The sergeant broke the toothpick between his teeth, laughed. "Him? Naw. He got the hell beat out of him by a drunk half his size. It ain't that kind of trouble, Mr. Arkalion. You know what an 1182 card is, mister?"
Arkalion's face drained white. "Why—yes."
"Alaric's got one."
"Naturally."
"According to the card, he should have shipped out on the Nowhere Journey, mister. He didn't. He's in serious trouble."
"I'll see the district attorney."
"More'n likely, you'll see the attorney general. Serious trouble."
CHAPTER V
he trouble with the Stalintrek, Sophia thought, was that it took months to get absolutely nowhere. There had been the painful pressure, the loss of consciousness, the confinement in this tight little world of dormitories and gleaming metal walls, the uncanny feeling of no weight, the ability—boring after a while, but interesting at first—to float about in air almost at will.