"And that's your job, Thompson," said Kennebec.
"And that's enough," responded Thompson. He wiped his face.
"Oh, I'll issue the proper orders. They'll receive them--and any trace
of insubordination on the part of either of them will be cause for
reprimand. Public reprimand."
"But the reason behind all this? I don't understand."
"Nor does anyone else. Look Thompson, the Little Man has a super ship
out there on Mojave. It is a real bear-cat. Packed into space smaller
than this office is enough stuff to hold off the Guard for a week.
That's premise number one.
"Number two. They have some sort of telepathic means of communications.
"Number three. They came here for help. Why, I may never tell you until
it's analyzed by the experts. But they came here for help. A machine,
bomb, some means of hell and destruction or other must be destroyed. It
must be located, too. Using some means of analysis on our card files,
voice records, identification quizzes, and so forth, they decided upon
Lane and Downing as the mainsprings. They'll have none other. Now why
or wherefore isn't for me to decide. If they want Lane and Downing,
they'll get Lane and Downing and none others. At the very least, we've
got to play their game as long and as well as we can play it. I want to
have the Solar Guard equipped as well as that ship is, and this is the
way to do it."
"Why don't they go out and destroy this thing themselves?" asked
Thompson.
"I wouldn't know. You know as much as I do."
"They may fear the cat race."
"If I had their stuff, I'd fear nothing."
The telephone rang and Kennebec lifted it. He listened and then hung up
slowly.
"Your job--" he said. "Lane and Downing are making a running fist fight
to see who lands on Circle One. If you go a-screeching fast, you might
be able to make it by the time they hit."
"Right--" and Thompson left unceremoniously.
He hit the street, landed in his car, and was a half block away, siren
screaming, before he realized that he had a passenger. It was Patricia.
"Huh?" he asked foolishly.
"Well, the engine was running, wasn't it?"
"I didn't notice."
"Fine thing."
"You must have heard."
"Who hasn't. Come on, Billy. A little more soup. I know that pair and
they won't waste time."
Thompson poured more power into the car and it increased in speed. The
way was cleared for him, though it took some expert driving to cut
around and through the traffic, stopped by the demanding throat of the
official siren.
Thompson roared up the main road to Mojave, sent the guard-rail gates
flying dangerously over the heads of onlookers, and sped out onto the
tarmacadam. The dust of the rough landing was just starting to rise
as Thompson slid into the outskirts of the circle of ships. His car
skidded dangerously on locked wheels, and he used the deceleration
of the vehicle to catapult himself forward. He landed running and
disappeared into the circling dust.
He could be certain that Lane and Downing would be at the center of
this whirling mass.
* * * * *
Lane blinked. Downing shook his head in disbelief. Both recharged their
modines and--
"That's about enough!" snapped Thompson, coming through the dust. "You
pair of idiots."
They whirled.
"No, you didn't miss, either of you." He waved his own modine. The
aperture was wide open. "But I've got a job to do and you aren't going
to spoil it on the first try. I'd hate to report to Co-ordinator
Kennebec that I'd failed--doubly. And that all there were to his plans
were two hardly scarred corpses."
He tossed his weapon on the ground and nursed his hand.
"You're the fool," said Downing. "Don't you know you can't absorb the
output of three on one of 'em?"
"I did," snapped Thompson. "Though I'd rather use a baseball bat on
both of you."
"We didn't intend to hurt anybody," explained Lane.
"Good. Now that that's over, you might play sweet for a while, doing
penance for burning my hand."
"You mean we're going to work together?" asked Lane in disbelief.
"And you're going to act as though you liked it."
"I won't like it," scowled Downing.
"Just make it look good. You've got a job to do, and once it is done
you can go rivet-cutting for all I care."
"It's an idea."
"All right. But listen, you pair of fools, Patricia is coming through
this haze you kicked up. Take it easy."
"Pat!" it was a duet.
"Yeah, though you should both call her Miss Kennebec after this
performance."
"You leave her out of this," snapped Lane.
"After one more statement. You fellows can fight all you want to, but
remember, if you're fighting for Pat, just consider how she'd feel to
A, if as and when A chilled B to get rid of B's competition. Now let's
behave ourselves--and if you're asked, this was a fine shindy; a real
interesting whingding."
Clancey saw the four of them emerge from the aura of dust and he held
his head. "Look at 'em, chief. It ain't goin' to last. I know it ain't.
Mis's Kennebec holding an arm of each of them and Mr. Thompson chatting
to all three from behind."
"Clancey, this may be the calm before the storm. But from what I hear,
both of them will be a long way from Sol when the tornado winds up.
They're heading for the Big Man's office right now. He'll tell 'em."
* * * * *
"I think I get it," said Lane. "He wants us to analyze it. That's why
this motion of our heads to the thing."
"You may be right."
"This is a long way from here, though. I don't quite get it."
Kennebec explained his reasons for playing the Little Man's game.
"O.K., chief. I've heard of this cat race," said Downing.
"You have?"
"Only malcontent rumors. Tramps, adventurers, and the like are inclined
to take runs like that for the sheer loneliness of it--and the desire
to set foot where no man ever stood before. It's about the limit of
run with even a Guard ship. I suppose any rumors can be discounted,
but I've been given to understand that they are a rather nasty kind of
personality."
"Being cats they would be," added Lane.
"Not necessarily," objected Thompson. "We are basic primate-culture,
but we don't behave like apes."
"No?" asked Kennebec with a sly smile.
"O.K."
"Now," said Kennebec. "They've chosen you two for the job in spite
of our explanations that you are slightly inclined toward dangerous
rivalry. Why they insist I do not know. Be that as it may, gentlemen,
you have this project. You have twenty-five ships each, all armed to
the best of Solar technique. You'll have to play it close to your vest,
I gather, since this machine or bomb is at present running through
their system. Therefore I order you, officially, to refrain from any
competitive action until this project is completed. The Little Man has
detectors to locate the thing, you'll each get one of them. Track it
down and analyze it. Destroy it after you could reproduce it. Thompson,
your only job is to remind this pair of worthies that their prime job
is to finish this project."
"It may be not too hard," smiled Thompson. "I won't have any trouble."
"Look, Downing, if this thing is as important as they claim, we're
fools not to work together. Right?"
"As corny as it sounds--the fate of races depends--I believe the Little
Man. Until this fool project is over, no fight."
"Shake."
Downing made a "wait" gesture. He picked up an ornate dinner candle
from the mantelpiece and lit it. He took cigarettes, offered one to
Lane, and they shook hands. And they lit their cigarettes in the same
candle flame.