Blish,James – And all the Stars a Stage

it still is.

“By the time you start loading your ships, the government that built them

won’t be in existence. The next one will be a government of men. Men, not

studs. Think it over, Birn. There’s still time for you-but not much.”

He turned, shouldered his pack, and took one step away. Jorn made a

two-miscrosecond confession of complete wrong-headedness to his own soul,

and sent Jurg the rest of the way out the door with a wholehearted,

near-paralyzing full field kick.

It was 100% the wrong thing to do, and it was deeply satisfying.

What Jurg’s response might have been, after he recovered enough to realize

what bad happened, was a question never solved. The two guards outside

picked him up, dusted him off, and led him toward the gate with a

gentleness which was in fact only an optical illusion. Soon he was out of

sight.

There was a tsk of disapproval behind Jorn. It was the armorer, a motherly

doe sergeant of about fifty whose heart was wrung by the slightest

malfunctioning of any device, particularly if the device was supposed to be

lethal. She was carrying Jorn’s homing compass, in an advanced state of

disassembly.

“Some of those stand-bys had such big feet,” she said. “It’s just as well

not to have them stumbling around inside a starship. They might break

something . . . As for this compass, it’s gone. I’ll issue you a new one.

It’s a shame there isn’t time to slip it into your friend’s pack, along

with the other tinkertoys.”

Jorn grinned his relief. “Then you heard what be said.”

“I hear everything that goes on in my own shop,”