Escape Velocity

“Fox,” Dar murmured.

“… an’ he—uh … say again?”

“He coughed.” Sam kicked Dar in the ankle. “Please go on, sir.”

“Yeah, well, the rat-faced one, he says, ‘Those people at the Customs Office, Honorable …’ And Honorable, he hits his forehead with the heel of his hand—must do that a lot, I notice he’s a little flat-headed—and says, ‘How obvious! No wonder I overlooked it! Why, of course there’d be corruption—riddled with it! Bureaucratic piracy, without a doubt!’ And he starts for the door, thundering, ‘But how could they have known where to find the documents?’ And the rat-faced one, he says, ‘Read our minds, no doubt,’ and all the rest of them, they set to wailing about how unfair it was, to have mind readers all about, and how’s a decent bureaucrat going to make a living if all his little secrets are known, and what evil people mind readers are. And Honorable, he says, ‘We must see the General immediately, and have those Customs people questioned,’ and I pulled the door and they swirled on out, Bhelabher and his whole covey right behind him. And I closed the door and like to fell over, laughing so hard I thought I’d shake myself apart.”

“No wonder.” Dar managed to chuckle himself. “Customs office? On a prison planet?”

“And mind readers! Hoo!” Corve chortled. “Such a deal of nonsense! And these’re educated?”

“Wull, knowing facts can’t cure stupidity,” Cholly mused, “and Shacklar’s anything but stupid. I’d love to see what happens when they find him.”

The door bonged, and a private stepped in, chuckling.

“I think we’re about to find out.” Dar turned to the new arrival. “Something go right, Cosca?”

“All depends on which end you were on.” Cosca pulled himself up to a barstool. “Me, I was on the outside, listening in.”

“Don’t executives anywhere know better than to leave their intercoms open?” Sam demanded.

“Just the other way around,” Dar corrected. “Sometimes they know better than to turn them off. What wasn’t private, Cosca?”

“A complaint, chiefly.” Cosca accepted his beet “Or maybe a challenge.”

“I can guess the chief who made the complaint,” Corve gri

“Same as the complainer—this Terran bigwig, Beelubber …”

“Bhelabher,” Dar and Corve both corrected.

“Who’s telling this story, anyway? All right, Bhelabher. Honorable high huckster from Terra—he says. He comes sailing in without so much as a by-your-leave, roars, ‘Where’s the governor?’ and goes slamming into Shacklar’s office afore a one of us could say a word. Matter of fact, we couldn’t even hear ourselves, his gang was making so much noise, chattering about how telepaths was undermining the foundations of society…”

“Telepaths?” Dar frowned.

“Mind readers,” Corve explained. “Gotta hand it to ‘em—they keep to a line of thought. How’d the General take it, Cosca?”

“Well, he was in conference at the time…”

“With his cat-o’-nine-tails, or a patient?”

“Patient. As long as we can keep the troubled ones coming, it keeps him away from the cat. Analysis, it was—with Rogoure.”

“Rogoure?” Dar stiffened. “Isn’t he that private who almost chopped a Wolman in Monday’s battle?”

“The same. An’ you know how Shacklar is—he wouldn’t ask the man to leave his knife outside. Well, I’d guess that Rogoure’s paranoid.”

Dar started to grin.

“And they were deep into his childhood when Bhelabher charged in?” Cholly guessed.

“I’d say—but all I know is, Rogoure bellows, ‘They’ve come to get me!’ and jumps up with that knife out…”

“Good reflexes,” Dar noted.

Corve nodded. “He’d make a top-notch soldier. Well! I don’t need to tell you. It got somewhat furry for a while there.”

“Meaning Bhelabher was screaming, and Rogoure was shouting war cries, and Shacklar was trying to bellow them both into order?”

“Something of the sort. Well, the General, he did manage to get Rogoure calmed down, and apologized for the interruption. ‘But you know how it is,’ he says, ‘when one’s involved in government. Any Joh

“And this time last week, you couldn’t’ve gotten him to come to parade rest.” Dar shook his head. “Shacklar’s amazing.”

“Bhelabher didn’t think so. Rogoure was barely out before the Honorable pulled himself together enough to bellow, ‘What is this place—a lion’s den?’ ‘So it would seem,’ says Shacklar, ‘when the folk who come don’t even have the ma

Even Sam smiled. “He sounds a little miffed.”

“Oh, his tone was fresh dry ice! ‘That’s a rather poor reception,’ Bhelabher says, ‘for the new governor of this planet.’ Well. I tell you, Shacklar all but froze.”

“I should think the news would’ve come as a bit of a shock, yes.”

“Oh, the General’s used to delusions of grandeur. You could almost see it going through his mind. ‘I understand a cargo ship came down today,’ he says. Bhelabher nods. ‘Myself was on it, and my whole staff.’ Well, if you knew the General, you could see he didn’t think that ruled out aberrations. ‘You’ve come from Terra?’ ‘We have,’ says Bhelabher, ‘sent out by the BOA to take charge of this planet and rid it of corruption and of vice.’ Shacklar, he sat down at his desk and made a note or two. ‘I assume you have got credentials to support your claim?’ ‘I had,’ Bhelabher says, like it was an accusation, ‘but the officials at your Customs Office confiscated not only the originals, but all the copies, too.”

Corve chuckled.

Cosca nodded. “I expect Shacklar thought so, too—but he didn’t show it, of course. Bhelabher bellows, ‘You must find those scoundrels!’ And Shacklar answers, ‘It would be rather surprising if we could. In fact, it’s amazing that you managed to find our Customs Office, since we don’t have one!’ ‘Come, sir,” Bhelabher says. ‘Surely you at least know the departments of your own administration.’ ‘I do,’ says Shacklar, ‘and I tell you, there’s no Customs Office. Where did you find it, by the way?’ ‘Right at the spaceport,’ says Bhelabher. ‘A small plastrete structure, about twenty feet square.’ ‘One of the storage sheds,’ Shacklar says, nodding. ‘What did it have by way of perso

“Mauve,” Dar supplied.

“Magenta,” Corve corrected.

“Closer to maroon, I’d say. Then he explodes: ‘I have been deceived!’ ‘I believe “co