Retief gave instructions, then rang off and turned to Arapoulous.
“As soon as I get off a couple of TWX’s, I think we’d better get down to the port, Hank. I think I’d like to see the students off personally.”
IV
Karsh met Retief as he entered the Departures enclosure at the port.
“What’s going on here?” he demanded. “There’s some funny business with my baggage consignment. They won’t let me see it! I’ve got a feeling it’s not being loaded.”
“You’d better hurry, Mr. Karsh,” Retief said. “You’re scheduled to blast off in less than an hour. Are the students all loaded?”
“Yes, blast you! What about my baggage? Those vessels aren’t moving without it!”
“No need to get so upset about a few toothbrushes, is there, Mr. Karsh?” Retief said blandly. “Still, if you’re worried—” He turned to Arapoulous.
“Hank, why don’t you walk Mr. Karsh over to the warehouse and…ah…take care of him?”
“I know just how to handle it,” Arapoulous said.
The dispatch clerk came up to Retief. “I caught the tractor equipment,” he said. “Funny kind of mistake, but it’s okay now. They’re being off-loaded at d’Land. I talked to the traffic controller there. He said they weren’t looking for any students.”
“The labels got switched, Jim. The students go where the baggage was consigned. Too bad about the mistake, but the Armaments Office will have a man along in a little while to dispose of the guns. Keep an eye out for the luggage. No telling where it’s gotten to.”
“Here!” a hoarse voice yelled. Retief turned. A disheveled figure in a tight hat was crossing the enclosure, arms waving.
“Hi there, Mr. Gulver,” Retief called. “How’s Boge’s business coming along?”
“Piracy!” Gulver blurted as he came up to Retief, puffing hard. “You’ve got a hand in this, I don’t doubt! Where’s that Magnan fellow?”
“What seems to be the problem?” Retief said.
“Hold those transports! I’ve just been notified that the baggage shipment has been impounded. I’ll remind you, that shipment enjoys diplomatic free entry!”
“Who told you it was impounded?”
“Never mind! I have my sources!”
Two tall men buttoned into gray tunics came up. “Are you Mr. Retief of CDT?” one said.
“That’s right.”
“What about my baggage!” Gulver cut in. “And I’m warning you, if those ships lift without—”
“These gentlemen are from the Armaments Control Commission,” Retief said. “Would you like to come along and claim your baggage, Mr. Gulver?”
“From where? I—” Gulver turned two shades redder about the ears. “Armaments?”
“The only shipment I’ve held up seems to be somebody’s arsenal,” Retief said. “Now if you claim this is your baggage….”
“Why, impossible,” Gulver said in a strained voice. “Armaments? Ridiculous. There’s been an error….”
* * * *
At the baggage warehouse Gulver looked glumly at the opened cases of guns. “No, of course not,” he said dully. “Not my baggage. Not my baggage at all.”
Arapoulous appeared, supporting the stumbling figure of Mr. Karsh.
“What—what’s this?” Gulver spluttered. “Karsh? What’s happened?”
“He had a little fall. He’ll be okay,” Arapoulous said.
“You’d better help him to the ship,” Retief said. “It’s ready to lift. We wouldn’t want him to miss it.”
“Leave him to me!” Gulver snapped, his eyes slashing at Karsh. “I’ll see he’s dealt with.”
“I couldn’t think of it,” Retief said. “He’s a guest of the Corps, you know. We’ll see him safely aboard.”
Gulver turned, signaled frantically. Three heavy-set men in identical drab suits detached themselves from the wall, crossed to the group.
“Take this man,” Gulver snapped, indicating Karsh, who looked at him dazedly, reached up to rub his head.
“We take our hospitality seriously,” Retief said. “We’ll see him aboard the vessel.”
Gulver opened his mouth.
“I know you feel bad about finding guns instead of school books in your luggage,” Retief said, looking Gulver in the eye. “You’ll be busy straightening out the details of the mix-up. You’ll want to avoid further complications.”
“Ah. Ulp. Yes,” Gulver said. He appeared unhappy.
Arapoulous went on to the passenger conveyor, turned to wave.
“Your man—he’s going too?” Gulver blurted.
“He’s not our man, properly speaking,” Retief said. “He lives on Lovenbroy.”
“Lovenbroy?” Gulver choked. “But…the…I….”
“I know you said the students were bound for d’Land,” Retief said. “But I guess that was just another aspect of the general confusion. The course plugged into the navigators was to Lovenbroy. You’ll be glad to know they’re still headed there—even without the baggage.”
“Perhaps,” Gulver said grimly, “perhaps they’ll manage without it.”
“By the way,” Retief said. “There was another funny mix-up. There were some tractors—for industrial use, you’ll recall. I believe you co-operated with Croanie in arranging the grant through MEDDLE. They were erroneously consigned to Lovenbroy, a purely agricultural world. I saved you some embarrassment, I trust, Mr. Gulver, by arranging to have them off-loaded at d’Land.”
“D’Land! You’ve put the CSU’s in the hands of Boge’s bitterest enemies!”
“But they’re only tractors, Mr. Gulver. Peaceful devices. Isn’t that correct?”
“That’s…correct.” Gulver sagged. Then he snapped erect. “Hold the ships!” he yelled. “I’m canceling the student exchange—”
His voice was drowned by the rumble as the first of the monster transports rose from the launch pit, followed a moment later by the second, Retief watched them out of sight, then turned to Gulver.
“They’re off,” he said. “Let’s hope they get a liberal education.”
* * * *
V
Retief lay on his back in deep grass by a stream, eating grapes. A tall figure appeared on the knoll above him and waved.
“Retief!” Hank Arapoulous bounded down the slope and embraced Retief, slapping him on the back. “I heard you were here—and I’ve got news for you. You won the final day’s picking competition. Over two hundred bushels! That’s a record!”
“Let’s get on over to the garden. Sounds like the celebration’s about to start.”
In the flower-crowded park among the stripped vines, Retief and Arapoulous made their way to a laden table under the lanterns. A tall girl dressed in loose white, and with long golden hair, came up to Arapoulous.
“Delinda,