Martineau, Captain of the Port at Vulhan City, snapped the inter-office switch in impatience. His voice cracked sharply. "I will not see Captain Thorne, Miss Gurn. You know that as well as I do! You hear?"
Miss Gurn's voice was tremulous, but determined. "I know, sir, but he insists on seeing you. It is—"
"Have Williams throw him out, Miss Gurn," snapped the Port Captain. "How in Karac's name did you let him in, anyway?"
"He says it is Government business, sir. He refuses to go. And Lieutenant Williams is not here."
"Government business?" Martineau glowered. "Then send him in. I'll deal with this t'anger myself." Snapping off the phone switch, he flipped another. The local Patrol Superintendent looked up at him in the screen. "Bannerman, could you step in a moment? I think Thorne's going to make trouble and I'm going to deal with him right here and now."
"Of course, Martineau. I've been expecting him." The big, white-haired officer heaved himself up and picked up his glittering helmet. "Be right in." The screen faded as Thorne was ushered in by a wide-eyed Miss Gurn.
Trim and stiffly neat in the scarlet tunic and blue-black trousers of the International, Thorne stood coolly at attention, thin and worn but clean-shaven, scrubbed, and pressed. Gold sparkled on his close-fitting helmet and on the butts of his twin Blandarcs. Under one scarlet arm he carried a small black box.
"Well, Thorne," broke in Martineau as the other door opened to admit the bulk of the Patrol Superintendent. "Your business, please."
Thorne flushed, but did not move. He could not afford to resent discourtesies he had become so bitterly accustomed to receiving these past two years. He laid the box on the Port Captain's desk.
"This is to return to Earth at once, sir. It is extraordinarily valuable. I am requesting passage on the first battle rocket leaving Mars."