Pauker had killed ten men to get eight
million dollars. Now his flight to Mars would
insure his safety from justice. Or would it?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
November 1954
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
His poise was perfect as he crossed the concourse with the highlyvaulted ceiling. He moved with purpose but not in haste, his armsswinging freely, eyes straight ahead. At his heels, the squat, robotluggage-carrier dutifully followed the "bone" which he carried in hisright hand.
At the long baggage counter, the husky, human attendant took the "bone"and led the carrier under the counter through the low passage onto aplatform scale. He whistled. "That'll be $4,175.00 excess baggage," hesaid.
Pauker nodded curtly and withdrew his billfold. He laid his ticket andthe currency on the counter while the attendant clipped paper tags tothe handles of his four bags, broke off the stubs at the perforations,shoved the luggage off the cart onto a moving belt and replaced the"bone" in its "homing" slot. The three-wheel robot rolled off thescales, out the short tunnel under the counter and headed back for theentrance.
"We don't see many leather bags here," the man said pleasantly. "Theyweigh up too much."
Pauker's eyes darted to the man's face nervously as he examined theticket and made change. Was there suspicion in the young, blandfeatures?
The traveler was well aware of the extravagance of his heavy bags, andhe knew that most interplanetary trippers used the lightest, flimsiestcontainers to remain under the 100-pound limit. At the risk ofappearing conspicuous, Pauker had decided on the stronger suit-cases.There must be no chance of an accidental rupture of his luggage.Legitimate people don't haul bundles of $1,000 interplanetary billsaround with them—not eight million dollars worth.
But it wasn't the young man's remark that broke his composure. Itwas the sight of his four bags bouncing along the endless belt anddisappearing through an arch into the next room. Suppose customs gotnosey?
Normally, his research had revealed, only a cursory X-ray for weaponswas made, and he had delayed checking them through until the lastmoment, so it was unlikely they would hold them up. Yet the fearclutched his belly. He snatched at the baggage tags, his ticket andchange, jammed them in his valuables pouch which was fastened to hisbelt, and moved hastily out of the depot.
Signs guided him to the line of waiting vehicles, and in two minuteshe was deposited at the base of the portable, fourstory, passengerprep-building that sidled parallel to the spaceship.
He surrendered his ticket at the ground-level door and was passed intothe men's disrobing room. Naked, except for the waterproof, web belt towhich he attached his pouch of personal effects, he folded his clothinginto the transparent bag with his berth number stamped on it, droppedit in a marked hopper and stepped into the showers.
More signs led him through the soapy, sluicing bath chamber thatsmelled mildly of phenol, through a gusty, hot drying room, and intothe corridor of inoculation booths. It was an ingenious maze of tinyspaces. You stepped in, placing your feet on the painted foot-prints,slipped the steel I.D. plate containing your metabolic data into theslot, and click, a measured dose of anti-this-or-that serum shot froma compressed air needle and penetrated the proper area of the bodywithout breaking the skin.
Pauker marvelled at the speed with wh