* * * * *
At the exit to the Customs enclosure, Retief watched as the first of
the Bogan students came through, caught sight of Karsh and snapped to
attention, his chest out.
"Drop that, mister," Karsh snapped. "Is that any way for a student to
act?"
The youth, a round-faced lad with broad shoulders, grinned.
"Heck, no," he said. "Say, uh, Mr. Karsh, are we gonna get to go to
town? We fellas were thinking--"
"You were, hah? You act like a bunch of school kids! I mean ... no! Now
line up!"
"We have quarters ready for the students," Retief said. "If you'd like
to bring them around to the west side, I have a couple of copters laid
on."
"Thanks," said Karsh. "They'll stay here until take-off time. Can't
have the little dears wandering around loose. Might get ideas about
going over the hill." He hiccupped. "I 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-1--"
"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."
Miss Furkle was waiting at the office. "I have the information you
wanted," she said. "I've had it for over ten minutes. I was under the
impression you needed it urgently, and I went to great lengths--"
"Sure," Retief said. "Shoot. How many tractors?"
"Five hundred."
"Are you sure?"