It was the other's turn to stare. Max Rostoff said, low and
dangerously, "No? Why can't I?"
Don glared at him.
Max Rostoff said, low and dangerously, "Let's get this straight,
Mathers. To everybody else, but Demming and me, you might be the biggest
hero in the Solar System. But you know what you are to us?"
Don felt his indignation seeping from him.
"To us," Max Rostoff said flatly, "you're just another demi-buttocked
incompetent on the make." He added definitely, "And make no mistake,
Mathers, you'll continue to have a good thing out of this only so long
as we can use you."
A voice from behind them said, "Let me add to that, period, end of
paragraph."
It was Lawrence Demming, who'd just entered from an inner office.
He said, even his voice seemed fat, "And now that's settled, I'm going
to call in some lawyers. While they're around, we conduct ourselves as
though we're three equal partners. On paper, we will be."
"Wait a minute, now," Don blurted. "What do you think you're pulling?
The agreement was we split this whole thing three ways."
Demming's jowls wobbled as he nodded. "That's right. And your share of
the loot is your Galactic Medal of Honor. That and the dubious
privilege of having the whole thing in your name. You'll keep your
medal, and we'll keep our share." He growled heavily, "You don't think
you're getting the short end of the stick, do you?"
Max Rostoff said, "Let's knock this off and get the law boys in. We've
got enough paper work to keep us busy the rest of the week." He sat down
again at his desk and looked up at Don. "Then we'll all be taking off
for Callisto, to get things under way. With any luck, in six months
we'll have every ounce of pitchblende left in the system sewed up."
* * * * *
There was a crowd awaiting his ship at the Callisto Spaceport. A crowd
modest by Earth standards but representing a large percentage of the
small population of Jupiter's moon.
On the way out, a staff of the system's best speech writers, and two top
professional actors had been working with him.
Don Mathers gave a short preliminary talk at the spaceport, and then the
important one, the one that was broadcast throughout the system, that
night from his suite at the hotel. He'd been well rehearsed, and they'd
kept him from the bottle except for two or three quick ones immediately
before going on.
_The project at hand is to extract the newly discovered deposits of
pitchblende on these satellites of Jupiter._
He paused impressively before continuing.
_It's a job that cannot be done in slipshod, haphazard manner. The
system's need for radioactives cannot be overstressed._
_In short, fellow humans, we must allow nothing to stand in the way of
all out, unified effort to do this job quickly and efficiently. My
associates and I have formed a corporation to manage this crash program.
We invite all to participate by purchasing stock. I will not speak of
profits, fellow humans, because in this emergency we all scorn them.
However, as I say, you are invited to participate._
_Some of the preliminary mining concessions are at present in the hands
of individuals or small corporations. It will be necessary that these
turn over their holdings to our single all-embracing organization for
the sake of efficiency. Our experts will evaluate such holdings and
recompense the owners._
Don Mathers paused again for emphasis.
_This is no time for quibbling. All must come in. If there are those who
put private gain before the needs of the system, then pressures must be
found to be exerted against them._
_We will need thousands and tens of thousands of trained workers to
operate our mines, our mills, our refineries. In the past, skilled labor
here on the satellites was used to double or even triple the wage rates
on Earth and the settled planets and satellites. I need only repeat,
this is no time for personal gain and quibbling. The corporation
announces proudly that it will pay only prevailing Earth rates. We will
not insult our employees by "bribing" them to patriotism through higher
wages._
There was more, along the same lines.
It was all taken very well. Indeed, with enthusiasm.
* * * * *
On the third day, at an office conference, Don waited for an opening to
say, "Look, somewhere here on Callisto is a young woman named Dian
Fuller. After we get me established in an office, I'd like her to be my
secretary."
Demming looked up from some reports he was scanning. He grunted to Max
Rostoff, "Tell him," and went back to the papers.
Max Rostoff, settled back into his chair. He said to the two bodyguards,
stationed at the door, "Scotty, Rogers, go and make the arrangements to
bring that damned prospector into line."
When they were gone, Rostoff turned back to Don Mathers. "You don't need
an office, Mathers. All you need is to go back to your bottles. Just
don't belt it so hard that you can't sign papers every time we need a
signature."
Don flushed angrily, "Look, don't push me, you two. You need me. Plenty.
In fact, from what I can see, this corporation needs me more than it
does you." He looked scornfully at Demming. "Originally, the idea was
that you put up the money. What money? We have fifty-one percent of the
stock in my name, but all the credit units needed are coming from sales
of stock." He turned to Rostoff. "You were supposed to put up the
brains. What brains? We've hired the best mining engineers, the best
technicians, to do their end, the best corporation executives to handle
that end. You're not needed."
Demming grunted amusement at the short speech, but didn't bother to look
up from his perusal.
Max Rostoff's face had grown wolfishly thin in his anger. "Look,
bottle-baby," he sneered, "you're the only one that's vulnerable in this
set-up. There's not a single thing that Demming and I can be held to
account for. You have no beefs coming, for that matter. You're getting
everything you ever wanted. You've got the best suite in the best hotel
on Callisto. You eat the best food the Solar System provides. And, most
important of all to a rummy, you drink the best booze and as much of it
as you want. What's more, unless either Demming or I go to the bother,
you'll never be exposed. You'll live your life out being the biggest
hero in the system."
It was Don Mathers' turn to sneer. "What do you mean, I'm the only one
vulnerable? There's no evidence against me, Rostoff, and you know it.
Who'd listen to you if you sounded off? I burned that Kraden cruiser
until there wasn't a sign to be found that would indicate it wasn't in
operational condition when I first spotted it."
Demming grunted his amusement again.
Max Rostoff laughed sourly. "Don't be an ass, Mathers. We took a series
of photos of that derelict when we stumbled on it. Not only can we prove
you didn't knock it out, we can prove that it was in good shape before
you worked it over. I imagine the Fleet technician would have loved to
have seen the inner workings of that Kraden cruiser--before you loused
it up."
Demming chuckled flatly. "I wonder what kind of a court martial they
give a hero who turns out to be a saboteur."
* * * * *
He ran into her, finally, after he'd been on Callisto for nearly eight
months. Actually, he didn't remember the circumstances of their meeting.
He was in an alcoholic daze and the fog rolled out, and there she was
across the table from him.
Don shook his head, and looked about the room. They were in some sort of
night spot. He didn't recognize it.
* * * * *
He licked his lips, scowled at the taste of stale vomit.