greatness gone by and of the fact that Earth was avoided by all but a few extraterrestrials and derided by most.
Two more Peaceguardians appeared from behind massive stones. The lieutenant continued to address Alacrity in barbarously accented Tradeslang, ignoring the fact that they had Terranglish in common. "You're to leave here now. Your visa has been voided. You will return to the spaceport and leave Earth."
Alacrity responded carefully. He was only twenty-two Standard-Terran-years old, but he'd been through tight situations on dozens of worlds, and in between. He knew better than to show anger.
"Why? I've done nothing wrong. This has to be a mistake."
"Negative! Witnesses saw you at old sites. You climbed the stelae and broke off pieces. You poked around sacred places with instruments. You desecrated; you vandalized."
Alacrity did his best to keep his temper; if he lost it now, the feces would really hit the flywheel. But he couldn't stop himself from snapping, "That's not true!"
The cop only scowled harder. "The testimony has been sworn. You will leave." He pointed to the Urubamba, far below, where there was a tiny village and a tubeway station. "The next cartridge leaves in just over an hour," he growled. "Be on it."
Thinking, How would you like a face-ectomy, you little shit heap? Alacrity stared at the lieutenant.
But one of the other peacers had his palm on the butt of his pistol, and his partner was hopefully fingering a pair of nunchaka; the offworlder didn't voice the proposal.
Alacrity was, of course, unarmed, and had no desire to have his skull cracked or a kneecap burned off. The spacer spoke with the self-restraint he'd learned over a relatively short but singularly eventful life as a breakabout—a star rover. High movers, those who followed his trade were sometimes called, or go-bloods.
"There was no desecration. Earthservice visa briefings warned against it. I complied."
"The witnesses gave testimony."
Lines appeared around Alacrity's mouth. "What witnesses? I want to speak to them."
The lieutenant spat at Alacrity's feet, missing by millimeters. "You see no one. You go back to the spaceport and leave Earth soonest." One of his subordinates sniggered.
"Do you have any idea what that visa cost me? In time and money and effort?"
Visas had to be available, at least theoretically, to keep up appearances. Even Terra had no desire to be branded a closed world. But obtaining one had been an expensive, frustrating ordeal, and time-consuming into the bargain. Still, drawn by tales of Old Earth and the urge to tour humanity's Homeworld, the breakabout had persevered when other offworlders had scoffed and Earthservice functionaries and bureaucrats had rebuffed him.
Perhaps that had had something to do with his upbringing, son of two starship officers, grandson of another, born in transit, with no birthworld. But his patience with the delay and the bleak life of the closely guarded spaceport enclave had been nearly exhausted when, almost miraculously, the visa had been granted.
Roaming the planet, he'd been alternately exhilarated and disillusioned, proud and ashamed, puzzled and thrilled by revelation. Only to come to this! Never to see the Forbidden City, the Serengeti, or Angkor Wat! Or the remains of an evolutionary climb millions of years long.
He sighed. "At least let me send for an aircar. It'll be faster than the tubeway; I'll be gone that much sooner."
The peacer's smirk was ugly. "You go by cartridge! Who d'you think you are, an Alpha Bureaucrat?
Bad enough you'll ride beneath our Earth; you won't foul her skies!"
Transportation up and down the mountain was usually provided by a bucket railcar. But with malicious satisfaction, the attendant told Alacrity that line wasn't in operation, even though the breakabout had seen it running only a half hour earlier.
Nothing for it but to plod down the unpaved switchback road on foot. He balanced his shoulder bag from long practice, and panted along
Two more Peaceguardians appeared from behind massive stones. The lieutenant continued to address Alacrity in barbarously accented Tradeslang, ignoring the fact that they had Terranglish in common. "You're to leave here now. Your visa has been voided. You will return to the spaceport and leave Earth."
Alacrity responded carefully. He was only twenty-two Standard-Terran-years old, but he'd been through tight situations on dozens of worlds, and in between. He knew better than to show anger.
"Why? I've done nothing wrong. This has to be a mistake."
"Negative! Witnesses saw you at old sites. You climbed the stelae and broke off pieces. You poked around sacred places with instruments. You desecrated; you vandalized."
Alacrity did his best to keep his temper; if he lost it now, the feces would really hit the flywheel. But he couldn't stop himself from snapping, "That's not true!"
The cop only scowled harder. "The testimony has been sworn. You will leave." He pointed to the Urubamba, far below, where there was a tiny village and a tubeway station. "The next cartridge leaves in just over an hour," he growled. "Be on it."
Thinking, How would you like a face-ectomy, you little shit heap? Alacrity stared at the lieutenant.
But one of the other peacers had his palm on the butt of his pistol, and his partner was hopefully fingering a pair of nunchaka; the offworlder didn't voice the proposal.
Alacrity was, of course, unarmed, and had no desire to have his skull cracked or a kneecap burned off. The spacer spoke with the self-restraint he'd learned over a relatively short but singularly eventful life as a breakabout—a star rover. High movers, those who followed his trade were sometimes called, or go-bloods.
"There was no desecration. Earthservice visa briefings warned against it. I complied."
"The witnesses gave testimony."
Lines appeared around Alacrity's mouth. "What witnesses? I want to speak to them."
The lieutenant spat at Alacrity's feet, missing by millimeters. "You see no one. You go back to the spaceport and leave Earth soonest." One of his subordinates sniggered.
"Do you have any idea what that visa cost me? In time and money and effort?"
Visas had to be available, at least theoretically, to keep up appearances. Even Terra had no desire to be branded a closed world. But obtaining one had been an expensive, frustrating ordeal, and time-consuming into the bargain. Still, drawn by tales of Old Earth and the urge to tour humanity's Homeworld, the breakabout had persevered when other offworlders had scoffed and Earthservice functionaries and bureaucrats had rebuffed him.
Perhaps that had had something to do with his upbringing, son of two starship officers, grandson of another, born in transit, with no birthworld. But his patience with the delay and the bleak life of the closely guarded spaceport enclave had been nearly exhausted when, almost miraculously, the visa had been granted.
Roaming the planet, he'd been alternately exhilarated and disillusioned, proud and ashamed, puzzled and thrilled by revelation. Only to come to this! Never to see the Forbidden City, the Serengeti, or Angkor Wat! Or the remains of an evolutionary climb millions of years long.
He sighed. "At least let me send for an aircar. It'll be faster than the tubeway; I'll be gone that much sooner."
The peacer's smirk was ugly. "You go by cartridge! Who d'you think you are, an Alpha Bureaucrat?
Bad enough you'll ride beneath our Earth; you won't foul her skies!"
Transportation up and down the mountain was usually provided by a bucket railcar. But with malicious satisfaction, the attendant told Alacrity that line wasn't in operation, even though the breakabout had seen it running only a half hour earlier.
Nothing for it but to plod down the unpaved switchback road on foot. He balanced his shoulder bag from long practice, and panted along
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