it, he poured himself a tumbler of straight Scotch and drank.
He gagged. "I can't."
"Why?"
"Why ?Vertebrae deficiency: I haven't got the backbone for it."
"That's as may be, but go you will. We don't know what the bequest is, but the opportunity must be taken."
"But it might be worthless! The cost of fare alone would be … " He paused for a moment and wondered if Earthservice expected him to pay his way. No, impossible; the price would be more than a Functionary 3rd Class earned in a lifetime. Several lifetimes.
He gulped. If the Earthservice picked up the tab for his fare to Epiphany, only to find that his bequest was of little or no value, would the bureaucracy be willing to unpocket for a ticket home?
"Interstellar passage has been provided for by Weir's executors." Bear smiled thinly. " Roundtrip passage, citizen."
Under the circumstances, Earthservice had nothing to lose by sending him—except perhaps an easily replaceable Functionary 3rd Class.
The drink trembled in his hand as Floyt thought of the perils of offworld travel. Earthservice never stinted in stressing those to Terrans: injury, disease, death in uncounted forms, enslavement, and the possibility of being stranded forever in some fashion, unable to return home across inhuman distances.
The thought of danger reminded him of something. "An offworlder tried to kill me on my way home, Supervisor. Or at least she tried to do me more than a little harm."
Bear examined him fixedly, but she seemed to believe him. He answered her rapid-fire questions, finding to his surprise that exact details of the encounter had already become blurry. He sipped at his Scotch as she thought for a moment.
Then she activated her own accessor, a more sophisticated and ornate model than any he'd ever seen up close. When she keyed it, he was unable to hear a sound from her hurried conversation. When she signed off and he could hear again, she said, "There's little chance of finding her now, but a search will be made for your assailant."
"But she's fairly conspicuous."
"Her appearance has probably changed radically in the past hour. Now let's keep to the subject. I must say, for a citizen with such a high compliance quotient, you're being irksome."
"Sorry." He'd never heard of a compliance quotient before and wasn't sure he liked having a high one, but he obediently restricted his questions to the matter before them.
"Supervisor, how can I possibly hope to get to Epiphany, much less bring home some inheritance, whether it's of any value or not? I've no experience; I'm not trained for that sort of thing. This is insane!"
Bear answered, "We at Resource Recovery have provided for that. You'll be part of a new pilot program: Project Shepherd."
"It sounds very pastoral. Under other circumstances, I'd be reassured, but the demographics for Terran casualties during offworld travel are disheartening."
"True enough, citizen. Recovery of offworld resources claimable by Terran citizens has that drawback. But we can't let Terrans simply forfeit opportunities to claim payment, dun debtors, collect winnings, or—as in your case—accept inheritances. Imagine the value of even a minor part of Weir's wealth! Citizen Floyt, do you believe, as I do, that we owe Earth our all?"
"I … that is—"
"I knew you would! It's our Earthservice, after all; yours and mine!"
Naturally, thought Floyt. What with the planet's severely limited resources, every Terran was a ward of the Earthservice and—all but a few—an employee as well. Floyt didn't mention the open secret that Earthservice was controlled by a tight hierarchy, supervisors among them, with Alpha Bureaucrats at the pinnacle.
She was looking at him with arch expectancy. He hastened to chorus, "Of course, Supervisor."
"Then you'll want to do your share," she said in a flat voice, eyes staring into his. He knew then that there'd be no avoiding it short of exposing a live power source in the hygiene chamber and taking a high-voltage
He gagged. "I can't."
"Why?"
"Why ?Vertebrae deficiency: I haven't got the backbone for it."
"That's as may be, but go you will. We don't know what the bequest is, but the opportunity must be taken."
"But it might be worthless! The cost of fare alone would be … " He paused for a moment and wondered if Earthservice expected him to pay his way. No, impossible; the price would be more than a Functionary 3rd Class earned in a lifetime. Several lifetimes.
He gulped. If the Earthservice picked up the tab for his fare to Epiphany, only to find that his bequest was of little or no value, would the bureaucracy be willing to unpocket for a ticket home?
"Interstellar passage has been provided for by Weir's executors." Bear smiled thinly. " Roundtrip passage, citizen."
Under the circumstances, Earthservice had nothing to lose by sending him—except perhaps an easily replaceable Functionary 3rd Class.
The drink trembled in his hand as Floyt thought of the perils of offworld travel. Earthservice never stinted in stressing those to Terrans: injury, disease, death in uncounted forms, enslavement, and the possibility of being stranded forever in some fashion, unable to return home across inhuman distances.
The thought of danger reminded him of something. "An offworlder tried to kill me on my way home, Supervisor. Or at least she tried to do me more than a little harm."
Bear examined him fixedly, but she seemed to believe him. He answered her rapid-fire questions, finding to his surprise that exact details of the encounter had already become blurry. He sipped at his Scotch as she thought for a moment.
Then she activated her own accessor, a more sophisticated and ornate model than any he'd ever seen up close. When she keyed it, he was unable to hear a sound from her hurried conversation. When she signed off and he could hear again, she said, "There's little chance of finding her now, but a search will be made for your assailant."
"But she's fairly conspicuous."
"Her appearance has probably changed radically in the past hour. Now let's keep to the subject. I must say, for a citizen with such a high compliance quotient, you're being irksome."
"Sorry." He'd never heard of a compliance quotient before and wasn't sure he liked having a high one, but he obediently restricted his questions to the matter before them.
"Supervisor, how can I possibly hope to get to Epiphany, much less bring home some inheritance, whether it's of any value or not? I've no experience; I'm not trained for that sort of thing. This is insane!"
Bear answered, "We at Resource Recovery have provided for that. You'll be part of a new pilot program: Project Shepherd."
"It sounds very pastoral. Under other circumstances, I'd be reassured, but the demographics for Terran casualties during offworld travel are disheartening."
"True enough, citizen. Recovery of offworld resources claimable by Terran citizens has that drawback. But we can't let Terrans simply forfeit opportunities to claim payment, dun debtors, collect winnings, or—as in your case—accept inheritances. Imagine the value of even a minor part of Weir's wealth! Citizen Floyt, do you believe, as I do, that we owe Earth our all?"
"I … that is—"
"I knew you would! It's our Earthservice, after all; yours and mine!"
Naturally, thought Floyt. What with the planet's severely limited resources, every Terran was a ward of the Earthservice and—all but a few—an employee as well. Floyt didn't mention the open secret that Earthservice was controlled by a tight hierarchy, supervisors among them, with Alpha Bureaucrats at the pinnacle.
She was looking at him with arch expectancy. He hastened to chorus, "Of course, Supervisor."
"Then you'll want to do your share," she said in a flat voice, eyes staring into his. He knew then that there'd be no avoiding it short of exposing a live power source in the hygiene chamber and taking a high-voltage
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