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for a tip in real money。 That accounted for the sour way he let me out。
But then； I had other things on my mind。 If that patrol craft crew was in Spiteos； they would soon be unable to testify to anyone。 They would have given me the data I needed about Heller and they would soon thereafter be dead； if not from poisoned food； then from trying to pass counterfeit money to the guards。
One has to be thorough。 One has to be neat in the Apparatus。
Chapter 2
We set off on our mission of mercy； and indeed； anyone would be better off dead than held in the dungeons of Spiteos。 So it was no criminal act； I fully realized。 It was even a friendly thing to do。
Besides； Heller would kill me if he knew that a Fleet crew had been kidnapped the same night he had been。 Dead crews don't blab； as my favorite Apparatus school instructor used to say。
Beyond all this； however； was the possibility that this crew knew something about Heller's habits that would make it possible for me to get back in control of things。 The craftleader had said so in the dream and； as psychology teaches you； dreams never lie。
My driver said； 〃I smell gas！〃 He was looking around； sniffing。 He rolled a window down despite the heavy slipstream and smelled outside。 He decided the smell was inside。 〃Oh； it's you；〃 he said。 〃Smells like sewer gas and cadavers all mixed up。 And I just cleaned up the car； too。〃 I ignored him。 We were just passing over the last edges of Government City and had not yet gone over the barrier mountains to the Great Desert。 I wanted to get this magic bag fixed。 I dumped it all out on the airbus floor。
Even though it was deadly counterfeit； the money sure was beautiful。 Stacks of it！ I piled it around in the airbus back； admiring that lovely gold paper。
〃My Gods！〃 said my driver。 〃Did you hold up a Finance Office all by yourself？〃 There had been awe and sudden respect in his voice； usually so absent。 I was sorry I had to crush it。 But it was necessary in case he got ideas of larceny himself。 〃You better leave this money alone；〃 I said。 〃Every credit of it is totally counterfeit。〃 I passed him a bill。
〃Looks real；〃 he said； handing it back quickly； like it was poison。 〃Who you planning to kill off？ The whole of Camp Endurance？〃 That was none of his business and he knew it。 So I began to arrange the money in stacks。 But the more I looked at it； the less willing I was to simply give it away。 Thriftiness is a trait。
I decided I had better not be going around with a wallet looking so empty。 So I took a couple hundreds； a few fifties； a couple twenties； some fives and quite a few ones。 My wallet looked nice and fat。 Good for show； even though I could get killed for passing it。 I put the wallet in my tunic where it felt very fortable。
Then I studied the problem of buying information from the crew。 I was just plain unwilling to part with very much of this money。 It looked so real。
There is a toolbox partment in the rear floor of an airbus。 My driver； of course； had long since sold the tools and the hole was pretty big。 Lifting the cover； I studied things out。
I made a firm decision。 I removed the remaining ones and fives from the mass and put them in the magic bag。 And then I put all the rest of that lovely looking； deadly money in the tool partment and locked it。 I had fought the battle of giving it away or keeping it and giving it away had lost！ I put the thin stack of ones and fives in the hidden partment of the magic bag。 Then； with sudden inspiration； also hid the poisoned food in it。 I had just decided on a new course of bribery。
We were past the mountains now and I spent my time looking down。 According to Lombar's orders； there should be the burned…out wreck of a patrol craft in the Great Desert。 The whitish expanses were white。 The sun…dancers danced but not over any trace of a wreck。 Never mind； I would first see if the crew had ever arrived at Spiteos and after that I could search for the wreck。 Maybe the newssheets hadn't heard of it： after all； they are just newssheets； mostly trash。
We landed at Camp Kill。 The driver ground…wheeled along the cluttered streets of the slummy place and； at my direction； stopped at the brothel control office。 I went in； carrying the magic bag。
The mandant of Camp Endurance might make a fortune out of the place but actually the superannuated females who run it don't much care whether it runs or not。 Sloppy。 There was garbage lying all over the floors and the bulletin boards hadn't been posted for years。 The female in charge didn't even have a desk。
She may have once been beautiful； now she looked like an executive。 Four hundred pounds of fat slumped over the edges of a half…recline chair； wearing a dirty towel； she didn't even look up until I stamped my foot。
〃I want a mute for fortress bribery；〃 I said。 They often take hill girls from other planets and cut out their larynx： they can't speak Voltarian anyway。 Only a prostitute that is mute can be passed through the tunnel。 Others at Camp Kill might suspect what was in Spiteos but none must be able to talk about it。 It was mon enough to entice a prisoner with a woman if it was thought he would not talk under torture。 A lot of riffraff will do anything in return for a female。
She looked at me with contempt。 Then she put out a filthy hand。 Her attitude was such that I decided she would be better off executed anyway。 I got out my wallet and put a counterfeit fifty in her palm with a great show of reluctance。
Really； it was like shooting a blaster into a jelly bowl； the way she shattered。 She reassembled the globs into an ingratiating smile。 She crooned over the fifty。 She was no trained cashier！
〃I may need her for some time；〃 I said。
That had no bearing on it。 She screeched in the direction of a hall and shortly a couple other old hags dragged out a young girl。 Dirty； bedraggled； she was nevertheless fairly pretty。 I checked the larynx： it had been removed。 She stood there； beaten； dejected。 From the back country of Flisten； I guessed； kidnapped on some government raid into the primitive country。 She certainly did not look able to arouse anyone； pretty or not。
〃And some tricks；〃 I demanded。 They have a lot of erotic gadgets that vibrate and do other things。
No trouble with that。 Another screech and another crone came out with hands full of tricks。 I dumped them into the visible partment of the magic bag。
The girl only had a loincloth on； a dirty one。 But clothes were no point。 Then I thought of something。 〃There's a lot of men involved。 She may get pretty used up。〃 The fat old bat said； 〃We got 'em by the hundreds。〃 She kissed the fifty。 〃Kill her。 Who cares？〃 One of the other old hags looked at me archly and pulled back her loincloth。 〃You want something for yourself； dearie？〃 Not a Camp Kill prostitute！ I got out of there。
I gave the girl the bag to carry。 It was a very cunning move。 If any counterfeits were traced； they would be traced to her。
At the tunnel barricade； I told the guards； 〃Bribe meat。 I'd appreciate it if you would search her for weapons and all that。 She's too dirty。〃 A guardsman grinned； put on a pair of gloves； took her aside and had himself some nice feels。 He