Retief at Large Read Free Page A

mean they might play hookey."
     
                "We've
scheduled your re-embarkation for noon tomorrow. That's a long wait. MUDDLE's
arranged theater tickets and a dinner."
     
                "Sorry,"
Karsh said. "As soon as the baggage gets here, we're off." He
hiccupped again. "Can't travel without our baggage, y'know."
     
                "Suit
yourself," Retief said. "Where's the baggage now?"
     
                "Coming
in aboard a Croanie lighter."
     
                "Maybe
you'd like to arrange for a meal for the students here."
     
                "Sure,"
Karsh said. "That's a good idea. Why don't you join us?" Karsh
winked. "And bring a few beers."
     
                "Not
this time," Retief said. He watched the students, still emerging from
Customs. "They seem to be all boys," he commented. "No female
students?"
     
                "Maybe
later," Karsh said. "You know, after we see how the first bunch is
received."
     
                Back
at the MUDDLE office, Retief buzzed Miss Furkle.
     
                "Do
you know the name of the institution these Bogan students are bound for?"
     
                "Why,
the University at d'Land, of course."
     
                "Would
that be the Technical College?"
     
                Miss
Furkle's mouth puckered. "I'm sure I've never pried into these
details."
     
                "Where
does doing your job stop and prying begin, Miss Furkle?" Retief said.
"Personally, I'm curious as to just what it is these students are
travelling so far to study—at Corps expense."
     
                "Mr.
Magnan never—"
     
                "For
the present, Miss Furkle, Mr. Magnan is vacationing. That leaves me with the
question of two thousand young male students headed for a world with no
classrooms for them ... a world in need of tractors. But the tractors are on
their way to Croanie, a world under obligation to Boge. And Croanie holds a
mortgage on the best grape acreage on Lovenbroy."
     
                "Well!"
Miss Furkle snapped, small eyes glaring under unplucked brows. "I hope
you're not questioning Mr. Magnan's wisdom!"
     
                "About
Mr. Magnan's wisdom there can be no question," Retief said. "But
never mind. I'd like you to look up an item for me. How many tractors will
Croanie be getting under the MEDDLE program?"
     
                "Why,
that's entirely MEDDLE business," Miss Furkle said. "Mr. Magnan
always—"
     
                "I'm
sure he did. Let me know about the tractors as soon as you can."
     
                Miss
Furkle sniffed and disappeared from the screen. Retief left the office,
descended forty-one stories, followed a corridor to the Corps Library. In the
stacks he thumbed through catalogues, pored over indices.
     
                "Can
I help you?" someone chirped. A tiny librarian stood at his elbow.
     
                "Thank
you, ma'am," Retief said. "I'm looking for information on a mining
rig. A Bolo model WV tractor."
     
                "You
won't find it in the industrial section," the librarian said. "Come
along." Retief followed her along the stacks to a well-lit section
lettered ARMAMENTS . She took a tape from the shelf, plugged it into the
viewer, flipped through and stopped at a squat armored vehicle.
     
                "That's
the model WV," she said. "It's what is known as a continental siege
unit. It carries four men, with a half-megaton/second firepower."
     
                "There
must be an error somewhere," Retief said. "The Bolo model I want is a
tractor, Model WV M-l—"
     
                "Oh,
the modification was the addition of a bulldozer blade for demolition work.
That must be what confused you."
     
                "Probably—among
other things. Thank you."