The Keith Laumer MEGAPACK®: 21 Classic Stories. Keith Laumer

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СКАЧАТЬ you have us branded as warmongers? Frankly—is this a closed line?”

      “Certainly. You may speak freely.”

      “The tractors are for transshipment. We’ve gotten ourselves into a difficult situation, balance-of-payments-wise. This is an accommodation to a group with which we have rather strong business ties.”

      “I understand you hold a mortgage on the best land on Lovenbroy,” Retief said. “Any connection?”

      “Why…ah…no. Of course not, ha ha.”

      “Who gets the tractors eventually?”

      “Retief, this is unwarranted interference!”

      “Who gets them?”

      “They happen to be going to Lovenbroy. But I scarcely see—”

      “And who’s the friend you’re helping out with an unauthorized transshipment of grant material?”

      “Why…ah…I’ve been working with a Mr. Gulver, a Bogan representative.”

      “And when will they be shipped?”

      “Why, they went out a week ago. They’ll be half way there by now. But look here, Retief, this isn’t what you’re thinking!”

      “How do you know what I’m thinking? I don’t know myself.” Retief rang off, buzzed the secretary.

      “Miss Furkle, I’d like to be notified immediately of any new applications that might come in from the Bogan Consulate for placement of students.”

      “Well, it happens, by coincidence, that I have an application here now. Mr. Gulver of the Consulate brought it in.”

      “Is Mr. Gulver in the office? I’d like to see him.”

      “I’ll ask him if he has time.”

      “Great. Thanks.” It was half a minute before a thick-necked red-faced man in a tight hat walked in. He wore an old-fashioned suit, a drab shirt, shiny shoes with round toes and an ill-tempered expression.

      “What is it you wish?” he barked. “I understood in my discussions with the other…ah…civilian there’d be no further need for these irritating conferences.”

      “I’ve just learned you’re placing more students abroad, Mr. Gulver. How many this time?”

      “Two thousand.”

      “And where will they be going?”

      “Croanie. It’s all in the application form I’ve handed in. Your job is to provide transportation.”

      “Will there be any other students embarking this season?”

      “Why…perhaps. That’s Boge’s business.” Gulver looked at Retief with pursed lips. “As a matter of fact, we had in mind dispatching another two thousand 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 compressed her lips. “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’s 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 our 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’d’ve 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 and looked thoughtful.

      “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 fooling?”

      “I hope not.” He picked up the phone, called the Port Authority, 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 traveling 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 СКАЧАТЬ