"Disagreement!" the Upper snorted. His eyes went to the three fallen
combatants, who were in various stages of reviving. "I'd hate to see you
lads in a real scrap."
That brought a response from the non-combatants in the recruiting line.
The _bon mot_ wasn't that good but caste has its privileges and the
laughter was just short of uproarious.
Which seemed to placate the kilted officer. He tapped his swagger stick
against the side of his leg while he ran his eyes up and down Joe Mauser
and the others, as though memorizing them for future reference.
"All right," he said. "Get back into the line, and you trouble makers
quiet down. We're processing as quickly as we can." And at that point he
added insult to injury with an almost word for word repetition of what
Joe had said a few moments earlier. "You'll get all the fighting you
want from Hovercraft, if you can wait until then."
The four original participants of the rumpus resumed their places in
various stages of sheepishness. The little fellow, nursing an obviously
aching jaw, made a point of taking up his original position even while
darting a look of thanks to Joe Mauser who still stood where he had when
the fight was interrupted.
The Upper looked at Joe. "Well, lad, are you interested in signing up
with Vacuum Tube Transport or not?"
"Yes, sir," Joe said evenly. Then, "Joseph Mauser, sir. Category
Military, Rank Captain."
"Indeed." The officer looked him up and down all over again, his
nostrils high. "A Middle, I assume. And brawling with recruits." He held
a long silence. "Very well, come with me." He turned and marched off.
Joe inwardly shrugged. This was a fine start for his pitch--a fine
start. He had half a mind to give it all up, here and now, and head on
up to Catskill to enlist with Continental Hovercraft. His big scheme
would wait for another day. Nevertheless, he fell in behind the
aristocrat and followed him to the offices which had been his original
destination.
* * * * *
Two Rank Privates with 45-70 Springfields and wearing the Haer kilts in
such wise as to indicate permanent status in Vacuum Tube Transport came
to the salute as they approached. The Upper preceding Joe Mauser flicked
his swagger stick in an easy nonchalance. Joe felt envious amusement.
How long did it take to learn how to answer a salute with that degree of
arrogant ease?
There were desks in here, and typers humming, as Vacuum Tube Transport
office workers, mobilized for this special service, processed volunteers
for the company forces. Harried noncoms and junior-grade officers buzzed
everywhere, failing miserably to bring order to the chaos. To the right
was a door with a medical cross newly painted on it. When it
occasionally popped open to admit or emit a recruit, white-robed
doctors, male nurses and half nude men could be glimpsed beyond.
Joe followed the other through the press and to an inner office at which
door he didn't bother to knock. He pushed his way through, waved in
greeting with his swagger stick to the single occupant who looked up
from the paper- and tape-strewn desk at which he sat.
Joe Mauser had seen the face before on Telly though never so tired as
this and never with the element of defeat to be read in the expression.
Bullet-headed, barrel-figured Baron Malcolm Haer of Vacuum Tube
Transport. Category Transportation, Mid-Upper, and strong candidate for
Upper-Upper upon retirement. However, there would be few who expected
retirement in the immediate future. Hardly. Malcolm Haer found too
obvious a lusty enjoyment in the competition between Vacuum Tube
Transport and its stronger rivals.
* * *
Joe came to attention, bore the sharp scrutiny of his chosen
commander-to-be. The older man's eyes went to the kilted Upper officer
who had brought Joe along. "What is it, Balt?"
The other gestured with his stick at Joe. "Claims to be Rank Captain.
Looking for a commission with us, Dad. I wouldn't know why." The last
sentence was added lazily.
The older Haer shot an irritated glance at his son. "Possibly for the
same reason mercenaries usually enlist for a fracas, Balt." His eyes
came back to Joe.
Joe Mauser, still at attention even though in mufti, opened his mouth to
give his name, category and rank, but the older man waved a hand
negatively. "Captain Mauser, isn't it? I caught the fracas between
Carbonaceous Fuel and United Miners, down on the Panhandle Reservation.
Seems to me I've spotted you once or twice before, too."
"Yes, sir," Joe said. This was some improvement in the way things were
going.
The older Haer was scowling at him. "Confound it, what are you doing
with no more rank than captain? On the face of it, you're an old hand, a
highly experienced veteran."
_An old pro, we call ourselves_, Joe said to himself. _Old pros, we call
ourselves, among ourselves._