A powerful, bald old man, Kashenblade stirred his coffee. His head was
perched upon the collar of his uniform; the bristling, many-folded jowls
covered the galactic insignia and stripes lie a bib. The desk was cluttered
with phones and surrounded by computer consoles, speakers, buttons, and in the
center was a row of labeled glass jars - specimens, apparently, though I
couldn't see a thing in them apart from the alcohol. Kashenblade, the veins
bulging on his shiny pate, was busy pushing buttons to silence the phones as
soon as they began to ring. When several rang together, he rammed his fist
into the whole bank of buttons. Then he noticed me. In the silence that
followed there was only the grim tapping of his teaspoon.
"So there you are!" he snapped. It was a powerful voice.
"Yes," I answered.
"Wait, don't tell me, I have a good memory," he growled, watching
me from under those bushy eyebrows. "X-27 contrastellar to Cygnus Eps,
right?"
"No," I said.
"No? No! Well then. Morbilantrix B-KuK 81 dash Operation Nail? B as in
Bipropodal?
"No," I said, trying to maneuver my pass before his eyes. He
waved it aside impatiently.
"No?" He looked hurt. Then he looked pensive. He stirred his
coffee. The phone rang - his hand came down on the button like an lion's paw.
"Plastic?" he shot at me.
"Plastic?" I said. "Well, hardly... I'm just an
ordinary-"
Kashenblade stilled the rising din of phones with one quick slap and looked
me over once more.
"Operation Cyclogastrosaur... Ento-mo... pentacla," he kept
trying, unwilling to admit to any gap in his infallibility. When I failed to
respond, he suddenly leaned forward and roared:
"Out!!"
And it really looked as if he himself were ready to throw me out bodily.
But I was too determined - also too much a civilian - to obey that order. I
held my ground and kept the pass under his nose. At last Kashenblade
reluctantly took it and - without even examining it - tossed it into a drawer
of some machine, which immediately began to hum and whisper. Kashenblade
listened to the machine; his face clouded over and his eyes glittered. He gave
me a furtive glance and started pressing buttons. Then phones rang out
together like a brass band. He silenced them and pressed other buttons: now
the speakers drowned one another out with numbers and cryptonyms. He stood
there and listened with a scowl, his eyelid twitching. But I could see the
storm had passed.
"All right, hand over your scrap of paper!" he barked.
"I already did..."
"To whom?"
"To you."
"To me?"
"Yes, sir."
"When? Where?"
"Just a moment ago, and you threw -" I began, then bit my
tongue...
Translated by Michael Kandel and Christine Rose, Andre
Deutsch
]
