed. "It's down there someplace." He left.
The area made me nervous. I loosened the stungun in its holster, checked the knife behind my neck and the blasticks in my pockets. Most of the glowplates had blown out. Water was trickling somewhere. Some large type of vermin leaped out of a sagging cell door. It scared me.
All these black walled cells and rooms were empty save for some bones. It was all quite different than the area they had put Heller in.
The military section wasn't very military! It was a good thing I was taking care of this. Dead crews don't blab.
Chapter 3
I looked through a grate at the very end. And there they were, twenty men. Their clothes had been stolen, of course, and they were naked. They were draped about on stone ledges. But they didn't look in too bad a shape. I saw why, then: there was a pile of vermin bones in the middle of the floor and a very active stream of water, an underground seepage, trickled blackly down a blacker wall.
I pushed the prostitute into a nearby empty cell. I would save her for a surprise.
I decided to be brisk. I shouted through the grate, "Who's in charge here?" A tall, husky guy got off the bench, he came over to the grate. "And who the Hells are you?" he said.
Not very beaten down! Well, they'd had vermin to eat and there was water coming down the wall they could catch. They probably didn't see a guard more than once a day and yet here was somebody being spunky.
I decided to be military, "The number of your patrol craft, please."
"So you know we're a Fleet crew," he said. "And what happens when Fleet finally finds out what was done with us?"
"Come, come," I said. "I am here to help you. Do not take that tone with me, my man. Give your craft number, name and rank." Somebody amongst the rest said, "No harm. He knows it anyway." The one at the door shrugged. "Craftleader Soams, Fleet Patrol Craft B-44-A-539-G.Who are you and where are we?" Ah, they didn't know where they were. Excellent.
Now, there are two approaches one can use. The first is to be friendly, the second is to extort. Being friendly takes time.
"In return for certain information, I can give you certain things. They will make your life easier. Don't bargain. I haven't got much time." The others were stirring around now, they formed a half circle behind him.
I went back and got some of the counterfeit out of the bag. I left the girl hidden. I returned and waved the notes.
"If you will tell me everything you know about one Jettero Heller, a combat engineer, who accompanied you on your last patrol, this is yours." He went back and they put their heads together. They whispered for quite a while. I could see their various ranks from their conduct. A Fleet patrol craft does not have Royal officers – -there are too many patrol craft. The "captain" is called a "craftleader." He has two sub-officer pilots, a subofficer engineer and odds and ends of specialists who attend to things like finance and food and then a few common spacers. You could see who was who in the deference paid to whispers. They sort of consulted by chain of command. But awfully democratic. They're different than the Army, it is said, because of living so tight together and at such long times in space.
They seemed to be resistant so I said, "With this you can bribe food." Soams came back to the grate and looked at the money I still held. "It isn't enough," he said.
I went back in the other cell and got a few more bills. It appeared to be enough. Aha, I thought. Heller's charm isn't enough to prevent singing birds.
They made a drill of it. That's sort of the way Fleet is. A man would step up, speak his piece, then step back and another would step ahead and speak up.
And of all the sickening drivel I have ever listened to in my whole life, that period in Spiteos talking with that crew topped it.
Heller was a tall, very handsome officer. Heller knew exactly what he was doing. Heller was brave and afraid of nothing. Heller had an excellent singing voice. Heller did thoughtful things, illustrated by bandaging up the medical rating when an airlock slammed on him. Heller was amusing in that he told jokes when things looked grim – examples included.
Absolutely, utterly sickening!
Finally they stood back and Soams reached out and took the money. I had meant to snatch it back but he was too quick.
I looked them over. According to the dream – and it was amazing how closely they resembled themselves in the dream – they had said they knew more than that. I was sure they did.
I went back and got some more money. Imagine paying for such useless trivia! But I had no choice. I would trick them in the end.
Now began parade number two: Heller was very athletic. He held a racing record. He scared them to death once walking with magnetic shoes up to the top of the hull just to get a measurement of waves the interior of the ship was cancelling: he hadn't been able to find a safety line aboard that was long enough and so, four hundred miles above Blito-P3, he went walking on the top of the ship carrying some meter, and no safety line. Stuff like that. Sheer drivel.
They were done. Soams reached through the bars and took the money. But I could sense they were holding something back. A couple looked at each other secretively.
I went and got the food. I was mad enough by then to take a real satisfaction in it. They would soon be dead!
Instead of being impressed by these gaudy cans – they would look and taste just like the real thing and death would follow in minutes – this nut Soams said, "Where you getting all this stuff? You couldn't carry it in your arms." I went back and got the magic bag to show them. I didn't show them it was a magic bag.
And then, catastrophe! That (bleeping) girl, curious about where I was disappearing to, or maybe looking for a possible way to escape, peeked out of that cell!