He looked at some red-backed reports quickly, and glanced at someone off pickup. “Mr. Thorne, we are investigating this as rapidly as we can. If you keep yourself handy we will get a complete report to you as soon as possible.”
Stay still, Thorne, I can shoot better that way. Moving targets are no fair.
“All other business is going well, sir, everything normal.”
Stay calm, don’t get worried, sit there until the target we painted on you gets dry.
“I’ll get back to you as soon as possible, sir.” He started to click off, but stopped. A frown of concern creased his brow. “And, sir, watch yourself.”
You bet I will, Huo-boy.
Was I being overly suspicious? Was the problem a fantasy of Bowie’s? Why, after all these years, should I doubt Huo? But Bowie was neither a drinker nor a psycho, and I had known his courage and loyalty for a long time.
I simply could not take a chance. I had to go back to Earth, and fast.
I ripped open the seal on the tightbeam message. It was from Sandler, and my heart sank.
Either they had gotten to him, or the double was superb. I was suddenly sorry I had not worked out some sort of personal code with Lowell, but it was too late to do anything by long distance. I returned the reader and cached the tape and the message flimsy in case I needed them later, in court. But somehow I doubted that this sort of thing would be settled in any court.
I borrowed the dispatcher’s city communicator and called the shuttle office. “What’s the first ship back to Earth?”
“The
“I have return passage for one, any class. Please verify. The name is Braddock, from Publitex.”
There was a long pause and when he spoke the voice was different. “Uh, listen, I have a message here, fella. Your ticket has been nulled. No credit. Sorry. I guess your company has cut off your air.”
Yes, I was certain they had. It was a cheap ploy, but it was momentarily effective. And a moment might be all they needed. I was so used to my Unicard that for a moment I was at a loss to figure out how to buy my passage. Then several alternatives occurred to me, from selling the goods I had brought to having someone else buy a ticket. I started back to the sandcat. I intended to tape a block of explanation and goodbye to Nova, look up someone to buy my goods, head for the Spaceport, and go.
At the Guild office I ran into Johann, who looked at me funny.
“Just the man I wanted to see,” I said, pulling him aside. “What do you offer me for the stuff I brought in?”
His eyes narrowed and he looked uncomfortable and found it hard to speak. “I need passage money,” I said. “Quick. I’ve got troubles, Johann. All I need is enough to get back.”
“You have nothing to sell, Braddock. They slapped an embargo on all your goods and sealed every container. There was some kind of notice from Earth and the Marine captain is looking for you. They say you’re a thief. Some kind of computer switch they say.”
I looked at him hard. “Do you think I’m a thief?”
“No. But they’re looking anyway.”
I was neatly boxed. I had no tangibles to transform into a passage ticket. But I might have an intangible. “Johann . . . have you ever heard of Brian Thorne?”
He looked at me narrowly. “He after you?”
“No. I’m him. I’m Brian Thorne.”
Johann looked around the bar and his eyes wouldn’t meet mine.
“Got any proof?” I shook my head.
