Free S.T.A.R. FLIGHT by E.C. Tubb Page A

Gate,” he said quickly. “My details will not be on record here.”
    “Why did you return to this Gate?”
    “I’ve been very foolish, sir,” said Preston. He produced identifying papers from his pocket. The whip dangling from his wrist made a tapping sound on the edge of the desk as he laid them before the gamma. “As you see, I was on vacation. I parted from the rest of my party. There was a girl,” he explained. “I found her attractive. We travelled to New York together. I joined the others because I thought it best.”
    The truth, he thought, the first rule of any successful agent. Never lie if it can be avoided. But, he told himself, you don’t have to tell all of the truth. Would the real Tonach? The thought was dangerous. He
was
Tonach. Hislife depended on him remembering that.
    Eldon looked at the papers and picked up a phone. It was almost exactly like any Earth instrument. “Get me the Washington Gate,” he said, and then to Preston. “Stand over there. On that black circle. Do not move.” He spoke into the phone. “Keyman? Eldon here. Do you have a Leon Tonach, delta-beta attached to you? Yes, I’ll wait.” Idly he examined the papers Preston had given him. “Yes. That’s right,” he said into the phone. “Yes. Very good, Gamma Keyman. I’ll attend to it immediately.”
    He replaced the handset and stared at Preston. “You,” he said curtly, “are under arrest.”
    The punishment was seven lashes of a major whip. Preston took them on his naked back, ceremoniously, watched by every delta attached to the New York Gate. A null delivered the punishment. He didn’t need to use much force. The barbs were sharp; the nerve-poison did the rest.
    Preston lost consciousness at the second lash. He lost it again when they cut him down. He woke and screamed his throat raw before kindly blackness engulfed him for a third time. It didn’t last. He was dimly conscious of movement but all else was hidden by a red veil of pain. He became aware that he was in a cell eight feet square with a barred door, a single light, a cot and nothing else. The cot was of canvas stretched taut over a metal frame. Whimpering, he rolled over onto his face, blood running from bitten lips. The nails of his fingers dug crescent wounds into his palms.
    From time to time a null brought water, watching incuriously as he fumbled it into his mouth. Finally he was able to speak.
    “Where am I?”
    “Washington Gate, sir.”
    The use of a title was informative and so was his location. A race who moved between the stars would think nothing of transferring him to another city. The null had been respectful. Perhaps there was yet hope.
    Food came with the water and, after a long time, a clean uniform. Then, when the pain had eased, the door swung open and he was free. Free of the cell if nothing else.
    “The punishment was severe but you deserved it.” Gamma Keyman looked thoughtfully at Preston as he stood in his office. It was a twin to that used by Eldon. Even the black circle on the floor was in the same position. Preston stood on it knowing that a touch on a button and he would be dead. The Kaltich took no chances. “Do you agree that the punishment was merited?”
    “Yes, sir.” To have argued would have been useless. Had Hilda Thorenson known what he was getting into? She tapped Tonach’s mind, thought Preston. Surely she must have known. Or perhaps she hadn’t bothered to find out. Or, he thought, perhaps she hadn’t told him for obvious reasons. No sane man would willingly suffer such agony.
    “Aside from the fact that you deliberately left your party, that you fraternized with a local woman and that you travelled beyond your permitted area, you chose to return to the New York Gate. Four violations, three serious, one both unnecessary and undesirable.” Gamma Keyman leaned back in his chair. “It did not please me to have the transgressions of one of my subordinates known to others.”
    “My apologies, sir,” said