Free Throy by Jack Vance Page B

have convinced me that for the proper prosecution of this mission, two agents are required.” Leaning back in his chair, he put the tips of his fingers together. “Eustace Chilke, along with his other qualifications, is also acquainted with the world Rosalia, which may well figure in the investigation. Therefore I am pleased to announce that he has agreed to participate in this mission. You will not be alone, as you feared.”
    “I will be happy to work with Chilke,” said Glawen.
    Bodwyn Wook continued. “It is important that you both be equipped with official authority. Therefore I have appointed Chilke to the full status of a Bureau B agent, and consequent Accreditation with the IPCC.”
    Glawen began to feel bewildered. “Isn’t Chilke too old to start agency routine? Did you explain the four years of junior training and all the development programs?”
    “Chilke’s unique capabilities allowed us to bypass the standard regimen. He cannot be expected to take a cut in salary; therefore he has been appointed to a rank of appropriate salary-level. The rank which Chilke has earned for himself is ‘Sub-Commander’: a grade between ‘Captain’ and full ‘Commander.’
              Glawen’s jaw dropped. He turned to stare at Chilke, who shrugged and grinned. Glawen turned back to Bodwyn Wook. “If Chilke becomes a ‘Sub-Commander,’ he outranks a ‘Captain,’ such as me.”
    “True, of course.”
    “And if we go out together on a mission, Sub-Commander Chilke will be the officer in authority.”
    “That is inherent in the concept of ‘rank.’”
    “Do you recall that yesterday I suggested a promotion, and you told me that I needed another ten years of seasoning?”
    “Of course I remember!” snapped Bodwyn Wook. “Do you consider me senile?”
    “And today, instead of ten years, ten minutes is enough seasoning for Eustace Chilke?”
              “Such are the exigencies of the moment,” said Bodwyn Wook.
              “Here is another exigency,” said Glawen. He rose to his feet, brought out his warrant card, tossed it upon Bodwyn Wook’s desk. “There you have it; my resignation. I am no longer associated with Bureau B.” He turned to go.
    ‘Just a moment!” cried Bodwyn Wook. “This is an irresponsible act, in view of our personnel problems!”
    “Not at all! I have learned my lesson. The last two times you sent me out in this style I barely escaped with
    my life.”
    “Bah,” muttered Bodwyn Wook. “It was your mad Clattuc rashness which prompted you to play the cock-a-hoop bravo at all costs. You must blame only the flaw in your own personality.”
    Glawen, halfway to the door, stopped short. “Tell me this: how can I be at once timid and diffident, and sweating with fear, while still indulging in these escapades you describe.”
              “Clattucs are all mad,” said Bodwyn Wook. “That is well known. This is how the disease affects you, and it is truly pitiful that you should blame me, a tired old man, for your trouble.”
    Chilke spoke in a gentle voice: “Let me make a suggestion. If you promote Glawen to ‘Commander’, as he probably deserves, everyone would be happy.”
    Bodwyn Wook sank back aghast into his seat. “He would be the youngest man ever to use such a rank! It is
    unthinkable!”
    “I thought it,” said Chilke modestly. “What about you, Glawen? Can you think it?”
    ‘Just barely, after what I have been through. But I can think it.”
    “Very well,” said Bodwyn Wook hollowly. “So be it!” He leaned forward and spoke into the communicator. “Hilda! Bring in a bottle of the best Averly Sergence, along with three glasses! Commander Clattuc, Sub-commander Chilke and I wish to celebrate a happy occasion.”
    “Sir?” asked Hilda. “Did I hear you rightly?”
    “You did indeed! Make sure of the vintage; we drink no paltry stuff today!”
    Hilda brought in the wine and the goblets. She listened frozen-faced as