“Where did you steal this ID card? Who are you?”
On the third try Bill managed to force words between his paralyzed lips. “It’s me … that’s my card … I’m me, Fuse Tender First Class Bill …”
“You are a liar.” A fingernail uniquely designed for ripping out jugular veins flicked at the card. “This card must be stolen, because First Class Fuse Tender Bil shipped out of here eight days ago. That is what the record says, and records do not lie. You’ve had it, Bowb.” He depressed a red button labeled MILITARY POLICE, and an alarm bell could be heard ringing angrily in the distance. Bill shuffled his feet, and his eyes rolled, searching for some way to escape. “Hold him there, Tembo,” the sergeant snapped, “I want to get to the bottom of this.”
Bill’s left-right arm grabbed the edge of the desk, and he couldn’t pry it lose. He was still struggling with it when heavy boots thudded up behind him.
“What’s up?” a familiar voice growled.
“Impersonation of a non-commissioned officer plus lesser charges that don’t matter because the first charge alone calls for electro-arc lobectomy and thirty lashes.”
“Oh, sir,” Bill laughed, spinning about and feasting his eyes on a long-loathed figure. “Deathwish Drangi Tell them you know me.”
One of the two men was the usual red-hatted, clubbed, gunned, and polished brute in human form. But the other one could only be Deathwish.
“Do you know the prisoner?” the first sergeant asked.
Deathwish squinted, rolling his eyes the length of Bill’s body. “I knew a Sixth-class fuse-fingerer named Bill, but both his hands matched. Something very strange here. We’ll rough him up a bit in the guardhouse and let you know what he confesses.”
“Affirm. But watch out for that left hand. It belongs to a friend of mine.”
“Won’t lay a finger on it.”
“But I am Billl” Bill shouted. “That’s me, my card, I can prove it.”
“An imposter,” the sergeant said, and pointed to the controls on his desk. “The records say that First Class Fuse Tender Bil shipped out of here eight days ago. And records don’t lie.” ‘
“Records can’t lie, or there would be no order in the universe,” Deathwish said, grinding his club deep into Bill’s gut and shoving him toward the door. “Did those back-ordered thumbscrews come in yet?” he asked the other MP.
It could only have been fatigue that caused Bill to do what he did then. Fatigue, desperation, and fear combined and overpowered him, for at heart he was a good trooper and had learned to be Brave and Clean and Reverent arid Heterosexual and all the rest. But every man has his breaking point, and Bill had reached his. He had faith in the impartial working of justice-never having learned any better-but it was the thought of torture that bugged him. When his fear-crazed eyes saw the sign on the wall that read LAUNDRY, a synapse closed without conscious awareness on his part, and he leaped forward, his sudden desperate action breaking the grip on his arm. Escapel Behind that flap on the wall must lie a laundry chute with a pile of nice soft sheets and towels at the bottom that would ease his fall. He could get awayl Ignoring the harsh, beastlike cries of the MPs, he dived headfirst through the opening.
He fell about four feet, landed headfirst, and almost brained himself. There was not a chute here but a deep, strong metal laundry basket.
Behind him the MPs beat at the swinging flap, but they could not budge it, since Bill’s legs had jammed up behind it and stopped it from swinging open.
“It’s locked!” Deathwish cried. “We’ve been hadl Where does this laundry chute go?” Making the same mistaken assumption as Bill.
“I don’t know, I’m a new man here myself,” the other man gasped.
“You’ll be new man in the electric chair if we don’t find that bowb!”
The voices dimmed as the heavy boots thudded away, and Bill stirred. His neck was twisted at an odd angle and hurt, his knees crunched into his chest, and he was half suffocated by the cloth jammed into his face. He tried to straighten his legs and pushed against the metal wall; there was a click as something snapped, and he fell forward as the laundry basket dropped out into the serviceway on the other side of the wall.