Free PLATINUM POHL by Frederik Pohl Page A

said. “Here, hold these for me. Don’t get the grease on your clothes.” I didn’t expect her to ask me why they had to be held. She didn’t. She only laughed.
    “Grease? I don’t think I’d even notice it, dirty as I am. I guess we’re all about ready to get back to civilization.”
    Cochenour was frowning over the probe trace and paying us no attention. I said, “Meaning which kind of civilization, the Spindle or Earth?”
    What I had in mind was to start her talking about Earth, but she went the other way. “Oh, the Spindle, Audee. I thought it was fascinating, and we really didn’t get to see much of it. And the people. Like that Indian fellow who ran the cafe. The cashier was his wife, wasn’t she?”
    “One of them. She’s the number-one wife; the waitress was number three, and he has another one at home with the kids. There are five of them, all three wives involved.” But I wanted to go in the other direction, so I said, “It’s pretty much the same as on Earth. Vastra would be running a tourist trap in Benares if he wasn’t running one here, and he wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t shipped out with the military and terminated here. I’d be guiding in Texas, I suppose. If there’s any open country left to guide in, maybe up along the Canadian River. How about you?”
    All the time I was picking up the same four or five tools, studying the serial numbers and putting them back. She didn’t notice.
    “How do you mean?”
    “Well, what did you do before you came here?”
    “Oh, I worked in Boyce’s office for a while.”
    That was encouraging; maybe she’d remember something about his connection with Professor Hegramet. “What were you, a secretary?”
    “Something like that. Boyce let me handle—oh, what’s that?”
    That was an incoming call on the radio, that was what that was.
    “So go answer,” snarled Cochenour from across the airbody.
    I took it on the earjack, since that is my nature; there isn’t any privacy to speak of in an airbody, and I want what little crumbs of it I can find. It was the base calling, a comm sergeant I knew named Littleknees. I signed in irritably, regretting the lost chance to pump Dorotha about her boss.
    “A private word for you, Audee,” said Sergeant Littleknees. “Got your sahib around?”
    Littleknees and I had exchanged radio chatter for a long time, and there was something
about the cheerfulness of the tone that bothered me. I didn’t look at Cochenour, but I knew he was listening—only to my side, of course, because of the earjack. “In sight but not receiving,” I said. “What have you got for me?”
    “Just a little news bulletin,” the sergeant purred. “It came over the synsat net a couple of minutes ago. Information only. That means we don’t have to do anything about it, but maybe you do, honey.”
    “Standing by,” I said, studying the plastic housing of the radio.
    The sergeant chuckled. “Your sahib’s charter captain would like to have a word with him when found. It’s kind of urgent, ’cause the captain is righteously kissed off.”
    “Yes, base,” I said. “Your signals received, strength ten.”
    The sergeant made an amused noise again, but this time it wasn’t a chuckle, it was a downright giggle. “The thing is,” she said, “his check for the charter fee bounced. Want to know what the bank said? You’d never guess. ‘Insufficient funds,’ that’s what they said.”
    The pain under my right lower ribs was permanent, but right then it seemed to get a lot worse. I gritted my teeth. “Ah, Sergeant Littleknees,” I croaked, “can you, ah, verify that estimate?”
    “Sorry, honey,” she buzzed sympathetically in my ear, “but there’s no doubt in the world. Captain got a credit report on him and it turned up n.g. When your customer gets back to the Spindle there’ll be a make-good warrant waiting for him.”
    “Thank you for the synoptic report,” I said hollowly. “I will verify departure time