“I never received your resignation,” Inskipp said. “Not that it would have meant anything. You can’t resign from the Corps.”
“Yeah—but I got your message when you gave me a discharge. Or did you forget that I stole a ship and you set off the scuttling charge by remote to blow me up? As you see I managed to pull the fuse just before it let go.”
“Nothing of the sort, my boy,” he said, settling back to sip his second drink. “You were so insistent about looking for the fair Angelina that I thought you might want to borrow a ship before we had a chance to assign you one. The one you took had the fuse rigged as it always is on these occasions. The fuse—not the charge—is set to explode five seconds after it is removed. I find this gives a certain independence of mind to prospective agents who regret their manner of departure.”
“You mean—the whole thing was a frame-up?” I gurgled.
“You might say that. I prefer the term ‘graduating-exercise.’ This is the time when we find out if our crooked novices really will devote the rest of their lives to the pursuit of law and order. When they find out, too. We don’t want there to be any regrets in later years. You found out, didn’t you Jim?”
“I found out something … I’m not quite sure what yet,” I said, still not able to talk about the one thing closest to me.
“It was a fine operation. I must say you showed a lot of imagination in the way you carried it out.” Then he frowned. “But that business with the bank, I can’t say I approve of it. The Corps has all the funds you will need. …”
“Same money,” I snapped. “Where does the Corps get it? From planetary governments. And where do they get it from? Taxes of course. So I take it