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A man opened his door, grabbed his shoulder and marched him away. Thorby put up with it for a short distance, then he rebelled; he had his bellyful of such treatment.
The gutter fighting he had learned in order to survive in Jubbulpore was lacking in rules. Unfortunately this man had learned in a school equally cold-blooded but more scientific; Thorby got in one swipe, then found himself pinned against the bulkhead with his left wrist in danger of breaking. "Cut out the nonsense!"
"Quit pushing me around!"
"I said, 'Cut out the nonsense.' You're going up to see the Chief Officer. Don't give me trouble, Fraki, or III stuff your head in your mouth."
"I want to see Captain Krausa!"
The man relaxed the pressure and said, "You'll see him. But the Chief Officer has ordered you to report . . . and she can't be kept waiting. So will you go quietly? Or shall I carry you there in pieces?"
Thorby went quietly. Pressure on a wrist joint combined with pressure on a nerve between the bones of the palm carries its own rough logic. Several decks up he was shoved through an open door. "Chief Officer, here's the fraki."
"Thank you, Third Deck Master. You may go."
Thorby understood only the word "fraki." He picked himself up and found himself in a room many times as large as his own. The most prominent thing in it was an imposing bed, but the small figure in the bed dominated the room
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