I’m lucky, Chip. What kind of cargo’s the captain got aboard for Jorgensen’s?”
“Derned if I know. In and out o’ there like a grasshopper, ever few weeks. Don’t never pick up no cargo. No tourists any more, like I says. Don’t know what we even run in there for.”
“Where are the passengers we have aboard headed?”
“To Alabaster. That’s nine days’ run in-sector from Jorgensen’s. You ain’t got another one of them cigars, have you?”
“Have one, Chip. I guess I was lucky to get space on this ship.”
“Plenty o’ space, Mister. We got a dozen empty cabins.” Chip puffed the cigar alight, then cleared away the dishes, poured out coffee and brandy.
“Them Sweaties is what I don’t like,” he said.
Retief looked at him questioningly.
“You never seen a Sweaty? Ugly lookin’ devils. Skinny legs, like a lobster; big chest, shaped like the top of a turnip; rubbery lookin’ head. You can see the pulse beatin’ when they get riled.”
“I’ve never had the pleasure,” Retief said.
“You prob’ly have it perty soon. Them devils board us nigh ever trip out. Act like they was the Customs Patrol or somethin’.”
There was a distant clang, and a faint tremor ran through the floor.
“I ain’t superstitious ner nothin’,” Chip said. “But I’ll be triple-damned if that ain’t them boarding us now.”
Ten minutes passed before bootsteps sounded outside the door, accompanied by a clicking patter. The doorknob rattled, then a heavy knock shook the door.
“They got to look you over,” Chip whispered. “Nosy damn Sweaties.”
“Unlock it, Chip.” The chef opened the door.
“Come in, damn you,” he said.
A tall and grotesque creature minced into the room, tiny hoof-like feet tapping on the floor. A flaring metal helmet shaded the deep-set compound eyes, and a loose mantle flapped around the knobbed knees. Behind the alien, the captain hovered nervously.
“Yo’ papiss,” the alien rasped.
“Who’s your friend, Captain?” Retief said.
“Never mind; just do like he tells you.”
“Yo’ papiss,” the alien said again.
“Okay,” Retief said. “I’ve seen it. You can take it away now.”
“Don’t horse around,” the captain said. “This fellow can get mean.”
The alien brought two tiny arms out from the concealment of the mantle, clicked toothed pincers under Retief’s nose.
“Quick, soft one.”
“Captain, tell your friend to keep its distance. It looks brittle, and I’m tempted to test it.”
“Don’t start anything with Skaw; he can clip through steel with those snappers.”
“Last chance,” Retief said. Skaw stood poised, open pincers an inch from Retief’s eyes.
“Show him your papers, you damned fool,” the captain said hoarsely. “I got no control over Skaw.”
* * * *
The alien clicked both pincers with a sharp report, and in the same instant Retief half-turned to the left, leaned away from the alien and drove his right foot against the slender leg above the bulbous knee-joint. Skaw screeched and floundered, greenish fluid spattering from the burst joint.
“I told you he was brittle,” Retief said. “Next time you invite pirates aboard, don’t bother to call.”
“Jesus, what did you do! They’ll kill us!” the captain gasped, staring at the figure flopping on the floor.
“Cart poor old Skaw back to his boat,” Retief said. “Tell him to pass the word. No more illegal entry and search of Terrestrial vessels in Terrestrial space.”
“Hey,” Chip said. “He’s quit kicking.”
The captain bent over Skaw, gingerly rolled him over. He leaned close and sniffed.
“He’s dead.” The captain stared at Retief. “We’re all dead men,” he said. “These Soetti got no mercy.”
“They won’t need it. Tell ’em to sheer off; their fun is over.”
“They got no more emotions than a blue crab—”
“You bluff easily, Captain. Show a few guns as you hand the body back. We know their secret now.”
“What secret? I—”
“Don’t be no dumber than you got to, Cap’n,” Chip said. “Sweaties die easy; that’s the secret.”
“Maybe you got a point,” the captain said, looking at Retief. “All they got’s a three-man scout. It could work.”
He went out, came back with two crewmen. They hauled the dead alien gingerly into the hall.
“Maybe I can run a bluff on the Soetti,” the captain said, looking back from the door. “But I’ll be back to see you later.”
“You don’t scare us, Cap’n,” Chip said. “Him and Mr. Tony and all his goons. You hit ’em where they live, that time. They’re pals o’ these Sweaties. Runnin’ some kind o’ crooked racket.”
“You’d better take the captain’s advice, Chip. There’s no point in your getting involved in my problems.”
“They’d of killed you before now, Mister, if they had any guts. That’s where we got it over these monkeys. They got no guts.”
“They act scared, Chip. Scared men are killers.”
“They don’t scare me none.” Chip picked up the tray. “I’ll scout around a little and see what’s goin’ on. If the Sweaties figure to do anything about that Skaw feller they’ll have to move fast; they won’t try nothin’ close to port.”
“Don’t worry, Chip. I have reason to be pretty sure they won’t do anything to attract a lot of attention in this sector just now.”
Chip looked at Retief. “You ain’t no tourist, Mister. I know that much. You didn’t come out here for fun, did you?”
“That,” Retief said, “would be a hard one to answer.”
IV
Retief awoke at a tap on his door.
“It’s me, Mister. Chip.”
“Come on in.”
The chef entered the room, locking the door.
“You shoulda had that door locked.” He stood by the door, listening, then turned to Retief.
“You want to get to Jorgensen’s perty bad, don’t you, Mister?”
“That’s right, Chip.”
“Mr. Tony give the captain a real hard time about old Skaw. The Sweaties didn’t say nothin’. Didn’t even act surprised, just took the remains and pushed off. But Mr. Tony and that other crook they call Marbles, they was fit to be tied. Took the cap’n in his cabin and talked loud at him fer half a hour. Then the cap’n come out and give some orders to the Mate.”
Retief sat up and reached for a cigar.
“Mr. Tony and Skaw were pals, eh?”
“He hated Skaw’s guts. But with