He decided to pick her up later in the day and head out into space. Anything was better than sitting Earthbound and admitting that he was bored.
Paying his score and finding a jet for hire occupied less than twenty minutes. He took off and headed for Goddard Field, using the low local-traffic level to avoid entering the control pattern with a flight plan. He was not consciously avoiding the police because he had no reason to think that they could be looking for “Captain Sheffield”; it was simply habit, and it would get him to Goddard Field soon enough.
But long before he reached there, while over eastern Kansas, he decided to land and did so.
He picked the field of a town so small as to be unlikely to rate a full-time proctor and there he sought out a phone booth away from the field. Inside it, he hesitated. How did you go about calling up the head man of the entire Federation-and get him? If he simply called Novak Tower and asked for Administrator Ford, he not only would not be put through to him but his call would be switched to the Department of Public Safety for some unwelcome inquiries, sure as taxes.
Well, there was only one way to beat that, and that was to call the Department of Safety himself and, somehow, get the Chief Provost on the screen-after that he would play by ear.
“Department of Civil Safety,” a voice answered. “What service, citizen?”
“Service to you,” he began in his best control-bridge voice. “I am Captain Sheffield. Give me the Chief.” He was not overbearing; his manner simply assumed obedience.
Short silence– “What is it about, please?”
“I said I was Captain Sheffield.” This time Lazarus’ voice showed restrained annoyance.
Another short pause– “I’ll connect you with Chief Deputy’s office,” the voice said doubtfully.
This time the screen came to life. “Yes?” asked the Chief Deputy, looking him over.
“Get me the Chief-hurry.”
“What’s it about?”
“Good Lord, man-get me the Chief! I’m Captain Sheffield!”
The Chief Deputy must be excused for connecting him; he had had no sleep and more confusing things had happened in the last twenty-four hours than he had been able to assimilate. When the High Chief Provost appeared in the screen, Lazarus spoke first. “Oh, there you are! I’ve had the damnedest time cutting through your red tape. Get me the Old Man and move! Use your closed circuit.”
“What the devil do you mean? Who are you?”
“Listen, brother,” said Lazarus in tones of slow exasperation, “I would not have routed through your damned hidebound department if I hadn’t been in a jam. Cut me in to the Old Man. This is about the Howard Families.”
The police chief was instantly alert. “Make your report.”
“Look,” said Lazarus in tired tones, “I know you would like to look over the Old Man’s shoulder, but this isn’t a good time to try. If you obstruct me and force me to waste two hours by reporting in corpus, I will. But the Old Man will want to know why and you can bet your pretty parade kit, I’ll tell him.”
The Chief Provost decided to take a chance-cut this character in on a three-way; then, if the Old Man didn’t burn this joker off the screen in about three seconds, he’d know he had played safe and guessed lucky. If he did-well, you could always blame it on a cross-up in communications. He set the combo.
Administrator Ford looked flabbergasted when he recognized Lazarus in the screen. “You?’ he exclaimed. “How on Earth–Did Zaccur Barstow–”
“Seal your circuit!” Lazarus cut in.
The Chief Provost blinked as his screen went dead and silent. So the Old Man did have secret agents outside the department . . . interesting-and not to be forgotten.
Lazarus gave Ford a quick and fairly honest account of how he happened to be at large, then added, “So you see, I could have gone to cover and escaped entirely. In fact I still can. But I want to know this: is the deal with Zaccur Barstow to let us emigrate still on?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Have you figured out how you are going to get a hundred thousand people inboard the New Frontiers without tipping your hand? You can’t trust your own people, you know that.”