He did. "Of course not. My daughter is not as scatterbrained as I have
painted her. She is going to help you."
"_Help_ me?"
"Exactly. You are ostensibly her bodyguard. If she turns up missing,
you will, of course, leave no stone unturned to find her." He
chuckled. "And Ceres is a fairly large stone."
I thought it over. I still didn't like it too well, but if Jaqueline
wasn't going to be too much trouble to take care of, it might work
out. And if she did get to be too much trouble, I could see to it that
she was unofficially detained for a while.
"All right, Mr. Ravenhurst," I said, "you've got yourself a man for
both jobs."
"Both?"
"I find out who is trying to sabotage the McGuire ship, and I baby-sit
for you. That's two jobs. And you're going to pay for both of them."
"I expected to," said Shalimar Ravenhurst.
Fifteen minutes later, I was walking into the room where I'd left my
vac suit. There was a girl waiting for me.
She was already dressed in her vac suit, so there was no way to be sure,
but she looked as if she had a nice figure underneath the suit. Her face
was rather unexceptionally pretty, a sort of nice-girl-next-door face. Her
hair was a reddish brown and was cut fairly close to the skull; only a
woman who never intends to be in a vac suit in free fall can afford to let
her hair grow.
"Miss Ravenhurst?" I asked.
She grinned and stuck out a hand. "Just call me Jack. And I'll call
you Dan. O.K.?"
I grinned and shook her hand because there wasn't much else I could
do. Now I'd met the Ravenhursts: A father called Shalimar and a
daughter called Jack.
And a spaceship named McGuire.
* * * * *
I gave the flitterboat all the push it would take to get us to Ceres
as fast as possible. I don't like riding in the things. You sit there
inside a transite hull, which has two bucket seats inside it, fore and
aft, astraddle the drive tube, and you guide from one beacon to the
next while you keep tabs on orbital positions by radio. It's a long
jump from one rock to the next, even in the asteroid belt, and you
have to live inside your vac suit until you come to a stopping place
where you can spend an hour or so resting before you go on. It's like
driving cross-continent in an automobile, except that the signposts
and landmarks are constantly shifting position. An inexperienced man
can get lost easily in the Belt.
I was happy to find that Jack Ravenhurst knew how to handle a
flitterboat and could sight navigate by the stars. That meant that I
could sleep while she piloted and vice-versa. The trip back was a lot
easier and faster than the trip out had been.
I was glad, in a way, that Ceres was within flitterboat range of
Raven's Rest. I don't like the time wasted in waiting for a regular
spaceship, which you have to do when your target is a quarter of the
way around the Belt from you. The cross-system jumps don't take long,
but getting to a ship takes time.
The Ravenhurst girl wasn't much of a talker while we were en route. A
little general chitchat once in a while, then she'd clam up to do a
little mental orbit figuring. I didn't mind. I was in no mood to pump
her just yet, and I was usually figuring orbits myself. You get in the
habit after a while.
When the Ceres beacon came into view, I was snoozing. Jack reached
forward and shook my shoulder. "Decelerating toward Ceres," she said.
"Want to take over from here on?" Her voice sounded tinny and tired in
the earphones of my fishbowl.
"O.K.; I'll take her in. Have you called Ceres Field yet?"
"Not yet. I figured that you'd better do that, since it's your
flitterboat."
I said O.K. and called Ceres. They gave me a traffic orbit, and I
followed it in to Ceres Field.
It was a lot bigger than the postage-stamp field on Raven's Rest, and
more brightly lit, and a lot busier, but it was basically the same
idea--a broad, wide, smooth area that had been carved out of the
surface of the nickel-iron with a focused sun beam. One end of it was
reserved for flitterboats; three big spaceships sat on the other end,
looking very _noblesse oblige_ at the little flitterboats.
I clamped down, gave the key to one of the men behind the desk after
we had gone below, and turned to Jack. "I suggest we go to the hotel
first and get a shower and a little rest. We can go out to Viking
tomorrow."
She glanced at her watch. Like every other watch and clock in the
Belt, it was set for Greenwich Standard Time. What's the point in
having time zones in space?
"I'm not tired," she said brightly. "I got plenty of sleep while we
were on the way. Why don't we go out tonight? They've got a
bounce-dance place called _Bali_'s that--"
I held up a hand. "No. You may not be tired, but I am. Remember, I
went all the way out there by myself, and then came right back.
"I need at least six hours sleep in a nice, comfortable bed before
I'll be able to move again."
The look she gave me made me feel every one of my thirty-five years,
but I didn't intend to let her go roaming around at this stage of the
game.
Instead, I put her aboard one of the little rail cars, and we headed
for the Viking Arms, generally considered the best hotel on Ceres.
Ceres has a pretty respectable gee pull for a planetoid: Three per
cent of Standard. I weigh a good, hefty five pounds on the surface.
That makes it a lot easier to walk around on Ceres than on, say,
Raven's Rest. Even so, you always get the impression that one of the
little rail cars that scoots along the corridors is climbing uphill
all the way, because the acceleration is greater than any measly
thirty centimeters per second squared.
Jack didn't say another word until we reached the Viking, where
Ravenhurst had thoughtfully made reservations for adjoining rooms.
Then, after we'd registered, she said: "We could at least get
something to eat."
"That's not a bad idea. We can get something to line our stomachs,
anyway. Steak?"
She beamed up at me. "Steak. Sounds wonderful after all those mushy
concentrates. Let's go."
* * * * *
The restaurant off the lobby was just like the lobby and the corridors
outside--a big room hollowed out of the metal of the asteroid. The
walls had been painted to prevent rusting, but they still bore the
roughness left by the sun beam that had burnt them out.
We sat down at a table, and a waiter brought over a menu. The place
wouldn't be classed higher than a third-rate cafe on Earth, but on
Ceres it's considered one of the better places. The prices certainly
compare well with those of the best New York or Moscow restaurants,
and the price of meat, which has to be shipped from Earth, is--you
should pardon the gag--astronomical.
That didn't bother me. Steaks for two would go right on the expense
account. I mentally thanked Mr. Ravenhurst for the fine slab of beef
when the waiter finally brought it.
While we were waiting, though, I lit a cigarette and said: "You're
awfully quiet, Jack."
"Am I? Men are funny."
"Is that meant as a conversational gambit, or an honest observation?"
"Observation. I mean, men are always complaining that girls talk too
much, but if a girl keeps her mouth shut, they think there's something
wrong with her."
"Uh-huh. And you think that's a paradox or something?"