A Time of Change
"Sir, it's Wilson again," toned the neutral voice of the secretary.
"Oh, God! Can't he find something useful to do? Or at least stay out of my hair? Tell him he's not getting his ship back until he pays the impound fees."
"But sir . . ."
"Tell him to stop pestering me. Good Lord, he's lucky not to be thrown in jail for drunk and disorderly. For God's sake, he puked on the governor's wife. The governor would have my butt if I let him have his ship back without the impound fees paid, maybe even with 'em paid, no matter who his father is. Tell him no and then tell him I'm not in—but I wish him the best."
"But, sir, he's not here about his ship."
The Director General stared blankly at his intercom, and wished he had put in video. "He's not?"
"That's what he says, sir."
"Is he drunk?"
"I don't think so, sir."
"Take a whiff."
There was a brief moment of soft static on the line. "He doesn't smell good, but he doesn't smell drunk."
"Well, shit. I guess I'll have to talk to him. Send him in."
There was a soft rattle and Wilson slipped through the tube with a slight whoosh, landing lightly in the Director General's best chair. The Director General bit his lip and wished that he had activated the chair's automatic plastic cover, but Wilson immediately leapt to his feet, crossed over to the Director General's desk and planted filthy hands on the shiny desktop.
Wilson smiled the handsome crooked smile that worked with the ladies, but never seemed to get him out of trouble. "Damn if it didn't work, DG, 'cause it did. Flipped right through. When you first told me about this, I thought you'd blown a fuse, but I'm a gambler. Figured that chances were, if it didn't work, it would only fizzle, not kill me. In which case, I could always soar off into the wild blue yonder with none the wiser. But it worked, better ride than any carnival—ought to sell tickets."
"Tickets?" The Director General sighed heavily. "Why are you here? What are you talking about? And, ugh, when did you last bathe?"
"When I left here two weeks ago, of course. You know my ship is just a short hauler, no shower. Hey, if you're gripin' about the time it took me, you said you wanted me back here as soon as I was sure it would do and who can blame a guy for takin' an extra day or two to scout about the system?"
"Your ship?" screeched the Director General. "Who gave you your ship?"
"Hey, calm down, DG . . ."
"Don't call me that!"
"What's wrong with you? Something leak and you're testing me? You gave me back my ship, remember?"
"I?!" the Director General roared incredulously.
"Sure, sent me out yourself," said Wilson calmly. As the Director General continued to sputter, he added brightly, "Now, don't get yourself all upset. I found the perfect planet, just like old Earth but fresh, like nothing ever set foot on it before. Ripe for colonies. And I saw other ones as well. You couldn't ask for a better place to live. None too soon, I'd say. Why, I was afraid you wouldn't be here. There were some mighty strange fireworks with that doodad. I would have sworn that Rega blew just as I left this . . ."
"Where did you get the drugs? Wilson, your father will not be pleased," the Director General said disapprovingly, "Rega won't blow for another year so just go home and try to sleep it off." The Director General got up to usher Wilson to the EXIT chute.
"No! Wait! Don't you remember? Didn't you want me to scout out a place for a colony? In another dimension?"
The Director General stopped, an arrested look on his face. "In another dimension?" he asked dazedly.
"Finally, some recognition. Well, your troubles are over, my boy. I bloody well found it!"
"Oh my God!"