Retief watched, four men arose from the table and sauntered across the room. The first in line, a stony-faced thug with a broken ear, took a cigar from his mouth as he reached the table. He dipped the lighted end in Retief’s coffee, looked at it, and dropped it on the tablecloth.
The others came up, Mr. Tony trailing.
“You must want to get to Jorgensen’s pretty bad,” the thug said in a grating voice. “What’s your game, hick?”
Retief looked at the coffee cup, picked it up.
“I don’t think I want my coffee,” he said. He looked at the thug. “You drink it.”
The thug squinted at Retief. “A wise hick,” he began.
With a flick of the wrist, Retief tossed the coffee into the thug’s face, then stood and slammed a straight right to the chin. The thug went down.
Retief looked at Mr. Tony, still standing open-mouthed.
“You can take your playmates away now, Tony,” he said. “And don’t bother to come around yourself. You’re not funny enough.”
Mr. Tony found his voice.
“Take him, Marbles!” he growled.
The thick-necked man slipped a hand inside his tunic and brought out a long-bladed knife. He licked his lips and moved in.
Retief heard the panel open beside him.
“Here you go, Mister,” Chip said. Retief darted a glance; a well-honed french knife lay on the sill.
“Thanks, Chip,” Retief said. “I won’t need it for these punks.”
Thick-neck lunged and Retief hit him square in the face, knocking him under the table. The other man stepped back, fumbling a power pistol from his shoulder holster.
“Aim that at me, and I’ll kill you,” Retief said.
“Go on, burn him!” Mr. Tony shouted. Behind him, the captain appeared, white-faced.
“Put that away, you!” he yelled. “What kind of—”
“Shut up,” Mr. Tony said. “Put it away, Hoany. We’ll fix this bum later.”
“Not on this vessel, you won’t,” the captain said shakily. “I got my charter to consider.”
“Ram your charter,” Hoany said harshly. “You won’t be needing it long.”
“Button your floppy mouth, damn you!” Mr. Tony snapped. He looked at the man on the floor. “Get Marbles out of here. I ought to dump the slob.”
He turned and walked away. The captain signaled and two waiters came up. Retief watched as they carted the casualty from the dining room.
The panel opened.
“I usta be about your size, when I was your age,” Chip said. “You handled them pansies right. I wouldn’t give ’em the time o’ day.”
“How about a fresh cup of coffee, Chip?” Retief said.
“Sure, Mister. Anything else?”
“I’ll think of something,” Retief said. “This is shaping up into one of those long days.”
* * * *
“They don’t like me bringing yer meals to you in yer cabin,” Chip said. “But the cap’n knows I’m the best cook in the Merchant Service. They won’t mess with me.”
“What has Mr. Tony got on the captain, Chip?” Retief asked.
“They’re in some kind o’ crooked business together. You want some more smoked turkey?”
“Sure. What have they got against my going to Jorgensen’s Worlds?”
“Dunno. Hasn’t been no tourists got in there fer six or eight months. I sure like a feller that can put it away. I was a big eater when I was yer age.”
“I’ll bet you can still handle it, Old Timer. What are Jorgensen’s Worlds like?”
“One of ’em.s cold as hell and three of ’em.s colder. Most o’ the Jorgies live on Svea; that’s the least froze up. Man don’t enjoy eatin’ his own cookin’ like he does somebody else’s.”
“That’s where I’m lucky, Chip. What kind of cargo’s the captain got aboard for Jorgensen’s?”
“Derned if I know. In and out o’ there like a grasshopper, ever few weeks. Don’t never pick up no cargo. No tourists any more, like I says. Don’t know what we even run in there for.”
“Where are the passengers we have aboard headed?”
“To Alabaster. That’s nine days’ run in-sector from Jorgensen’s. You ain’t got another one of them cigars, have you?”
“Have one, Chip. I guess I was lucky to get space on this ship.”
“Plenty o’ space, Mister. We got a dozen empty cabins.” Chip puffed the cigar alight, then cleared away the dishes, poured out coffee and brandy.
“Them Sweaties is what I don’t like,” he said.
Retief looked at him questioningly.
“You never seen a Sweaty? Ugly lookin’ devils. Skinny legs, like a lobster; big chest, shaped like the top of a turnip; rubbery lookin’ head. You can see the pulse beatin’ when they get riled.”
“I’ve never had the pleasure,” Retief said.
“You prob’ly have it perty soon. Them devils board us nigh ever trip out. Act like they was the Customs Patrol or somethin’.”
There was a distant clang, and a faint tremor ran through the floor.
“I ain’t superstitious ner nothin’,” Chip said. “But I’ll be triple-damned if that ain’t them boarding us now.”
Ten minutes passed before bootsteps sounded outside the door, accompanied by a clicking patter. The doorknob rattled, then a heavy knock shook the door.
“They got to look you over,” Chip whispered. “Nosy damn Sweaties.”
“Unlock it, Chip.” The chef opened the door.
“Come in, damn you,” he said.
A tall and grotesque creature minced into the room, tiny hoof-like feet tapping on the floor. A flaring metal helmet shaded the deep-set compound eyes, and a loose mantle flapped around the knobbed knees. Behind the alien, the captain hovered nervously.
“Yo’ papiss,” the alien rasped.
“Who’s your friend, Captain?” Retief said.
“Never mind; just do like he tells
