The Makeshift Rocket

CHAPTER FOUR

Inquiry in the morning established that the office of the Erse military commander had been set up in a requisitioned loft room downtown, above Miss Thirkell's Olde Gif tie Shoppe. Shuddering his way past a shelf of particularly malignant-looking china dogs, Herr Syrup climbed a circular stair so quaint that he could barely squeeze his way along it. Halfway up, a small round man coming hastily down caromed off his paunch.

"I say!" exclaimed the small man, adjusting his pince-nez indignantly. He picked up his briefcase.

"Would you mind backing down again and letting me past?"

"Vy don't you back up?" asked Herr Syrup in a harsh mood.

"My dear fellow," said the small man, "the right-of-way in a situation like this has been clearly established by Gooch vs. Torpenhow, Holm Assizes 2098, not to mention—"

Herr Syrup gave up and retreated. "You is a lawyer?" he asked.

"A solicitor? Yes, I have the honor to be Thwickhammer of Stonefriend, Stonefriend,

Thwickhammer, Thwickhammer, Thwickhammer, Thwickhammer, and Stonefriend, of Lincoln's Inn. My card, sir." The little man cocked his head. "I say, aren't you one of the spacemen who arrived yesterday?"

"Ja. I vas yust going to see about—"

"Don't bother, sir, don't bother. Beasts, that's all these invaders are, beasts with green tunics. When I heard of your crew's arrest, I resolved at once that they should not lack for legal representation, and went to see this O'Toole person. 'Release them, sir,' I demanded, 'release them this instant on reasonable bail or I shall be forced to obtain a writ of habeas corpus'." Mr. Thwickhammer turned purple. "Do you know what O'Toole told me I could do with such a writ? No, you cannot imagine what he said. He said—"

"I can imagine, ja," interrupted Herr Syrup. Since they were now back in earshot of Miss Thirkell and the china dogs, he was spared explicit details.

"I am afraid your friends will be held in gaol until the end of the occupation," said Mr. Thwickhammer. "Beastly, sir. I have assured myself that the conditions of detention are not unduly uncomfortable, but really—I must say—!" He bowed. "Good day, sir."

Miss Thirkell looked wistfully at Herr Syrup, across the length of her deserted shoppe, and said: "If you don't care for one of the little dogs, sir, I have some nice lampshades witii "Souvenir of Grendel" and a copy of Trees printed on them."

"No, t'ank you yust the same," said Herr Syrup, and went quickly back upstairs. The diought of what an ax could do among all those Dresden shepherdesses and clock-bellied Venuses made him sympaduze with his remote ancestors' practice of going berserk.

A sentry outside the office was leaning out the window, admiring Grendel's young lathes as they tripped by in their brief light dresses under a fresh morning breeze. Herr Syrup did not wish to interrupt him, but went quickly dirough the anteroom and the door beyond.

General Scourge-of-the-Sassenach O'Toole looked up from a heap of papers on his desk. The long face tightened. Finally he clipped: "So there ye are. An' who might have given ye an appointment?"

"Ja," agreed Herr Syrup, sitting down.

"If 'tis about your spalpeen friends ye've come, waste no time. Ye'll not see thim released before Laoighise shall be free."

"From de Shannon to de sea?"

"Says the Shan Van Vaught!" roared O'Toole automatically. He caught himself, snapped his mousetrap mouth shut, and glared.

"Er—" Herr Syrup gathered courage and rushed in. "Ve have trouble on our ship. De internal compensator has developed enough bugs to valk avay vit' it. As long as ve is stranded here anyhow, you must let us make repairs."

"Oh, must I?" murmured O'Toole, the glint of power in his eye.

"Ja, any distressed ship has got to be let fixed, according to de Convention of Luna. You vould not vant it said dat you vas a barbarian violating international law, vould you?"

General O'Toole snarled wordlessly. At last he flung back: "But your crew broke the law first, actin' as belligerents when they was supposed to be neutrals. I've every right to hold them, accident to their ship or not, while the state of emergency obtains."

Herr Syrup sighed. He had expected no more. "At least you have no charge against me," he said. "I vas not any place near de trouble last night. So you got to let me repair de damage, no?" O'Toole thrust a bony jaw at him. "I've only your word there's any damage at all."

"I knew you vould t'ink dat, so before I come here I asked you shief gyronics enshineer vould he please to look at our compensator and check it himself." Herr Syrup unfolded a sheet of S.L.I.E.F. letterhead from his pocket. "He gave me dis."

O'Toole squinted at the green paper and read:

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: This is to say that I have personal inspected the internal field compensator of I/S Mercury Girl and made every test known to man. I certify that I have never seen any piece of apparatus so deranged. I further certify as my considered opinion that the devil has got into it and only Father Kelly can make the necessary repairs.

Shamus O'Banion Col., Eng., S.L.I.E.F.

"Hm," said O'Toole. "Well, yes."

"You realize I must take de ship up and put her in orbit outside Grendel's geegee field," said Herr Syrup. "I vill need freefall conditions to test and calibrate my repairs."

"Yes!" O'Toole's arm shot out till his accusing finger was almost in the Dane's mustache. "Let ye take the ship aloft so ye can sail it clear to New Winchester!"

Herr Syrup suppressed an impulse to bite. "I expect you vill put a guard aboard," he said. "Yust some dumb soldier vat does not know enough about technics to be of any use to you down here."

"Hm," said O'Toole. "Hm, hm, hm." He gave the other man a malevolent glance. "'Tis nothin' but trouble I've had wi' the lot of yez," he complained, "an' sure I am in me heart ye're plottin" to make more. No, I'll not let ye do it. By the brogans of Brian Boru, here on the ground ye stay!"

Herr Syrup shrugged. "Veil," he said, "if you vant all de Solar System to know later on how you vas breaking de Lunar Convention and not letting a poor old spaceman fix his ship like de law says he is entitled to—ja, I guess maybe de Erse Republic does not care vat odder countries t'ink about its civilization."

"The devil take ye for a hairsplittin" wretch!" howled O'Toole. "Sit there. Wait right there, me fine lad, an' if 'tis space law ye want, then space law ye'll get!"

His finger stabbed the desk communicator buttons. "I want Captain Flanahan … No, no, no, ye leatherhead, I mean Captain Flanahan, the captain of the Shamrock League Irredentist Expeditionary Force's ship Dies I.R.A.!"

After an interchange of Gaelic, O'Toole snapped off the communicator and gave Herr Syrup a triumphant look. "I've checked the space law," he growled. "'Tis true ye're entitled to put your vessel in orbit if that's needful for your repairs. But I'm allowed to place a guard aboard her to protect our own legitimate interests; an' the guard is entitled not to hazard his life in an undermanned ship. Especially whin I legally can an' will take the precaution of impoundin' all the lifeboats an' propulsive units an' radios off the spacesuits, as well as the ship's radio an' radar which I have already got. So by the law, I cannot allow ye to lift with me guardsman aboard unliss ye've a crew iv at least three. An' your own crew is all in pokey, where I'm entitled to keep them till the conclusion of hostilities! Ha, ha, Mister Space Lawyer, an' how do ye like that?"