Petersen waved a hand airily. "Forget it. As long as there's enough
radium on Pluto for prospectors to find, I'll have plenty money."
"Sure," said Nolan. "But the thanks still goes." He closed his eyes for
a second, rubbed them. Then he blinked rapidly, took out his pyro and
checked it. Full clip, save the one shell he'd used on the light last
night. Twenty-three shots. He deftly slipped another cartridge in to
make the full two dozen, then replaced the gun in its shoulder holster.
"You're going to get into trouble with that thing," Petersen prophesied.
Nolan shrugged. "I've got a name to live up to. A gunner has to have a
gun--and I kind of think I'm going to need this one." He glanced at the
chrono again and stood up, stretching.
"Well, good-by," he said casually. "I owe you a bunch of favors. You
won't have to remind me."
"Course not," Petersen agreed. "Wouldn't do much good. But I'll sort of
mention it to your heirs."
* * * * *
At the Operations lock of the Avalon spaceport Nolan opened the money
belt Petersen had given him for the first time. He peered inside and
whistled.
The cards had been with Petersen, all right. The little man had carried
a young fortune around with him. He tucked the belt in a pocket with a
mental resolve to pay it back some day, if he lived long enough, and
went into the observation room.
Through the crystal dome he could see the ship, the only one on the
field. It was a beauty--brand-new and glistening. By the look of her,
she was the latest type. Pure gravity drive, the rocket jets used only
for landing. It had a name, limned phosphorescent on a dark panel in
the glittering hull: _Dragonfly_.
He turned and walked over to the port clearance officer. "I have to get
to Mars," he said. "I hear this ship's bound there. Who do I see about
booking passage?"
The port official scratched his bony head. "It's an unscheduled run,"
he said, "and I dunno if they're taking any passengers. But over
there--" he waved a hand--"is the second mate. He might help you."
"Thanks." Nolan walked over, eyeing the pallid, short-bodied Venusian
indicated. The man was staring glumly out of the observation panel.
"You the second on the ship out there?" Nolan asked.
The man turned slowly and looked him up and down. "Yeah," he said
finally. "What about it?"
Nolan allowed his eyes to narrow conspiratorially. "I hear you're
bound for Mars," he said, lowering his voice. "Any chance of taking a
passenger?"
"No."
Nolan tapped a pocket. "Listen," he said, "it isn't just that I want a
ride. I have to get to Mars. I'll pay."
The Venusian laughed sharply and Nolan thought, not for the first time,
how superior environment is to heredity. The Venusians, like most of
the System's intelligent life, were descended from Earthmen all right,
but the adjective that described them best was "fishy."
The second said, "Pay? You haven't got enough money to get you into the
lock of that ship."
"Oh, I don't know," Nolan said easily. He took the money belt out of
his pocket, flashed the contents for a second. "I meant it," he said.
"I have to get to Mars. Name your price--I've got it."
The Venusian's eyes widened. Nolan saw, from the corner of his eye, a
skid rocketing across the field. It halted by the _Dragonfly_, and the
ship's lock opened. Two bulky, heat-suited figures hurried out of the
skid, into the ship.
"What do you say?" Nolan persisted, accelerated by the sight of the
figures. One of them would be Woller's thug with the apparently vital
papers. That would be the big one--the smaller might be a clerk from
his office.
"Okay," the mate capitulated. "Tell you what. It'll cost you ten
thousand credits. If it's worth that to you, all right."
Nolan shrugged wryly. "It's worth my neck," he grinned confidentially.
The Venusian grinned moistly back. "Payable in advance," he specified.
"Now. Give it to me and I'll go out and arrange the deal with the
captain."
_Keeping a percentage of course_, Nolan thought; but he only nodded
and silently counted out the money. The Venusian grabbed it without
checking the count. He said, "Okay, I'll be back in a minute," and left.
Nolan watched him struggle into his suit and clamber across the frigid
soil of the field. The lock opened for him, then closed again. Nolan
sensed a sudden uneasiness. He almost jumped when the port officer came
up behind him and said:
"Wouldn't take you, huh?"
Nolan turned. "Sure," he said. "He had to go arrange it with the
captain. I'll go out with him when he comes back for his clearance
papers."
"Clearance papers!" the official barked. "Good Lord, man, they've had
those for hours. That man isn't coming back!"