"Any guns here?"
Tove shook his head.
"If that's old 228, she ain't got but the one 50mm rifle," Chip said.
"She cain't figure on jumpin' the whole planet."
"Hard to say what she figures on," Retief said. "Mr. Tony will be in a
mood for drastic measures."
"I wonder what kind o' deal the skunks got with the Sweaties," Chip
said. "Prob'ly he gits to scavenge, after the Sweaties kill off the
Jorgensens."
"He's upset about our leaving him without saying good-bye, Chip,"
Retief said. "And you left the door hanging open, too."
Chip cackled. "Old Mr. Tony don't look so good to the Sweaties now,
hey, Mister?"
Retief turned to Bo Bergman.
"Chip's right," he said. "A Soetti died on the ship, and a tourist got
through the cordon. Tony's out to redeem himself."
"He's on final now," the tower operator said. "Still no contact."
"We'll know soon enough what he has in mind," Tove said.
"Let's take a look."
Outside, the four men watched the point of fire grow, evolve into a
ship ponderously settling to rest. The drive faded and cut; silence
fell.
* * * * *
Inside the Briefing Room, the speaker called out. Bo Bergman went
inside, talked to the tower, motioned to the others.
"--over to you," the speaker was saying. There was a crackling moment
of silence; then another voice.
"--illegal entry. Send the two of them out. I'll see to it they're
dealt with."
Tove flipped a key. "Switch me direct to the ship," he said.
"Right."
"You on ACI 228," Tove said. "Who are you?"
"What's that to you?"
"You weren't cleared to berth here. Do you have an emergency aboard?"
"Never mind that, you," the speaker rumbled. "I tracked the bird in.
I got the lifeboat on the screen now. They haven't gone far in nine
hours. Let's have 'em."
"You're wasting your time," Tove said.
There was a momentary silence.
"You think so, hah?" the speaker blared. "I'll put it to you straight.
I see two guys on their way out in one minute, or I open up."
"He's bluffin'," Chip said. "The popgun won't bear on us."
"Take a look out the window," Retief said.
In the white glare of the moonlight, a loading cover swung open at the
stern of the ship, dropped down and formed a sloping ramp. A squat
and massive shape appeared in the opening, trundled down onto the
snow-swept tarmac.
Chip whistled. "I told you the Captain was slippery," he muttered.
"Where the devil'd he git that at?"
"What is it?" Tove asked.
"A tank," Retief said. "A museum piece, by the look of it."
"I'll say," Chip said. "That's a Bolo _Resartus_, Model M. Built mebbe
two hunderd years ago in Concordiat times. Packs a wallop, too, I'll
tell ye."
The tank wheeled, brought a gun muzzle to bear in the base of the tower.
"Send 'em out," the speaker growled. "Or I blast 'em out."
"One round in here, and I've had a wasted trip," Retief said. "I'd
better go out."
"Wait a minute, Mister," Chip said. "I got the glimmerin's of a idear."
"I'll stall them," Tove said. He keyed the mike.
"ACI 228, what's your authority for this demand?"
"I know that machine," Chip said. "My hobby, old-time fightin'
machines. Built a model of a _Resartus_ once, inch to the foot. A
beauty. Now, lessee...."