"Why did you have to see me?" I ventured timidly. And, indeed, it was true. He didn't have to clear in through me.
"First things first," he said. "Sit down in that chair! We can get this over with in time for me to be on that morning plane if we get moving."
I sat down in a gingerly way, my hand not far from my stungun butt. These spacers are peculiar people. They can get out of hand. Not only that, you have to be crazy to become a spacer in the first place. Just because some rich widow was waiting for him, he had no call to be so upset. Or did he?
He plopped a thick mass of paper down in front of me. Blank Voltar Apparatus gate passes. An unusual number.
"Stamp those and we can talk further," he threatened.
"Aren't these an awful lot?" I said. After all, one should have some care in authorizing official documents.
"It's none of your business, except the rich widow also owns a counterfeit Scotch distillery and Scotch is getting to be all the rage on Voltar-knocks them kicking! And I'm not offering you a piece of it-either the widow or the Scotch business-and I need so many cargo-gate passes because you might not be around very long."
Ominous. Distinctly ominous. I knew now that he had something up his sleeve. "You better tell me more," I said.
"I'll (bleep) well tell you more when you stamp those (bleeped) passes," said Bolz. "And don't date them.
Blank that part of your stamp. I can forge that much of it with my own."
Fate was having its way with me. I knew he wouldn't tell me until I stamped. I was already too beaten down to argue further. I got out my identoplate, blanked the date and began to stamp.
I stamped and stamped and stamped.
Captain Bolz got himself some hot jolt. He didn't offer me any. Then he finalized his packing of a trip bag and began to dress in Western clothes.
I stamped on and on. He could land a dozen spaceship freighter loads of Scotch, a case at a time, with all this.
At last I flexed my aching arm. I began to put my identoplate away.
Bolz, who had been tying his Earth shoes, detected the motion. "Oh no, you don't," he said. "There's one more thing."
He scooped the blank stamped passes up, stack after stack, and locked them in a safe. And from it he then brought out an imposing-looking document. "Sign and stamp this," he said.
I looked at it as he laid it down on the table. Awfully official-looking. Ominous. It said:
I, Soltan Gris, Secondary Executive of the Coordinated Information Apparatus, Exterior Division, Royal Government, Voltar Confederacy (Long Live His Majesty Cling the Lofty), do hereby and herewith acknowledge the receipt of Freighter Invoice 239-765-933 AZ and all substance thereof.
Ialso herewith specifically state that it was ordered by me personally and that I hold all parties connected with this invoice, and all other sums ever given him by Zanco, totally innocent and blameless and do attest that they were acting under duress and by my orders.
(Signature)
Identoplate Area.
I read it wonderingly. I said, "All right, but WHAT is it?" I could plainly smell some danger in this.
"You'll get the invoice when you sign it and not until you sign it," said Bolz. "And believe me, I will be glad to get it off my hands!"
"But I can't sign a document like this. I don't know what it is. I could be shot if it's something illegal."
"Come on, come on!" he said. "You'll make me late for my plane! Sign it! Stamp it! You've never been finicky before!"
He had hours yet. What was this mad rush?
He saw I was hesitating. He reached out and touched the corner of the sheet. He was having trouble picking it up with his blunt fingers on that slick table. "All right, I'll just signify you wouldn't accept it. But I think you're a (bleeping) fool not to."
Cunning entered my mind. If the invoice proved wrong, I could still draw the stungun and shoot him and get this back. It might cause hard feelings. But it was the best way.
I slapped my hand down on the sheet just as he was
drawing it off the table. I pulled it back to me. I got out a pen. I signed it. Then I got my identoplate back in order, again showing hour and date, and stamped it.
He took the sheet and put it carefully in his safe. He took out another sheet. Thank Heavens, he left the safe door open. I could still execute my ploy.
The new sheet slid across to me. With one glance at it, my eyes popped and my jaw dropped. It said:
FREIGHTER INVOICE 239-765-933 AZ
Carrier:
Apparatus Space Freighter Blixo
Captain Bolz, Commanding
Shipper:
Zanco Cellological Equipment and Supplies
Chief:
Koltar Zanco
Item:
30,000 pounds in 50-pound bars 100% pure GOLD
I reeled. My head felt like a spiral nebula in full speedup.
My letter to Zanco had worked! I had told them they had denied me a chance to buy gold with the C 30,000 they hadn't bribed me with. And they had sent the GOLD!
"You want this document back?" said Bolz with a strange sort of sneer.
"Oh, Gods, no!" I cried.
My whole world had suddenly gone inverted. I had been at the bottom of the abyss. Just one glimpse of this had started me soaring.
"You've got it on board?" I said.
"Silly question" said Bolz. "But I'll humor you. Come down this ladder."
He led me to a storeroom. He unlocked the door. There were the boxes all lashed in place.
I dived at them.
I twisted the fastenings off the top one.
BEAUTIFUL YELLOW!
With an expert flip I got out my Knife Section knife and scored a deep scratch in one.
Pure, soft, gleaming gold!
I opened another and another.
Bars of glowing GOLD!
Two to the case.
Bars and bars and bars of pure gold!
"Three hundred boxes," said Bolz. "One hundred pounds to the box. Now if you can stop slavering long enough, come back up and initial my copy of the invoice."
I didn't want to leave. He pulled me out of the storeroom, ignoring the way my hands were automatically stretching toward the beautiful, beautiful gold.
Despite his tugging, I wedged myself in the door and counted the ends of the boxes.
"Oh, my Gods," said Bolz. "They're all there." He was still tugging at me. "You'll make me miss my plane!"
"...297, 298, 299, 300!" I counted. "They're all there!"
"Yes, they're all there," said Bolz. "And I'm Gods (bleep) glad to get rid of them, the kind of crew I've got and the price of gold being what it is on this planet. Now, watch. I am locking the door. Come back to my cabin."
He got me there. In a daze, I initialled the invoice. He put it in his safe and he locked the safe securely. He handed me the storeroom key. Then he picked up his grip and put on his civilian hat.
"You're on your own," said Captain Bolz. "Some of the crew will be aboard and I've told the mate they can give you a hand unloading it, but I take no responsibility for it from here on out. Good-bye."
He left.
I sank down at his table. I couldn't get my eyes shut: they were popped too wide, a frozen reflex.
Minutes went by. I became aware of the fact, at last, that my heart was still beating and that I was still breathing.