"Huh?" He had been thinking in Gozashtandou so long that in his exhausted state the Brazilo-Portuguese of the spaceways at first was meaningless to him.
"I said, is the senhor Felix Borel?"
"Yes. Sir Felix Borel to be exact. WhaW
"I don't care what the senhor calls himself; he's under arrest."
"What for?"
"Violation of Regulation 368. Vamos, por favor!"
Borel demanded a lawyer at the preliminary hearing. Since he could not pay for one, Judge Keshavachandra appointed Manuel Sandak. Abreu presented his case.
Borel asked: "Senhor Abreu, how the devil did you find out about this little project of mine so quickly?"
The judge said: "Address your remarks to the court, please. The Security Office has its methods, naturally. Have you anything pertinent-to say?"
Borel whispered to Sandak, who rose and said: "It is the contention of the defense that the case presented by the Security Office is prima facie invalid, because the device in question, to wit: a wheel allegedly embodying the principles of perpetual motion, is inherently inoperative, being in violation of the well-known law of conservation of energy. Regulation 368 specifically states that it's forbidden to communicate a device 'representing an improvement upon the science and technics already existing upon this planet'. But since this gadget wouldn't work by any stretch of the imagination, it's no improvement on anything."
"You mean," sputtered Abreu, "that it was all a fake, a swindle?"
"Sure," said Borel, laughing heartily at the security officer's expression.
Abreu said: "My latest information says that you actually demonstrated the device the day before yesterday in the auditorium of the Order of Qarar at Mishe. What have you to say to that?"
"That was a fake too," said Borel, and told of the thread pulled by Zerdai in the wings.
"Just how is this gadget supposed to work?" asked the judge. Borel explained. Keshavachandra exclaimed: "Good Lord, that form of perpetual-motion device goes back to the European Middle Ages! I remember a case involving it when I was a patent lawyer in India." He turned to Abreu, saying: "Does that description check with your information?"
"Sim, Vossa Excelencia." Abreu turned on Borel. "I knew you were a crook, but I never expected you to brag on the fact as part of a legal charge!"
"Bureaucrat!" sneered Borel.
"No personalities," snapped Judge Keshavachandra. "I'm afraid I can't bind him over, Senhor Cristovao."
"How about a charge of swindling?" said Abreu hopefully.
Sandak jumped up. "You can't, your honor. The act was committed in Mikardand, so this court has no jurisdiction."
"How about holding him until we see if the Repub-lie wants him back?" said Abreu.
Sandak said: "That won't work either. We have no extradition treaty with Mikardand, because their legal code doesn't meet the minimum requirements of the Interplanetary Juridical Commission. Moreover, the courts hold that a suspect may not be forcibly returned to a jurisdiction where he'd be liable to be killed on sight."
The judge said: "I'm afraid he's right again, senhor. We still, however, have some power over undesirables. Draw me a request for an expulsion order and I'll sign it quicker than you can say 'non vult'. There are ships leaving in a few days, and we can give him his choice of them. I dislike inflicting him on other jurisdictions, but I don't know what else we can do." He added with a smile: "He'll probably turn up here again like a bad anna, with a cop three jumps behind him. Talk of perpetual motion, he's it!"
Borel slouched into the Nova Iorque Bar and ordered a double comet. He fished his remaining money out of his pants pocket: about four and a half karda. This might feed him until he took off. Or it might provide him with a first-class binge. He decided on the binge; if he got drunk enough, he wouldn't care about food in the interim.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror back of the bar, unshaven, with eyes as red as his hair and his gorgeous private uniform unpressed and weather-beaten. Most of the bravado had leaked out of him. If he had avoided the Not srecife jail, he was still about to be shipped, God knew where, without even a stake to get started again. The fact that he was getting his transportation free gave him no pleasure, for he knew space travel for the ineffable bore it was.
Now that Zerdai was irrevocably lost to him, he kidded himself into thinking that he had really intended to take her with him as he had promised. He wallowed in self-pity. Maybe he should even go to work, repugnant though the idea appeared. (He always thought of reforming when he got into a jam like this.) But who would employ him around Novorecife when he was in Abreu's black books? To go back to Mikardand would be silly. Why hadn't he done this, or that…
Borel became aware of a man drinking down the bar; a stout middle-aged person with a look of sleepy good-nature.
Borel said: "New here, senhor?"
"Yes," said the man. "I just came in two days ago from Earth."
"Good old Earth," said Borel.
"Good old Earth is right."
"Let me buy you a drink," said Borel.
"I will if you'll let me buy you one."
"Maybe that can be arranged. How long are you here for?"
"I don't know yet."
"What do you mean, you don't know yet?"
"I'll tell you. When I arrived, I wanted a good look at the planet. But now I've finished my official business and seen everything in Novorecife, and I can't go wandering around the native states because I don't speak the languages. I hoped to pick up a guide, but everybody seems too busy at some job of his own."
Borel, instantly alert, asked: "What sort of tour did you have in mind?"
"Oh, through the Gozashtandou Empire, perhaps touching the Free City of Majbur, and maybe swinging around to Balhib on my way back."
"That would be a swell tour," said Borel. "Of course it would take you through some pretty wild country, and you'd have to ride an aya. No carriages. Also there'd be some risk."
"That's all right, I've ridden a horse ever since I was a boy. As for the risk, I've had a couple of centuries already, and I might as well have some fun before I get really old."
"Have another," said Borel. "You know, we might be able to make a deal on that. I just finished a job. My name's Felix Borel, by the way."
"I'm Semion Trofimov," said the man. "Would you be seriously interested in acting as a guide? I thought from your rig that you were some official…"
Borel barely heard the rest. Semion Trofimov! A big-shot if ever there was one; a director of Viagens Interplanetarias, member of various public boards and commissions, officer of various enterprises back on Earth… At least there would be no question of the man's ability to pay well, and to override these local bureaucrats who wanted to ship Borel anywhere so long as it was a few light-years away.
"Sure, Senhor Dom Semion," he said. "I'll give you a tour such as no Earthman ever had. There's a famous waterfall in northern Rüz, for instance, which few Earthmen have seen. And then do you know how the Kingdom of Balhib is organized? A very interesting set-up. In fact, I've often thought a couple of smart Earthmen with a little capital could start an enterprise there, all perfectly legal, and clean up. I'll explain it later. Meanwhile we'd better get our gear together. Got a sword? And a riding outfit? I know an honest Koloftu we can get for a servant, if I can find him, and I've got one aya already. As for that Balhib scheme, an absolutely sure thing…"