My attempts at conversation were ignored, as was my press pass. Which was taken from me along with my shoes-then the rest of my clothes. I pulled on the robe of itchy black burlap that they gave me, dropped back into the chair and made no attempt to outstare my guards.
To be frank this was a kind of a low point, made even lower when the effects of the calm-and-collected pill began to wear off. Just about the time my morale hit bottom the loudspeaker gurgled incomprehensible instructions and I was hurried down the hall to another room. The lights and stool were the same-but this time they faced a steel desk with an even steelier-eyed officer behind it. His glare spoke for him as he pointed to my dissected clothing, bag, shoes.
“I am Colonel Neuredan – and you are in trouble.”
“Do you always treat interstellar journalists like this?”
“Your identity is false.” His voice had all the warmth of two rocks being grated together. “Your shoes contain molebind projectors .
“There’s no law against that!”
“There is on Paskonjak. There is a law against anything that threatens the security of the Mint and the Interstellar Credits produced here.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Everything that you have done has been wrong. Attempting to deceive our security with false identification, stunning a guard, penetrating the Mint without supervision-these are all crimes under our law. What you have committed so far makes you liable for fourteen concurrent life sentences.” His grim voice grew even grimmer. “But there is even worse than that-”
“What could be worse than fourteen life sentences?” Despite my efforts at calm control I could hear my voice cracking.
“Death. That is the penalty for stealing from the Mint.”
“I haven’t stolen anything!” Definitely a quaver now.
“That will be determined very shortly. When the decision was made to mint five-hundred-thousand-credit coins every precaution was taken to prevent their theft. Integral to their fabric is a transponder that listens for a specific signal at a specific frequency. It answers and reveals the location of the coin.”
“Stupid,” I said with more bravado than I felt. “Won’t work here. Not with all the coins you have made-”
“All now safe behind ten feet of solid lead. Radiation proof. If there are any other coins not in our custody the signal will sound.”
Right on cue I heard the pealing of bells in the distance. The iron face of my inquisitor was touched by a fleeting cold smile.
“The signal,” he said. We sat in silence for long seconds. Until the door burst open and the hurrying guards dropped a very familiar bag onto the desk. He lifted the end slowly and the coins jangled forth.
“So that’s what they look like. I never
“Silence!” he thundered. “These were removed from the minting room. They were found suspended in the chimney from the smelter. Along with these other objects.”
“Proves nothing.”
“Proves everything!” Quick as a snake he grabbed my hands, slammed them onto a plate on his desk. A hologram of my fingerprints appeared instantly on the air above.
“Any prints lifted from the coins?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Many,” a spectral voice responded. A portion of the desk top rose up bearing what appeared to be photographic prints. He looked at them and for the second time I was treated to the sight of that frigid smile as he dropped the prints through a slot. A second hologram floated in the air beside the first, moved over and merged with it as he touched the controls.
The double image flickered and became one.
“Identical!” he said triumphantly. “You can tell me your if you wish. So it can be spelled correctly on your tomb stone. But only if you wish.”
“What do you mean tombstone? And what do you mean death sentence? That’s illegal by galactic law!”
“There is no galactic law down here,” he intoned with a voice like a funeral march. “There is only the law of the Mint. Judgment is final.”
“The trial . . .” I said feebly, visions of lawyers, appeals, torts and documents dancing in my head.
There was no mercy in his voice now, no touch of the tiniest of iceberg smiles on his lips.