I got through the three lines of guards and protective force fields all right, checking my rayer here, my armor there—the usual dull procedure. By the time I reached the Admissions Officer I was down to uniform and medals.
"You want to see the Accountant?" the Admissions Officer asked incredulously. "You mean one of his staff! Well, where's your request slip, Trontar?"
"I've come on my own, Sir," I said, "not from my office, so I haven't a request slip."
"Come on your own? What's your unit? Give me your ID card!"
Let's see, I thought, I've abstracted classified material from the files and carried it outside the office, I've broken the chain of command and communication, and, worst of all, I'd tried to see a senior officer without a request slip. Yeah, maybe I'd be lucky to end up as a live deckhand on a space freighter.
A bored young Zankor with the rarely-seen balance insignia of the Accountant's Office rose from behind the Admissions Officer.
"I'll take responsibility for this man," he said casually to the A.O. "Follow me, Trontar. I was wondering when you'd turn up."
"Me?"
"Well, someone like you. Though usually it's scared sub-clerks that we drag up. And that reminds me." He turned to another young and equally bored Zankor standing nearby. "Take over, Smit, will you? They're bringing in that sub-clerk who's been writing those anonymous letters. I've reserved the Inquisition Room for a couple of hours for him."
I followed the Zankor as he strode away, wondering as I did if they had more than one Inquisition Room.