What did I have to do? Simply get aboard one of the spacers, find the communications room, then locate the coordinates of this planet. Easy to say: a little difficult to do.

At least the first part was easy enough to accomplish; locate the spacers. I had seen the floodlit shapes of three of them rising high above the tents earlier in the evening. The party was still crashing inside so this would be a good time to move through the camp. While plenty of drunks were still staggering about. I brushed some dust from my lapel, straightened the medals on my chest. Quite a collection. I turned the gaudiest one over and craned to read it. THE GLORIOUS UNIT AWARDS WEEKS WITHOUT VD IN TllЈ COMPANY. Wonderful. I assumed the rest of the lot had been given for equally valiant military endeavors. Time to go-

It looked like events in the alcoholic bedlam were winding down for the night. A grill was being locked over the bar. Orderlies were loading unconscious forms onto stretch-

ers, while the walking wounded were stumbling toward the exit. A brace of gray-haired colonels were leaning against each other and moving their feet up and down and not getting anyplace. I made the twosome a threesome and let them lean on me.

“I am going your way, sirs. Perhaps I could accompany you?”

“You shure a good buddy… buddy,” one of them breathed my way. The alcoholic content of my blood instantly shot up and I hiccuped. .

We exited in this manner, weaved our way between the ambulances being loaded with officerial alcoholics, and staggered off into the night. In the direction of the spacers. I had not the slightest idea where the BOQ was—nor did I care. Nor did my drink-sodden companions. It took all their concentration, and what little conscious mind they had remaining, to simply put one foot in front of another.

A squad ofMPs turned the corner in front of us, saw the gleam of light from the silver chickens on my companions’ shoulders. Then did the smartest about face to the rear march I had ever seen.

My drunks were getting heavier and heavier and moving slower and slower as we stumbled through the tentlined street toward a brightly lit building at the end. It was large and permanent, undoubtedly part of the park facilities purloined from the natives. Even at this hour of the night, morning really, two armed guards stood at the entrance. All the rocks along the path were painted white tod the overly ornate sign above the door read BASE HEADQUARTERS—GEN. ZENNOR COMMANDING.

This was definitely not the place for me. I maneuvered my charges onto the grass, next to the sign KEEP OFF OR GET SHOT. and let go. They dropped instantly and began snoring.

“You, guards,” I called out. “One of you get the Officer of the Day. These colonels have been taken ill. Food poisoning I think.”

I glared my best glare and not a muscle moved in their faces.

“Yes, sir!” the sergeant shouted. “OD on the double!” He turned and hurried away and so did 1. Toward the charred remains of a sportsfield upon which the three spacers rested. All of them bristled with guns, brought here to impress the locals I imagined. Or to beat off the armed attacks that had never materialized. How depressed all the military must be that they couldn’t pull their shiny triggers and blow away the population. They had given a war—and nobody came. Terribly frustrating.

I staggered as I walked so I would be recognized as an officer. Toward the extruded stairs that ran from the ground, up into the bowels of the nearest spacer. I was a space officer, I was just going to my ship. Or at least I thought I was until I saw that a guard stood on the lower step.

“Halt and be recognized.”

“Cagal off…” I muttered and pushed by him. A private lowest of the low.

“Please, major, sir, your majesty. You can’t go in without I see your pass.”

“Cagal off twice!” Witty, witty. “Don’ need no pass my own ship.”

Past him and up the stairs. Brain beats brawn anytime. Step by step up toward the gaping spacelock. And the surly sergeant-major who stood and scowled there, firmly blocking the entrance.

“This ain’t your ship, major. I know this ship’s company. You are on another ship. “

I opened my mouth to argue, order, shout. Then saw the gunmetal blue jaw, the glowing red eyes, the hairline that blended into the eyebrows. Even the hairs curling from his broken nose looked like they were made of steel wool.

“Not my ship?”

“Not your ship.”

“Gesh it’s not my ship…” I susurrated, turning and stumbling back down and away into the night. There was no way I was goine to get oast the sergeant-maior. Back toward the headquarters building and the rows of tents to come up with another plan.

Hidden in the darkness under a large tree, I looked out at the spacers and could think of absolutely nothing I could do to get aboard one of them. The hour was late, the drunks now dispersed, the camp silent. Except for the roving bands of MPs. Whatever was to be done would have to wait until morning. It would be more dangerous in daylight but it had to be chanced. Perhaps if there was enough to-ing and fro-ing to the ships I might be able to join in. Right now I really should be thinking of my own safety. And some sleep, I yawned. The kicked-in ribs were hurting again. I sniveled a bit and really felt sorry for myself.

In the stillness of the night the shouted commands and stamping of boots from HQ could clearly be heard. Guns were brought snappily to attention as a huddle of officers emerged and hurried down the path. Even at this distance I could recognize the repellent form of the leader. Zennor, with his underlings hurrying after. I drew deeper into the shadows: this was no place for me to be.

Or was it? Despite my desire for rapid departure and continued survival I stood there and concentrated. And hated the idea that began to develop. The officers moved out across the charred sportsfield and passed the spacer I had tried to get into. At this moment the idea jelled and I loathed it even more because it just might work. With a great effort I forced down the screaming meemies that threatened to overwhelm me, unlocked my knees and lurched forward. Following the officers across the field.

If any of them looked back I was sunk. But that was next to an impossibility. Their job in life was to bull straight ahead and walk over anything and everything that got in their way. They charged on and I charged after them, getting ever closer. Anyone watching would see a group of officers with one more of their kind hurrying to catch up.

When they reached the steps of the freighter I was right behind them, watching them mount with dignity. Though still hurrying I did not hurry that fast anymore. With

Ill precise timing I reached the guard at the foot of the stairs just as they vanished from sight above.

“General,” I cried. “The message has come through. It is urgent!”

I waved and called out again and brushed by the guard who did the only thing he was supposed to do. He saluted. Up the stairs, much slower now, dragging one leg, old war wound you know. They were well out of sight as, breathlessly, I reached the open port. “The general, where is he?”

“Captain’s quarters, sir,” the guard said.

“That’s near the communications room on this type of ship?”

“That’s right, major, same deck, number nine.” I hurried on to the nearest companionway and up it. Slower and slower. The ship was silent, empty, but I heard voices echoing down from above. When I reached the next deck I walked around to the companionway on the far side. Where I stopped and counted slowly to two hundred.

“You are a brave but foolhardy devil, Jim,” I muttered and agreed strongly with myself. Press on.

The large number nine on the bulkhead above slowed me to a crawl. I carefully poked my head above the deck and looked around. No one ,in sight, but voices were sounding from the passageway. The doors had numbers stenciled next to them. One of them had a name on it. COMMUNICATIONS ROOM.