I got clear back to the Bunker Room. It is where they dump crocked officers really. It is decorated to simulate a steel field bunker. It even has a field communication dummy layout that really serves tup. The tables in the booths all around are made to look like field desks. It is dim as Hells. I was almost ready to walk through to the Field Hospital Room – where they serve blood cocktails and the waitresses are dressed like half-naked field nurses – and had even put my foot through the arch when a sixth sense told me to look in the far corner of the Bunker Room.
I did! And there was the badge! The grasping fist of Supply!
He was sort of slopped over the "desk" and a drink was spilled and he seemed to be asleep.
I did a stealthy approach so as not to wake him up. The chocolate tunic was twisted about and I couldn't see the rank locket. I had to touch him to get a look. Aha, a Grade Twelve! The equivalent of a commander of ten thousand. But, of course, Supply commands no troops.
I needn't have been so stealthy! He was snoring drunk! I was about to go through his pockets when one of the waitresses – in the Bunker Room they dress like male dispatch riders without the pants – came over to find out what I wanted. I ordered plain sparklewater for myself. "And bring an oversize canister of double-strength jolt for my friend here," I said.
"It's time a friend showed up," said the girl. "He's been there since early this morning. You people don't look after your friends very well." She went off, a little huffish.
I completed my frisking. His identoplate said that he was Colonel Rajabah Stinkins of the Voltar Raiders, Section of Supply. Excellent. He would know nothing of Flisten. His complexion was white as mountain snow.
He was a very beefy man, much given to lard. He seemed to just snore on and on. So I really frisked him. I found some just issued divorce papers and the photos of five children. So that's what the binge was all about. One can figure these things out, particularly with my skill at Earth psychology. He was drowning his sorrows.
The girl brought the order and I stamped the check with his identoplate. She frowned slightly until I tossed one of his five-credit notes on her tray. "It's his binge," I said, "so he can pay for the sober-up. We were in school together. He always was a drunk."
"Who wash alwash a drunk?" he said. He had awakened. "Thash libelous! I wash ne'er drunk in my life!" The girl thought it was a good joke. And she swished pantslessly away.
I got the hot jolt down him. "Colonel, you've got to sober up. It is not manly to fall and sway before the misfortunes of life! They happen. One cannot . . ."
"Who's had misfortunsh?" he said.
"Well, you have. Drowning your sorrows . . ."
"Whoosh drowning their sorrows? I shelebrating! I jush got rid of the (bleeping) old hag and her five awfulbrats. I been shelebrating for two days, wheeeee!" Oh, well, one is not always correct in one's diagnosis. Whatever the cause, I had to get this colonel of Supply in operating condition. It didn't have to be very good operating condition. He would be dead before the night was out.
And so I set to work with Earth psychology, hot jolt and sobering pills to make my prey ready for the slaughter. My luck was still holding.
*For the sake of accuracy, the game "Girl on the Wheel," known in the Army as "Blow Up the Dame," is not a live girl but an electronic, three-dimensional illusion. It is not true that the proprietor moves the girl's breasts out of the way by means of standard battlefield prediction circuits which anticipate the path of the grenade. (Note included at the request of the owner of the Ground Forces Play Club who threatened suit against the publishers unless corrected. – Editor.)
Chapter 4
Only the end objective would ever have persuaded me to work as hard as I had to work to sober up this drunken colonel. But Heller had to be bugged and bugged in such a way that neither he nor anyone else would ever suspect it, and bugged on a line that no one else could enter. But sweating over that colonel the way I had to was beginning to make me wonder if it was worth it. Four hours had gone by!
The colonel eventually had the same idea. I was pressing a cold cloth to his forehead while holding him on the seat and trying to get another sober pill into him. "Why are you doing this?" he wanted to know.
Ah, he actually was sobering up! "The good of the service," I said.
"I wasn't making a spectacle of myself," he protested.
"No, no," I said. I decided to take the plunge. "Army Intelligence on Flisten is in the midst of a most difficult case. We have been told that you are the most discreet and the most reliable Supply officer in the service." He sat there looking at me. "Nobody ever said thatbefore."
"Well, it's time the truth came out," I said, praying thatcatastrophe would never occur.
He marvelled for a while. "No (bleep)? Somebody said that?"
"The computers say so and they are never wrong," I said.
He perked up. "That's true," he decided.
"On Flisten," I said, "there have been thefts of the most secret and sensitive bugging devices known. A real crime. Affects the security of the State. Even the Emperor." I looked around covertly to make sure we were unobserved.
My delivery was slightly marred by my noticing that we werebeing observed. A shadowy figure just inside the door of the Field Hospital Room, when I looked, faded from view.
Oh, well, just some lush, I guessed. Place was full of lushes. I got back to the project.
I pushed my closed hand up toward his face. I opened it. His eyes fixed on the Timp Snahp, Army Intelligence identoplate.
"Oh, I know you're in Intelligence," he said. "I can tell by your uniform."
"I just wanted you to be sure. For what I am about to impart to you must not be related to a soul. Do you give me your word on that?"
"There's no need to question my word," he said a trifle huffily.
"Good. Then we understand one another. I certainly appreciate your promise of help."
"You're welcome," he said. I wondered if he really was sober. He looked it, though. Still, you can never tell about Army officers.
"So!" I said in a businesslike way. "To business." I leaned forward and spoke very softly. "These bugging devices were stolen. The very latest developments. And," I leaned even closer, spacing each word, "we have reason to believe that the thief was hired by the bug manufacturer!" I saw this startled him. "Only they would know of the devices. We think," and I tapped him on the lapel, "that the manufacturer stole them back on Flisten and is trying to sell them on Voltar!"
"No!"
"Yes! A very cunning way of making a double profit."
"Well, (bleep) them!"
"Now, as you know, hypersecret bugging devices can only be sold to the authorized supply and purchasing officers of the services. And these devices were exclusively Army and could be sold only to the Army."