This narrowed the field considerably and threw out lots of legitimate things. I could provide myself with a conventional-seeming background in any area that amused me, and work as an employee there. Why should I, though?
I created a new personality and moved into it. Those little things you always toy with and dismiss as frivolous whims, I did them then. I lived aboard the Proteus, which at that time was anchored in the cove of a small island oft the New Jersey coast.
I studied judo. There are three schools of it, you know: there is the Kodokon, or the pure Japanese style, and there are the Budo Kwai and the French Federation systems. The latter two have pretty much adopted the rules of the former, with this exception: while they use the same chokes, throws, bone-locks, and such, they're sloppier about it. They feel that the pure style was designed to accommodate the needs of a smaller race, with reliance upon speed, leverage, and agility, rather than strength. So they attempted to adapt the basic techniques to the needs of a larger race. They allowed for the use of strength and let the techniques be a little less than perfect. This was fine so far as I was concerned, because I'm a big, sloppy guy. Only, I may be haunted one day because of my laxity. If you learn it the Kodokon way, you can be eighty years old and still carry off a nage-no-kata perfectly. This is because there is very little effort involved; it's all technique. My way, though, when you start pushing fifty, it gets rougher and rougher because you're not as strong as you once were. Well, that still gave me a couple of decades in which to refine my form. Maybe I'll make it. I made Nidan with the French Federation, so I'm not a complete slouch. And I try to stay in shape.
While I was going for all this physical activity I took a locksmith course. It took me weeks to learn to pick even the simplest lock, and I still think that the most efficient way, in a pinch, is to break the door in, get what you want, and run like hell.
I was not cut out to be a criminal, I guess. Some guys have it and some don't.
I studied every little thing I could think of that I thought would help me get by. I still do. While I am probably not an expert in anything, except perhaps for my own peculiar mode of existence, I know a little bit about lots of esoteric things. And I have the advantage of not existing going for me.
When I ran low on cash, I went to see Don Walsh. I knew who he was, although he knew nothing about me, and I hoped that he never would. I'd chosen him as my modus vivendi.
That was over ten years ago, and I still can't complain. Maybe I am even a little better with the locks and nages these days, as a result thereof, not to mention the drugs and bugs.
Anyhow, that is a part of it, and I send Don a card every Christmas.
I couldn't tell whether they thought I was bluffing. They had said I had a low violence index, which meant they had had access to my personnel file or to Central. Which meant I had to try keeping them off balance for the time I had remaining, there on the Eve of RUMOKO. But my bedside alarm showed five till six, and I went on duty at eight o'clock. If they knew as much as they seemed to know, they probably had access to the duty rosters also.
So here was the break I had spent the entire month seeking, right in the palm of my hand on the Eve of RUMOKO's rumble. Only, if they knew how much time I actually had in which to work them over, they might, probably could, be able to hold out on me. I was not about to leave them in my cabin all day; and the only alternative was to turn them over to Ship's Security before I reported for duty. I was loath to do this, as I did not know whether there were any others aboard, whoever they were, or if they had anything more planned, since the J-9 trouble had not come off as they had expected. Had it succeeded, it would surely have postponed the September 15 target date.
I had a fee to earn, which meant I had a package to deliver. The box was pretty empty, so far.
Gentlemen, I said, my voice sounding strange to me and my reflexes seeming slow. I therefore attempted to restrict my movements as much as possible, and to speak slowly and carefully. Gentlemen, you've had your turn. Now it is mine. I turned a chair backward and seated myself upon it, resting my gun hand on my forearm and my forearm on the back of the chair. I will, however, I continued, preface my actions with that which I have surmised concerning yourselves.
You are not government agents, I said, glancing from one to the other. No. You represent a private interest of some sort. If you are agents, you should doubtless have been able to ascertain that I am not one. You resorted to the extreme of questioning me in this fashion, however, so my guess is that you are civilians and perhaps somewhat desperate at this point. This leads me to link you with the attempted sabotage of the J-9 unit this previous afternoon ... Yes, let's call it sabotage. You know that it was, and you know that I know it, since I worked on the thing and it didn't come off as planned. This obviously prompted your actions of this evening. Therefore, I shan't even ask you the question.
Next, and predicated upon my first assumption, I know that your credentials are genuine. I could fetch them from your pockets in a moment, if they are there, but your names would mean nothing to me. So I will not even go looking. There is really only one question that I want answered, and it probably won't even hurt your employer or employers, who will doubtless disavow any knowledge of you.
I want to know who you represent, I said.
Why? asked the larger man, his frown revealing a lip-side scar which I had not noticed at his unmasking.
I want to know who put you up to being so casual with my person, I said.
To what end?
I shrugged.
Personal vengeance, perhaps.
He shook his head.
You're working for somebody, too, he said. If it is not the government, it is still somebody we wouldn't like.
So you admit you are not independent operators. If you will not tell me who you work for, will you tell me why you want to stop the project?
No.
All right. Drop that one ... I see you as associated with some large contractor who got cut out on something connected with this job. How does that sound? Maybe I can even make suggestions.
The other guy laughed, and the big one killed it with a quick glare.
Well, that's out, I said. Thanks. Now, let's consider another thing: I can simply turn you in for breaking and entering. I might even be willing to say you were drunk and indicated that you thought this cabin belonged to a friend of yours who didn't mind a little foolery and who you thought might stand you to a final round before you staggered off to bed. How does that sound?
Is this place bugged, or isn't it? asked the shorter one, who seemed a bit younger than the other.
Of course not, said his partner. Just keep your mouth shut.
Well, how does it sound? I asked.
He shook his head again.
Well, the alternative is my telling the whole story, drugs, questions, and all. How does that sound? How will you stand up under protracted questioning?
The big one thought about it, shook his head again.
Will you? he finally asked me.
Yes, I will.
He seemed to consider this.
... Then, I concluded, I cannot save you the pain, as I wish to. Even if you possess drug-consciousness, you know that you will break within a couple of days if they use drugs as well as all the other tricks. It is simply a matter of talking now or talking later. Since you prefer to defer it, I can only assume that you have something else planned to stop RUMOKO ...
He's too damned smart!
Tell him to shut up again, I said. He's giving me my answers too fast and depriving me of my fun ... So what is it? Come on, I said. I'll get it, one way or another, you know.