cabin boy in stained whites came along the corridor.
“Which way to cabin fifty-seven, son?” Retief asked.
“Up there.” The boy jerked his head and hurried on. Retief made his way along the narrow hall, found signs, followed them to cabin fifty-seven. The door was open. Inside, baggage was piled in the center of the floor. It was expensive looking baggage.
Retief put his bag down. He turned at a sound behind him. A tall, florid man with an expensive coat belted over a massive paunch stood in the open door, looking at Retief. Retief looked back. The florid man clamped his jaws together, turned to speak over his shoulder.
“Somebody in the cabin. Get ’em out.” He rolled a cold eye at Retief as he backed out of the room. A short, thick-necked man appeared.
“What are you doing in Mr. Tony’s room?” he barked. “Never mind! Clear out of here, fellow! You’re keeping Mr. Tony waiting.”
“Too bad,” Retief said. “Finders keepers.”
“You nuts?” The thick-necked man stared at Retief. “I said it’s Mr. Tony’s room.”
“I don’t know Mr. Tony. He’ll have to bull his way into other quarters.”
“We’ll see about you, mister.” The man turned and went out. Retief sat on the bunk and lit a cigar. There was a sound of voices in the corridor. Two burly baggage-smashers appeared, straining at an oversized trunk. They maneuvered it through the door, lowered it, glanced at Retief and went out. The thick-necked man returned.
“All right, you. Out,” he growled. “Or have I got to have you thrown out?”
Retief rose and clamped the cigar between his teeth. He gripped a handle of the brass-bound trunk in each hand, bent his knees and heaved the trunk up to chest level, then raised it overhead. He turned to the door.
“Catch,” he said between clenched teeth. The trunk slammed against the far wall of the corridor and burst.
Retief turned to the baggage on the floor, tossed it into the hall. The face of the thick-necked man appeared cautiously around the door jamb.
“Mister, you must be—”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Retief said, “I want to catch a nap.” He flipped the door shut, pulled off his shoes and stretched out on the bed.
* * * *
Five minutes passed before the door rattled and burst open.
Retief looked up. A gaunt leathery-skinned man wearing white ducks, a blue turtleneck sweater and a peaked cap tilted raffishly over one eye stared at Retief.
“Is this the joker?” he grated.
The thick-necked man edged past him, looked at Retief and snorted, “That’s him, sure.”
“I’m captain of this vessel,” the first man said. “You’ve got two minutes to haul your freight out of here, buster.”
“When you can spare the time from your other duties,” Retief said, “take a look at Section Three, Paragraph One, of the Uniform Code. That spells out the law on confirmed space on vessels engaged in interplanetary commerce.”
“A space lawyer.” The captain turned. “Throw him out, boys.”
Two big men edged into the cabin, looking at Retief.
“Go on, pitch him out,” the captain snapped.
Retief put his cigar in an ashtray, and swung his feet off the bunk.
“Don’t try it,” he said softly.
One of the two wiped his nose on a sleeve, spat on his right palm, and stepped forward, then hesitated.
“Hey,” he said. “This the guy tossed the trunk off the wall?”
“That’s him,” the thick-necked man called. “Spilled Mr. Tony’s possessions right on the deck.”
“Deal me out,” the bouncer said. “He can stay put as long as he wants to. I signed on to move cargo. Let’s go, Moe.”
“You’d better be getting back to the bridge, Captain,” Retief said. “We’re due to lift in twenty minutes.”
The thick-necked man and the Captain both shouted at once. The Captain’s voice prevailed.
“—twenty minutes…uniform Code…gonna do?”
“Close the door as you leave,” Retief said.
The thick-necked man paused at the door. “We’ll see you when you come out.”
III
Four waiters passed Retief’s table without stopping. A fifth leaned against the wall nearby, a menu under his arm.
At a table across the room, the Captain, now wearing a dress uniform and with his thin red hair neatly parted, sat with a table of male passengers. He talked loudly and laughed frequently, casting occasional glances Retief’s way.
A panel opened in the wall behind Retief’s chair. Bright blue eyes peered out from under a white chef’s cap.
“Givin’ you the cold shoulder, heh, Mister?”
“Looks like it, old-timer,” Retief said. “Maybe I’d better go join the skipper. His party seems to be having all the fun.”
“Feller has to be mighty careless who he eats with to set over there.”
“I see your point.”
“You set right where you’re at, Mister. I’ll rustle you up a plate.”
Five minutes later, Retief cut into a thirty-two ounce Delmonico backed up with mushrooms and garlic butter.
“I’m Chip,” the chef said. “I don’t like the Cap’n. You can tell him I said so. Don’t like his friends, either. Don’t like them dern Sweaties, look at a man like he was a worm.”
“You’ve got the right idea on frying a steak, Chip. And you’ve got the right idea on the Soetti, too,” Retief said. He poured red wine into a glass. “Here’s to you.”
“Dern right,” Chip said. “Dunno who ever thought up broiling ’em. Steaks, that is. I got a Baked Alaska coming up in here for dessert. You like brandy in yer coffee?”
“Chip, you’re a genius.”
“Like to see a feller eat,” Chip said. “I gotta go now. If you need anything, holler.”
Retief ate slowly. Time always dragged on shipboard. Four days to Jorgensen’s Worlds. Then, if Magnan’s information was correct, there would be four days to prepare for the Soetti attack. It was a temptation to scan the tapes built into the handle of his suitcase. It would be good to know what Jorgensen’s Worlds would be up against.
