按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
〃I came；〃 I said demurely； 〃to pick up his baggage。〃 The （bleeping） fools thought their friend was safe！
Chapter 7
Jettero Heller's room apparently lay at the end of a long passageway on the top floor。 The hotel manager had shown up； an old spacer with a totally bald head who； judging from burn scars on his face； was a retired gunner。 Behind us trooped several of the young officers； led by the biggest one who had done the most beating： they were ing along 〃just in case。〃 I really wanted a chance to ransack through his things and find some weaknesses and personal flaws to aid in handling him。
〃I think；〃 I said； 〃that he'll be giving up his room。 This mission is going to take a while。 I'll be packing up all his possessions。〃 The manager didn't even glance at me but I could see a reaction。 It reminded me I was not wholly out of this place yet。 We arrived at the last door and he threw it open。 He threw it wide open。 So I could look。
I'd expected； of course； just a little cubicle； the standard officer's room。 What I saw stopped me dead！
It was a suite！ Three spacious rooms stretched out； and way over at the far end of the last one there were big doors and a garden terrace that overlooked the mountains！
A junior officer's quarters？ Oh； no。 There was many an admiral who had no such quarters as this！
I went sort of numb。 Spacers always tend to bring the look of a ship down to the planet surface。 They also have lots of time in space and are given to making things out of whatever is handy： a blastgun breech carved into a wood nymph； a piece of armor shield made into a table； a control seat made into a chair； an acceleration couch converted to a settee； spare porthole casings made into picture frames； that sort of thing。 And they were all here； of course； but beautifully done。
One expects the souvenirs from many a planet： the toy muscle…dancing girl that swings her hips as she hands you a bottle opener； the polished shell of a sea animal that glitters but says on it Memories of Bactose； the little boy with six arms who waves flags and spells out e Home to Erapin； the carved woman that opens an inlaid box and throws you a chank…pop when you say 〃Kiss me； Serafin！〃 They were all here along with the banners and wreaths but they were all absolute top of their line： exquisite！
The gleaming metal floors were strewn with rugs from a dozen planets； each one a collector's item。
And the whole place harmonized together with beautiful taste。
Wow！ There was many a Lord who would have envied this layout！
I at once thought I had Jettero's fracture point： I doubted he was wealthy in his own right and no Grade X junior officer could ever afford a thousandth of this on Fleet pay。 Jettero must have both hands in the appropriations take； right up to the elbows！
We stepped over to a musical bar in the first room and the old gunner indicated the whole suite with a sweep of his hand。 Like a tourist guide； monotonously； he said； 〃Five years ago the battleship Menuchenken crashed a thousand miles inside enemy lines on the planet Flinnup。 It was hopeless： the ship's drives were disabled； three thousand officers and crew faced capture and execution。 Jettero Heller penetrated the Flinnup defenses with vital spare parts； got the drives operating； pried the Menuchenken out of a caldron of fire and brought her out。〃 He paused。 〃When the Menuchenken crew was released from the hospital； they came here。〃 He moved his hand slowly to indicate the rooms。 〃They did this while Jettero was out on another mission。 As a gift。〃 He indicated the walls and a few of the fittings。 〃It has been added to since by others。 If his present mission took a hundred years； this would still be here。 It's a show…place of the club！ And it's Jettero's home。〃 Oh； well； I thought。 So he wasn't a crook。 But people have other fracture points。 〃I better pick up the few things he will need。〃
〃Don't let him touch anything；〃 said the big； tough officer。 〃We'll do any packing。〃 They jostled me aside and opened an invisible door； displaying a vast closet of clothes and personal gear。 One of the officers lifted a dress uniform off the rack and brought it out。
〃No； no；〃 I said。 〃He'll be under cover。 No uniforms。 Just personal necessities。 He's travelling light。〃 They shrugged and began to gather those up。 But they had dropped the dress uniform close to me and I looked at it。 It was red…piped； of course； and had the gold 〃Ten〃 for his grade woven into the stand…up collar。 Now most civilians think that the wavy gold； silver and copper lines that ornament the chest of some dress uniforms are just that： ornaments。 They wonder sometimes why some junior officer looks like a metal mine on parade and some seniors look so plain。 The fact is； those thick； wavy lines of braid are citations； they are sewn in such a way that the top flap can be lifted and under it； in tiny letters； is the citation itself。
Jettero Heller's dress uniform breast had neither silver nor copper braid。 It was an almost solid mass of gold！
I lifted some of the flaps： building a bridge under severe enemy fire； mining the orbit of Banfochon III； rebuilding the destroyed control center of Hemmerthon under enemy barrage； recovery of the derelict Genmaid； sabotage of the Rollofan transport system； mining the fortress of Montrail 。 。 。 On and on！ I had to look at several more before I even found the battleship Menuchenken。 Jettero Heller's few years of service had been active ones even for a bat engineer。 Behind each one of those brief entries would lie a whole lurid scene of close shaves and violent battle。
I told myself how it must have happened： fellow gets a reputation and they keep drafting him when the odds look hopeless。 And in times of perpetual war； there were lots of these。 Then my estimate was soured by noting that what they call the 〃Volunteer Star〃…a blaze of diamonds with a ruby center…was tucked with its ribbon inside the jacket。 They award that for fifty perilous volunteers。 They didn't keep drafting him…he kept volunteering！
I thought I had it then： a glory hound。 That was his fracture。 If I could play on that 。 。 。
〃He has a lot of other citations and awards；〃 said the old gunner…manager。 〃Some of them are so valuable we keep them in the big vault。 He never wears them。〃 So he wasn't a glory hound。 Oh； well； there were other faults he might have that I could exploit。 I wandered off to look at the walls。
He had a lot of pictures of people。 I don't know why portraitists always insist on cloud…sky backgrounds： when you see one of these three…dimensional color shots against a sky it makes it look like a little bust parked in the heavens； gives it a religious note as though everyone was being made into a Goddess or Godlet。 I don't like them； they make the viewer feel like he's in the sky； too； and I don't care for that。
There was an older woman with a gentle smile； evidently his mother。 There was a tough old hawk of a man in a shabby business tunic： it was inscribed 〃To my dear son。〃 And then there was one of。。。 I stopped dead。 I was looking at the most beautiful female I have ever seen in my life。 It was one of these trick portraits where the bust follows you with