"Of course they won't. But they may be able to induce their worms to
reprocess it, or be able to salvage it in some other way. Meanwhile,
we'll just have to order another shipment." He regarded Drake shrewdly.
"You'd better hope they _can_ salvage it. If they can't, your bonding
company will be liable, and you know what that means." He glanced
skyward to where the maimed and ghostly _Fly by Night_ hovered like an
awry balloon. "Although how a ship in that condition can be auctioned
off is beyond me."
He turned, and together with Numan and the mayor re-entered the ground
car and skimmed away. Drake felt suddenly, desperately sober. "Before
you run a radiation check on my ship, run one on me," he told the port
master. "I'm going into town and tie a good one on."
The port master grinned sympathetically. "Will do, Mr. Drake. I'll have
the doc take a look at you too."
He was as good as his word, and both the _Fly by Night_ and Drake
checked out satisfactorily. Drake then went to see the port doctor,
who gave him a complete physical and finally confessed in a rather
awed voice that he could find nothing wrong with him. Afterward, Drake
visited the Port Exchange Bank, turned in his translucent credit notes
for a less spectral species, and withdrew his savings---a matter of
some five hundred Rockefellows. However, he did not tie a good one on.
He did not tie any kind of a one on. He had barely set foot outside the
port when it all began. People looked at him and ran away, or, even
worse, stared at him and followed him wherever he went. The first lush
lair he went into emptied almost as soon as he stepped in the door. In
the next, the bartender refused to serve him. He said hello to a pretty
girl walking down the street, and she fainted right before his eyes.
He had gotten a haircut and a beard-trim by that time in one of the
automatic barberbooths scattered strategically throughout the city, but
apparently neither concession to propriety had made his appearance any
the less ghastly. Finally, in desperation, he visited one of New Paris'
leading physicists. The physicist ran a lengthy series of tests on him,
stared at him for a long time, then asked, "Are you of Dutch descent by
any chance?"
"No," Drake said, and left.
He bought ten fifths of gin and returned to his ship. It had already
been recharged and reprovisioned. Repairing it, of course, had been
out of the question. He thumbed his nose at the city as he soared
spaceward. Soon he was beyond the sewage belt and free among the stars.