“Halt, at ease!” I shouted and spun toward the MP, still shouting. “You—where do I find the Transport Section?”

“Second floor, room two-oh-nine. Could I see your pass corporal?”

I glared at him coldly as I shuffled through the papers I was carrying, let my eyes travel slowly down to his boots, then back up again. He stood at attention, shivering slightly, and I knew he was new at this game.

“I don’t think I have ever seen dirtier boots,” I hissed. When his eyes glanced down I held out the turned-back papers. “Here’s the pass.” When he glanced up again I let the papers slap shut.

He started to sav something, I turned up the power of my glare and he wilted. “Thank you, corporal. Second floor.”

I turned smartly away, snapped my fingers at Morton, then stamped away toward the stairs. Trying to ignore the fine heading of sweat on my brow. This was very demanding work—and it wasn’t over yet. I could see that Morton was definitely shivering as he walked and I wondered how much more of this he could take. But there was no turning back now. I threw open the door of 209 and waved him in. A bench ran along the wall and I pointed him toward it.

“Sit there and wait until you’re called,” I said, then turned to the reception clerk. He was on the phone and waved vaguely in my direction. Behind him rows of desks and laboring soldiers stretched the length of the room. All totally ignoring me, of course.

“Yes, sir, get onto it at once, sir,” the reception clerk smarmed. “Computer error, possibly, captain. We’ll get right back to you. Very sorry about this.”

I could hear the phone disconnect loudly in his ear. “You crock of cagal!” he snarled and threw the phone back on the desk, then looked up at me. “What’s up, corporal?”

“I’m up here, corporal, and I’m here to see the transport sergeant.”

“He’s home on compassionate leave. His canary died,”

“I do not wish to hear the disgusting details of his personal life, soldier. Who’s sitting in for him?”

“Corporal Gamin.”

“Tell the corporal I’m coming in.”

“Right, right.” He picked up the phone. I stamped past him to the door marked TRANSPORT SERGEANT—KEEP OUT and threw it open. The thin, dark man at the computer terminal looked up and frowned.

“You are Corporal Gamin?” I said, closing the door and flipping through the papers one more time. “If you are I got good news for you.”

“I’m Gamin. What’s up?”

“Your morale. The paymaster says they found a cumulative computer error in your pay and you are owed possibly two hundred and ten big ones. They want you there to straighten it out. ”

“I knew it! They been deducting double for insurance and laundry.”

“They’re all cagal-kopfs.” My guess was right; there cannot be anyone alive, particularly in the army, who isn’t sure there are errors in his payslip. “I would suggest you get your chunk over and collect before they lose the money again. Can I use your phone?”

“Punch nine for an outside line.” He pulled up his necktie and reached for his jacket—then stopped and took the key out of the terminal; the screen went black. “I bet they owe me more than that. I want to see the records,” There was a second door behind his desk and, to my satisfaction, he exited that way. The instant it closed I had the other door open and poked my head through. When the reception clerk looked up I turned and called back over my shoulder.

“Do you want him in here as well, corporal?” I nodded my head and turned back. “You, recruit, get in here!” Morton jumped at the sound of my voice, then scurried forward. I closed and locked the door behind him.

“Get comfortable,” I said, pulling off my boot and rooting about inside it for the lockpick. “No questions, I have to work fast.”

He slumped into a chair, eyes bulging in silence as I gently tickled the lock until the terminal came to life.

“Menu, menu,” I muttered as I hammered away on the keys.

It all went a lot smoother and faster than I had hoped. Whoever had written the software had apparently expected it to be accessed by morons. Maybe he was right. In any case I was led by the hand through the menus right to the current shipping orders.

“Here we are, leaving at noon today, a few minutes from now. Fort Abomeno. Your full name and serial number, Morton, quickly,”

I had my own dogtags spread out as I punched in all the requested information. A oell pinged and a sheet of paper sliooed out of the printer.

96 Hurry Hiurriteou

“Wonderful!” I said, smiling and letting some tension out of my muscles: I passed it over to him. “We’re safe for the moment since we have just left for Fort Abomeno.”

“But. . . we’re still here.”

“Only in the flesh, my boy. For the record, and records are all that count to the military, we have shipped out, Now we make the flesh inviolate.” I read through the shipping orders, checked off two names, then turned back to the terminal and entered data with some urgency. We had to be long gone before the corporal returned. The printer whiffled gently anemone sheet slipped out, then another. I grabbed them up, relocked the terminal, and waved Morton to his feet.

“Here we go. Out the back door and I’ll tell you what is happening as soon as we are clear of this building. “ Someone was coming up the stairs, a corporal, and my heart gave a little hip-hop before I saw that it wasn’t the corporal in question. Then it was down the hall to the front door and yes, there was Corporal Gamin coming up the stairs with a very nasty cut to his jib!

“Sharp right, recruit!” I ordered and we turned into the first doorway with military precision. A lieutenant was combing his hair in front of a mirror there. Her hair I realized when she turned about and glared at me.

“What kind of cagal-head are you, corporal? Or doesn’t the sign on the other side of this door read female personnel only?” -

“Sorry, sir, Ma’am, dark in the hall. Eye trouble. You, recruit, why didn’t you read the sign correctly? Get the cagal out of here and march straight to the MPs.” I pushed Morton out ahead of me and closed the door. The hall ahead was empty.

“Let’s go! Quick as we can without attracting attention.” Out the door and down the steps and around the corner and another corner and the pace was beginning to tell, I leaned against a wall and felt the sweat run down my face and drip from my nose. I wiped it with the sheaf of papers I still carried—then held up the two new sheets of orders and smiled; Morton gaped. "Freedom and survival,” I chortled. “Shipping orders,

or rather cancellation of shipping orders. We are safe at last.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea of what you are talking about.”

“Sorry. Let me explain. As far as the military is concerned we are no longer at this base but have been shipped to Fort Abomeno. They will search for us there, but we will be hard to find. In order to keep the body count correct two soldiers who are in that shipment, still physically in that shipment, have been removed on paper. These are their orders, corporal, I thought a bit more rank wouldn’t hurt. I am a sergeant now as you can see. We will occupy their quarters, eat their food, draw their pay. It will be weeks, perhaps months, before the error is discovered. By which time we will be long gone. Now—shall we begin our new careers as noncommissioned officers?”

“Urgle,” he said dimly and his eyes shut and he would have slumped to the ground if I had not held him erect against the wall. I nodded agreement.

“I feel somewhat the same way myself. It really has been one of those days.”