The delivery door dilated and champagne and chilled glasses slid out. Vaska was still ordering away on the buttons and my credit balance, displayed in large numbers on the wall, was rolling rapidly backwards. I cracked the bottle, bouncing the cork off the wall near him to draw his inebriated attention, and filled the glasses.

“Let us drink to the Space Armada,” I said, handing him his glass and letting the little green pellet fall into it at the same time.

“To Space Armada,” he said, draining the glass and breaking into some dreary chauvinistic song that I knew I would have to learn, all about shining blast-tubes, gloaming guns, men of valor, burning suns. I had enough of it even before he began.

“You look tired,” I told him. “Aren’t you sleepy?”

“Sleepy…” he agreed, his head bobbing.

“I think it would be a good idea for you to lie down on the bed and get some rest before dinner.”

“Lie down…” His glass fell to the rug and he stumbled across the room and sprawled full length on the nearest bed.

“See, you were tired. Go to sleep and I’ll wake you later.”

Obedient to the hypnodrug, he closed his eyes and began snoring at once. If anyone were listening at the bug they would detect nothing wrong.

Dinner arrived, enough food to feed a squad—my money meant nothing to good old Vaska—and I ate a bit of steak and salad before going to work. I snared open the kit and spread out the materials and tools.

The first thing was of course an injection that acted as a nerve block and numbed all sensation in my face. As soon as this took effect I propped the snoring flight-major up and trained the reading light full in his face. This would not be a hard job at all. We both had about the same bony structure and build, and the resemblance did not have to be perfect. Just close enough to match the prison-camp picture on his ID card. The quality of this picture was what one learns to expect from an identification photo, looking more like a shaven ape than a human.

The chin was the biggest job in every sense and massive injections of plastic jell built mine up to Vaska’s heroic size. I molded its shape before it set, cleft and all, then went to work on the eyebrows. More plastic built up the brow ridges, and implanted black artificial hair drove home the resemblance. Contact lenses matched the color of his eyes and expanding rings in my nostrils flared them to the original’s cave-like size. All that remained then was to transfer his fingerprints to the skintight and invisible plastic that covered my own fingers. Nothing to it.

While I altered Vaska’s best uniform to a better fit for me he rose—as instructed—and ate some of the cold dinner. Sleep overcame him soon after that and this time he retired to the bed in the other room where his snores and grumbles would not annoy me.

I mixed a stiff drink and retired early. The morrow would be a busy day in my new identity. I was going into the Space Armada.

With a little luck I might get a clue as to the nature of their remarkable military powers.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t get in,” the guard in front of the gate said. The gate itself was made of riveted steel and was solidly set into a high stone wall capped with many strands of barbed wire.

“What do you mean I can’t get in? I have been ordered to Glupost,” I shouted in my best military-obnoxious manner. “Now press the button or whatever else you do to unlock that thing.”

“I can’t open it, sir, the base is sealed from the inside. I’m stationed with the outside guard detail.”

“I want to see your superior officer.”

“Here I am,” a cold voice said in my ear. “What is this disturbance?”

When I turned around I looked at his lieutenant’s bar and he looked at my flight-major’s double cross and I won that argument. He led me to the guardhouse and Acre was a lot of calling back and forth on the TV phone until he handed it to me and I looked a steely-eyed colonel in the face. I had already lost this argument.

“The base is sealed, flight-major,” he said.

“I have orders to report here, sir.”

“You were to report here yesterday. You have overstayed your leave.”

“I’m sorry, sir, must have been an error in recording. My orders read report today.” I held them up and saw that the reporting date was the previous day. That drunkard Vaska had got me into the trouble he deserved himself. The colonel smiled with all the sweetness of a king cobra in rut.

“If the mistake were in the orders, flight-major, there would certainly be no difficulty. Since the mistake was yours, lieutenant, we know where the error lies. Report to the security entrance.”

I hung up the phone and the guard lieutenant, grinning evilly, handed me a set of lieutenant’s bars. I unclipped my double-crosses and accepted the humbler rank. I hoped promotion was as fast as demotion in the Space Armada. A guard detail marched me along the wall to a smaller airlock type of entrance and I was passed through. My credentials and orders were examined, my fingerprints taken, and in a few minutes I was through the last gate and inside the base of Glupost.

A car was summoned, a private soldier took my bags, we drove to the officers’ quarters and I was shown to my room. And all the time I kept my eyes open. Not that there was anything fascinating to see. See one military base and you’ve seen them all. Buildings, tents, chaps in uniform doing repetitious jumping, heavy expensive equipment all painted the same color, that sort of thing. What I had to find out would not be that easy to uncover. My bags were dumped in the tiny room, salutes exchanged, the soldier left, and a voice spoke hoarsely from the other bed.

“You don’t happen to have a drink on you, do you?”

I looked closely and saw that what I at first thought was a bundle of crumpled blankets now appeared to contain a scrawny individual who wore dark glasses. The effort of talking must have exhausted him and he groaned, adding another breath of alcoholic vapor to the already rich atmosphere of the room.

“It so happens that I do,” I said, opening the window. “My name is Vaska. Do you prefer any particular brand?”

“Otrov.”

I could think of no drink by that title so presumably it was my roommate’s name. Taking the flask with the most potent beverage from my collection I poured him half a glass. He seized it with trembling fingers and drained it while shudders racked his frame. It must have done some good because he sat up in bed and held out the glass for more.

“We blast off in two days,” he said, sniffing his drink. “This really isn’t paint remover, is it?”

“No, it just smells that way to fool the MP’s. Where to?”

“Don’t make jokes so early in the morning. You know we never know what planet we’re hitting. Security. Or are you with security?”

He blinked suspiciously in my direction: I would have to watch the questions until I knew more. I forced a smile and poured a drink for myself.

“A joke. I don’t feel so good myself. I woke up a flight-major this morning…”

“And now you’re a lieutenant. Easy come, easy go.”

“They didn’t come that easy!”

“Sorry. Figure of speech. I’ve always been a lieutenant so I wouldn’t know how the others feel. You couldn’t just tip a little more into this glass? Then I’ll be able to dress and we can get over to the club and get into some serious drinking. It’s going to be awful, all those weeks without drink until we get back.”

Another fact. The Cliaand fought their battles refreshed with water. I wondered if I could. I sipped and the disturbing thought that had been poking at me for some minutes surfaced.

The real Vaska Hulja was back at the hotel and would be discovered. And I could do nothing about it because I was in this sealed base.