today; seems she holds a
mortgage on some vineyards over on—"
"That's not MEDDLE's affair,
sir," Whaffle cut in. "I have sufficient problems as Chief of MEDDLE
without probing into MUDDLE's business."
"Speaking of tractors,"
another man put in, "we over at the Special Committee for Rehabilitation
and Overhaul of Underdeveloped Nations' General Economies have been trying for
months to get a request for mining equipment for d'Land through MEDDLE-"
"SCROUNGE was late on the
scene," Whaffle said. "First come, first served, that's our policy at
MEDDLE. Good day, gentlemen." He strode off, a briefcase under his arm.
"That's the trouble with
peaceful worlds," the SCROUNGE committeeman said. "Boge is a
trouble-maker, so every agency in the Corps is out to pacify her, while my
chance to make a record—that is, assist peace-loving d'Land, comes to naught."
"What kind of university do
they have on d'Land?" asked Retief. "We're sending them two thousand
exchange students. It must be quite an institution—"
"University? D'Land has one
under-endowed technical college."
"Will all the exchange
students be studying at the Technical College?"
"Two thousand students? Hah!
Two hundred students would overtax the facilities of the college!"
"I wonder if the Bogans know
that?"
"The Bogans? Why, most of
d'Land's difficulties are due to the unwise trade agreement she entered into
with Boge. Two thousand students indeed." He snorted and walked away.
Retief stopped by the office to
pick up his short violet cape, then rode the elevator to the roof of the
230-story Corps HQ building and hailed a cab to the port. The Bogan students
had arrived early. Retief saw them lined up on the ramp waiting to go through
customs. It would be half an hour before they were cleared through. He turned
into the bar and ordered a beer. A tall young fellow on the next stool raised
his glass.
"Happy days," he said.
"And nights to match."
"You said it." He gulped
half his beer. "My name's Karsh. Mr. Karsh. Yep, Mr. Karsh. Boy, this is a
drag, sitting around this place waiting."
"You meeting somebody?"
"Yeah. Bunch of babies. Kids.
How they expect—Never mind. Have one on me."
"Thanks. You a
scoutmaster?"
"I'll tell you what I am; I'm
a cradle-robber. You know," he turned to Retief, "not one of those
kids is over eighteen." He hiccupped. "Students, you know. Never saw
a student with a beard, did you?"
"Lots of times. You're meeting
the students, are you?"
The young fellow blinked at Retief.
"Oh, you know about it, huh?"
"I represent MUDDLE."
Karsh finished his beer and ordered
another. "I came on ahead: sort of an advance guard for the kids. I
trained 'em myself. Treated it like a game, but they can handle a CSU. Don't
know how they'll act under pressure. If I had my old platoon—"
He looked at his beer glass, then
pushed it back. "Had enough," he said. "So long, friend. Or are
you coming along?"
Retief nodded. "Might as
well."
At the exit to the Customs enclosure,
Retief watched as the first of the Bogan students came through, caught sight of
Karsh, and snapped to attention.
"Drop that, mister,"
Karsh snapped. "Is that any way for a student to act?"
The youth, a round-faced lad with
broad shoulders, grinned.
"Guess not," he said.
"Say, uh, Mr. Karsh, are we gonna get to go to town. Us fellas were
thinkin'—" "You were, hah? You act like a bunch of school kids—I mean
. . . No! Now line up!"
"We have quarters ready for
the students," Retief said. "If you'd like to bring them around to
the west side, I have a couple of copters laid on."
"Thanks," said Karsh.
"They'll stay here until take-off time. Can't have the little darlings
wandering around loose. Might get ideas about going over the hill." He
hiccupped. "I mean, they might play hookey."
"We've scheduled your
re-embarkation for noon tomorrow. That's a long wait. MUDDLE's arranged theatre
tickets and a dinner."
"Sorry," Karsh said.
"As soon as the baggage gets here, we're off." He
mortgage on some vineyards over on—"
"That's not MEDDLE's affair,
sir," Whaffle cut in. "I have sufficient problems as Chief of MEDDLE
without probing into MUDDLE's business."
"Speaking of tractors,"
another man put in, "we over at the Special Committee for Rehabilitation
and Overhaul of Underdeveloped Nations' General Economies have been trying for
months to get a request for mining equipment for d'Land through MEDDLE-"
"SCROUNGE was late on the
scene," Whaffle said. "First come, first served, that's our policy at
MEDDLE. Good day, gentlemen." He strode off, a briefcase under his arm.
"That's the trouble with
peaceful worlds," the SCROUNGE committeeman said. "Boge is a
trouble-maker, so every agency in the Corps is out to pacify her, while my
chance to make a record—that is, assist peace-loving d'Land, comes to naught."
"What kind of university do
they have on d'Land?" asked Retief. "We're sending them two thousand
exchange students. It must be quite an institution—"
"University? D'Land has one
under-endowed technical college."
"Will all the exchange
students be studying at the Technical College?"
"Two thousand students? Hah!
Two hundred students would overtax the facilities of the college!"
"I wonder if the Bogans know
that?"
"The Bogans? Why, most of
d'Land's difficulties are due to the unwise trade agreement she entered into
with Boge. Two thousand students indeed." He snorted and walked away.
Retief stopped by the office to
pick up his short violet cape, then rode the elevator to the roof of the
230-story Corps HQ building and hailed a cab to the port. The Bogan students
had arrived early. Retief saw them lined up on the ramp waiting to go through
customs. It would be half an hour before they were cleared through. He turned
into the bar and ordered a beer. A tall young fellow on the next stool raised
his glass.
"Happy days," he said.
"And nights to match."
"You said it." He gulped
half his beer. "My name's Karsh. Mr. Karsh. Yep, Mr. Karsh. Boy, this is a
drag, sitting around this place waiting."
"You meeting somebody?"
"Yeah. Bunch of babies. Kids.
How they expect—Never mind. Have one on me."
"Thanks. You a
scoutmaster?"
"I'll tell you what I am; I'm
a cradle-robber. You know," he turned to Retief, "not one of those
kids is over eighteen." He hiccupped. "Students, you know. Never saw
a student with a beard, did you?"
"Lots of times. You're meeting
the students, are you?"
The young fellow blinked at Retief.
"Oh, you know about it, huh?"
"I represent MUDDLE."
Karsh finished his beer and ordered
another. "I came on ahead: sort of an advance guard for the kids. I
trained 'em myself. Treated it like a game, but they can handle a CSU. Don't
know how they'll act under pressure. If I had my old platoon—"
He looked at his beer glass, then
pushed it back. "Had enough," he said. "So long, friend. Or are
you coming along?"
Retief nodded. "Might as
well."
At the exit to the Customs enclosure,
Retief watched as the first of the Bogan students came through, caught sight of
Karsh, and snapped to attention.
"Drop that, mister,"
Karsh snapped. "Is that any way for a student to act?"
The youth, a round-faced lad with
broad shoulders, grinned.
"Guess not," he said.
"Say, uh, Mr. Karsh, are we gonna get to go to town. Us fellas were
thinkin'—" "You were, hah? You act like a bunch of school kids—I mean
. . . No! Now line up!"
"We have quarters ready for
the students," Retief said. "If you'd like to bring them around to
the west side, I have a couple of copters laid on."
"Thanks," said Karsh.
"They'll stay here until take-off time. Can't have the little darlings
wandering around loose. Might get ideas about going over the hill." He
hiccupped. "I mean, they might play hookey."
"We've scheduled your
re-embarkation for noon tomorrow. That's a long wait. MUDDLE's arranged theatre
tickets and a dinner."
"Sorry," Karsh said.
"As soon as the baggage gets here, we're off." He
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