"You see? He's incompetent. Suppose you fire him, take me on instead.
I've been living in the outworlds half my life; I know all there is to
know about alien life-forms. You can use me, Corrigan."
I took a deep breath and glanced all around the paneled ceiling of
the office before I spoke. "Listen, Gorb, or whatever your name is,
I've had a hard day. There's been a Kallerian in here who just about
threatened murder, and there's been a Stortulian in here who's about
to commit suicide because of me. I have a conscience and it's troubling
me. But get this: I just want to finish off my recruiting, pack up and
go home to Earth. I don't want you hanging around here bothering me.
I'm not looking to hire new staff members, and if you switch back to
claiming you're an unknown life-form from Wazzenazz XIII, the answer is
that I'm not looking for any of _those_ either. Now will you scram or--"
The office door crashed open at that point and Heraal, the Kallerian,
came thundering in. He was dressed from head to toe in glittering
metalfoil, and instead of his ceremonial blaster, he was wielding
a sword the length of a human being. Stebbins and Auchinleck came
dragging helplessly along in his wake, hanging desperately to his belt.
"Sorry, Chief," Stebbins gasped. "I tried to keep him out, but--"
Heraal, who had planted himself in front of my desk, drowned him out
with a roar. "Earthman, you have mortally insulted the Clan Gursdrinn!"
* * * * *
Sitting with my hands poised near the meshgun trigger, I was ready to
let him have it at the first sight of actual violence.
Heraal boomed, "You are responsible for what is to happen now. I have
notified the authorities and you prosecuted will be for causing the
death of a life-form! Suffer, Earthborn ape! Suffer!"
"Watch it, Chief," Stebbins yelled. "He's going to--"
An instant before my numb fingers could tighten on the meshgun
trigger, Heraal swung that huge sword through the air and plunged it
savagely through his body. He toppled forward onto the carpet with the
sword projecting a couple of feet out of his back. A few driblets of
bluish-purple blood spread from beneath him.
Before I could react to the big life-form's hara-kiri, the office door
flew open again and three sleek reptilian beings entered, garbed in the
green sashes of the local police force. Their golden eyes goggled down
at the figure on the floor, then came to rest on me.
"You are J. F. Corrigan?" the leader asked.
"Y-yes."
"We have received word of a complaint against you. Said complaint
being--"
"--that your unethical actions have directly contributed to the
untimely death of an intelligent life-form," filled in the second of
the Ghrynian policemen.
"The evidence lies before us," intoned the leader, "in the cadaver
of the unfortunate Kallerian who filed the complaint with us several
minutes ago."
"And therefore," said the third lizard, "it is our duty to arrest
you for this crime and declare you subject to a fine of no less than
$100,000 Galactic or two years in prison."
"Hold on!" I stormed. "You mean that any being from anywhere in the
Universe can come in here and gut himself on my carpet, and _I'm_
responsible?"
"This is the law. Do you deny that your stubborn refusal to yield to
this late life-form's request lies at the root of his sad demise?"
"Well, no, but--"
"Failure to deny is admission of guilt. You are guilty, Earthman."
* * * * *
Closing my eyes wearily, I tried to wish the whole babbling lot of them
away. If I had to, I could pony up the hundred-grand fine, but it was
going to put an awful dent in this year's take. And I shuddered when I
remembered that any minute that scrawny little Stortulian was likely to
come bursting in here to kill himself too. Was it a fine of $100,000
per suicide? At that rate, I could be out of business by nightfall.
I was spared further such morbid thoughts by yet another unannounced
arrival.
The small figure of the Stortulian trudged through the open doorway
and stationed itself limply near the threshold. The three Ghrynian
policemen and my three assistants forgot the dead Kallerian for a
moment and turned to eye the newcomer.
I had visions of unending troubles with the law here on Ghryne. I
resolved never to come here on a recruiting trip again--or, if I _did_
come, to figure out some more effective way of screening myself against
crackpots.
In heart-rending tones, the Stortulian declared, "Life is no longer
worth living. My last hope is gone. There is only one thing left for me
to do."
I was quivering at the thought of another hundred thousand smackers
going down the drain. "Stop him, somebody! He's going to kill himself!
He's--"
Then somebody sprinted toward me, hit me amidships, and knocked me
flying out from behind my desk before I had a chance to fire the
meshgun. My head walloped the floor, and for five or six seconds, I
guess I wasn't fully aware of what was going on.
Gradually the scene took shape around me. There was a monstrous hole
in the wall behind my desk; a smoking blaster lay on the floor, and I
saw the three Ghrynian policemen sitting on the raving Stortulian. The
man who called himself Ildwar Gorb was getting to his feet and dusting
himself off.
He helped me up. "Sorry to have had to tackle you, Corrigan. But that
Stortulian wasn't here to commit suicide, you see. He was out to get
you."
I weaved dizzily toward my desk and dropped into my chair. A flying
fragment of wall had deflated my pneumatic cushion. The smell of ashed
plaster was everywhere. The police were effectively cocooning the
struggling little alien in an unbreakable tanglemesh.
"Evidently you don't know as much as you think you do about Stortulian
psychology, Corrigan," Gorb said lightly. "Suicide is completely
abhorrent to them. When they're troubled, they kill the person who
caused their trouble. In this case, you."
* * * * *
I began to chuckle--more of a tension-relieving snicker than a
full-bodied laugh.
"Funny," I said.
"What is?" asked the self-styled Wazzenazzian.
"These aliens. Big blustery Heraal came in with murder in his eye and
killed _himself_, and the pint-sized Stortulian who looked so meek and
pathetic damn near blew my head off." I shuddered. "Thanks for the
tackle job."
"Don't mention it," Gorb said.
I glared at the Ghrynian police. "Well? What are you waiting for? Take
that murderous little beast out of here! Or isn't murder against the
local laws?"
"The Stortulian will be duly punished," replied the leader of the
Ghrynian cops calmly. "But there is the matter of the dead Kallerian
and the fine of--"
"--one hundred thousand dollars. I know." I groaned and turned to
Stebbins. "Get the Terran Consulate on the phone, Stebbins. Have them
send down a legal adviser. Find out if there's any way we can get out
of this mess with our skins intact."
"Right, Chief." Stebbins moved toward the visiphone.
Gorb stepped forward and put a hand on his chest.
"Hold it," the Wazzenazzian said crisply. "The Consulate can't help
you. I can."
"You?" I said.
"I can get you out of this cheap."
"_How_ cheap?"
Gorb grinned rakishly. "Five thousand in cash plus a contract as a
specimen with your outfit. In advance, of course. That's a heck of a
lot better than forking over a hundred grand, isn't it?"
I eyed Gorb uncertainly. The Terran Consulate people probably wouldn't
be much help; they tried to keep out of local squabbles unless they
were really serious, and I knew from past experiences that no officials
ever worried much about the state of my pocketbook. On the other hand,
giving this slyster a contract might be a risky proposition.
"Tell you what," I said finally. "You've got yourself a deal--but on
a contingency basis. Get me out of this and you'll have five grand and
the contract. Otherwise, nothing."