City of Baraboo

The Patch raised his eyebrows. "Why, Mr. Arnheim, how good of you to come. I must compliment you on the Baraboo's performance. Your company did an excellent job, and everybody says so—"

Arnheim's finger shook as he screamed at the Judgments Officer. "Arrest him!"

Ali nodded at Green, who in turn had a couple of his troops escort Arnheim a few feet away to cool off. The Judgement Officer then turned back to the Patch. "It appears, Mr. Wellington, that there is some doubt concerning the title to this vessel."

The Patch frowned, then shook his head. "I can't imagine what that could be. The agreement stated that good title would revert to John J. O'Hara upon full payment for the Baraboo." He reached into his coat pocket. "I have a notarized statement here that payment was presented to the offices of A&BCE and accepted by them."

Ali smiled. "There seems to be some doubt as to the check's worth."

"Doubt!" Arnheim pulled free, then came to a stop next to Ali. "It's not even a legal check. There is no such thing as the First National Bank of the City of Baraboo, and if there is, it's not legal. What nation's laws is it incorporated under?"

The Patch shrugged. "Why, our own, of course. The Baraboo is a self-registered vessel, which means that on board we are only bound to follow our own laws. We incorporated our own bank."

"Ridiculous!" Arnheim turned to Ali. "Tell him! Tell him, and then arrest the entire lot of pirates!"

Ali shrugged. "There is such a law, Mr. Arnheim. It was devised quite a number of decades ago to eliminate the complications of national allegiance to a planet or country that a ship sees only rarely. If they have a bank, there is no reason to believe it isn't legal."

Arnheim pulled a folder from his pocket, then pulled a yellow slip of paper from it. "What about this check, then? If it's no good, then you don't have title!"

The Patch rubbed his chin. "Have you tried to cash it?"

"Of course not!"

The Patch shrugged. "Well, there you are. If you would deposit that check, your banker would have sent it to the central clearinghouse, then on to us, and you would have had your money. We can't be blamed if you fail to follow normal business practices."

Ali looked at Arnheim. "Well, Mr. Arnheim?"

"If I had waited for this check to clear, who knows where they would have been when it bounced?"

"Until such time as it bounces, Mr. Arnheim, I'm afraid there is nothing I can do."

Arnheim tapped his toe, then nodded. "Very well." He turned to the Patch. "Show me where this Bank of Baraboo is. I would, like to cash a check."

The Patch looked at his watch, then shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Arnheim, but it's after three and the bank is closed."

Ali folded his arms. "Perhaps, Mr. Wellington, this time the bank could make an exception?"

The Patch read what was in the Judgments Officer's eyes, then smiled. "Of course. If you gentlemen would follow me?" He turned, went through the inside door to the airlock, then walked a few paces until he came to a door marked "First National Bank of the City of Baraboo" in crayon. The door hissed open, and the Patch, Arnheim, Ali, Sum, and Captain Green entered. The room was bare, except for a folding table and a chair. On the table was a cheap tin cash box. The Patch pulled out the chair, sat down, folded his arms, and smiled at Amheim. "May I help you, sir?"

Arnheim threw the check onto the table. "Cash this!"

The Patch looked at the check, turned it over, then put it on the table and pushed it toward Arnheim. Arnheim turned to Ali. "You see? He refused to cash it."

The Patch cleared his throat. "Sir, you forgot to endorse the check."

Arnheim slowly pulled a pen from pocket, stooped over, endorsed the check, then pushed it back. "Now, cash it!"

The Patch studied the check. "My, my, but that's quite a sum. Are you certain you wouldn't prefer a draft that you can deposit back on Earth?"

"Cash it."

"Would you care to open a savings account with us? Our interest rates are very good—"

"Cash it... now!"

The Patch pulled the cash box in front of him, then looked up at Arnheim. "It's a set of dishes with each new account, sir—"

"Ca ... ca ..." Arnheim blew air in and out a few times. "Right now. Right now. Cash it."

The Patch shrugged then opened the box. With his left hand he reached into the box and withdrew a handful of credit notes. "I hope millions are all right, sir. We don't carry anything smaller. One, two, three..."

Arnheim picked up one of the million credit notes and stared at it open-mouthed. Then he held it out to Ali. "This is an obvious forgery!"

"... seven, eight, nine, ten..."

The Judgments Officer took the bill and examined it. His hands started to shake, and he handed it back. "I assure you, Mr. Arnheim, it's quite genuine."

Arnheim watched in horror as Patch continued counting. "... fifteen, sixteen, seventeen..."

"It can't be!"

Ali shrugged. "It is." The Judgments Officer smiled. "Sorry."

Ambassador Sum stepped forward. "Officer Ali, does this mean that Mr. Arnheim will not gain possession of the ship?"

"As long as there are seventy-nine pieces of paper to match that one, he won't." Ali studied the Nuumiian. "I would advise you to do nothing foolish."

"... fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three..." They all watched as the Patch went through and wound up the count. "... seventy-eight, seventy-nine, and eighty. There you are sir. Are you certain we can't interest you in one of our rainy-day accounts?"

Arnheim scooped up the bills, counted them twice, then stuffed them into his coat pocket. "You tell O'Hara that he hasn't seen the last of this!"

The Patch smiled. "Oh, then you will open an account with us? Perhaps one of our sunshine accounts? Christmas club?"

Arnheim appeared to be headed for a fit and Ali had two troopers escort the man from the room. He remained behind as the others returned to the shuttle. "Mr. Wellington?"

The Patch closed the box, looked up and nodded. "Yes?"

"Just between you and me, where did you get the eighty million?"

"Perhaps you would like to meet the president of the First National Bank of the City of Baraboo." A door at the back of the compartment opened and in stepped a very small person in a clown suit and makeup. Ali studied the figure for a moment, then realized that the bone structure under the makeup wasn't human. "May I present His Royal Highness, Prince Ahssiel, Heir to the Crown of Erkev IV, Monarch of all Ahngar. He is also one of the Joeys in Clown Alley. His father is First National's largest and—I can safely say—only depositor. Your Highness, this is Officer Ali of the Ninth Quadrant Admiralty Office."

The Prince bowed, then stood up. "I am pleased to meet you."

Ali looked at the Patch, then back at the Prince. "Your Highness, could you explain how these people ever talked your father into giving them eighty million credits?"

The Prince shook his head. "No. It is a deposit, and I am here to look after my father's money. I am the president. My father said that it is a good trade for a future monarch to learn." The Prince nodded toward the Patch. "And after Mr. Patch explained the scheme to the Monarch, my father also said that a voyage with Mr. Patch would be both an unusual and valuable education."

The Patch frowned, folded his arms and snorted. "Your Highness, I'd hardly call it a scheme."

"Excuse me. I remember now." The Prince smiled at Ali. "It is not a scheme; it is a fix. But the best part is that I will study with Peru Abner Bolin, the greatest clown in all the Universe!" The Prince turned toward the Patch. "May I go now, Mr. Patch?"

The Patch nodded. "Remember, your father said not to clown around too much." The Prince nodded and left running.