"Want an asteroid in your backyard? We supply
'em cheap. Trouble also handled without charge."
Interplanetary Hauling Company. (ADVT.)
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Summer 1945.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Bob Parker, looking through the photo-amplifiers at the wedge-shaped
asteroid, was plainly flabbergasted. Not in his wildest imaginings had
he thought they would actually find what they were looking for.
"Cut the drive!" he yelled at Queazy. "I've got it, right on the nose.
Queazy, my boy, can you imagine it? We're in the dough. Not only that,
we're rich! Come here!"
Queazy discharged their tremendous inertia into the motive-tubes in
such a manner that the big, powerful ship was moving at the same rate
as the asteroid below--47.05 miles per second. He came slogging back
excitedly, put his eyes to the eyepiece. He gasped, and his big body
shook with joyful ejaculations.
"She checks down to the last dimension," Bob chortled, working with
slide-rule and logarithm tables. "Now all we have to do is find out if
she's made of tungsten, iron, quartz crystals, and cinnabar! But there
couldn't be two asteroids of that shape anywhere else in the Belt, so
this has to be it!"
He jerked a badly crumpled ethergram from his pocket, smoothed it out,
and thumbed his nose at the signature.
"Whee! Mr. Andrew S. Burnside, you owe us five hundred and fifty
thousand dollars!"
Queazy straightened. A slow, likeable smile wreathed his tanned face.
"Better take it easy," he advised, "until I land the ship and we use
the atomic whirl spectroscope to determine the composition of the
asteroid."
"Have it your way," Bob Parker sang, happily. He threw the ethergram
to the winds and it fell gently to the deck-plates. While Queazy--so
called because his full name was Quentin Zuyler--dropped the ship
straight down to the smooth surface of the asteroid, and clamped it
tight with magnetic grapples, Bob flung open the lazarette, brought
out two space-suits. Moments later, they were outside the ship, with
star-powdered infinity spread to all sides.
In the ship, the ethergram from Andrew S. Burnside, of Philadelphia,
one of the richest men in the world, still lay on the deck-plates. It
was addressed to: Mr. Robert Parker, President Interplanetary Hauling &
Moving Co., 777 Main Street, Satterfield City, Fontanaland, Mars. The
ethergram read:
_Received your advertising literature a week ago. Would like to
state that yes I would like an asteroid in my back yard. Must meet
following specifications: 506 feet length, long enough for wedding
procession; 98 feet at base, tapering to 10 feet at apex; 9-12
feet thick; topside smooth-plane, underside rough-plane; composed
of iron ore, tungsten, quartz crystals, and cinnabar. Must be in
my back yard before 11:30 A.M. my time, for important wedding
June 2, else order is void. Will pay $5.00 per ton._
* * * * *
Bob Parker had received that ethergram three weeks ago. And if The
Interplanetary Hauling & Moving Co., hadn't been about to go on the
rocks (chiefly due to the activities of Saylor & Saylor, a rival firm)
neither Bob nor Queazy would have thought of sending an answering
ethergram to Burnside stating that they would fill the order. It
was, plainly, a hair-brained request. And yet, if by some chance
there was such a rigidly specified asteroid, their financial worries
would be over. That they had actually discovered the asteroid, using
their mass-detectors in a weight-elimination process, seemed like
an incredible stroke of luck. For there are literally millions of
asteroids in the asteroid belt, and they had been out in space only
three weeks.
The "asteroid in your back yard" idea had been Bob Parker's originally.
Now it was a fad that was sweeping Earth, and Burnside wasn't the first
rich man who had decided to hold a wedding on top of an asteroid.
Unfortunately, other interplanetary moving companies had cashed in on
that brainstorm, chiefly the firm of the Saylor brothers--which persons
Bob Parker intended to punch in the nose some day. And would have
before this if he hadn't been lanky and tall while they were giants.
Now that he and Queazy had found the asteroid, they were desperate to
get it to its destination, for fear that the Saylor brothers might get
wind of what was going on, and try to beat them out of their profits.
Which was not so far-fetched, because the firm of Saylor & Saylor made
no pretense of being scrupulous.
Now they scuffed along the smooth-plane topside of the asteroid, the
magnets in their shoes keeping them from stepping off into space. They
came to the broad base of the asteroid-wedge, walked over the edge and
"down" the twelve-foot thickness. Here they squatted, and Bob Parker
happily clamped the atomic-whirl spectroscope to the rough surface.
By the naked eye, they could see iron ore, quartz crystals, cinnabar,
but he had the spectroscope and there was no reason why he shouldn't
use it. He satisfied himself as to the exterior of the asteroid, and
then sent the twin beams deep into its heart. The beams crossed, tore
atoms from molecules, revolved them like an infinitely fine powder. The
radiations from the sundered molecules traveled back up the beams to
the atomic-whirl spectroscope. Bob watched a pointer which moved slowly
up and up--past tungsten, past iridium, past gold--
Bob Parker said, in astonishment, "Hell! There's something screwy about
this business. Look at that point--"
Neither he nor Queazy had the opportunity to observe the pointer any
further. A cold, completely disagreeable feminine voice said,
"May I ask what you interlopers are doing on my asteroid?"
Bob started so badly that the spectroscope's settings were jarred and
the lights in its interior died. Bob twisted his head around as far as
he could inside the "aquarium"--the glass helmet, and found himself
looking at a space-suited girl who was standing on the edge of the
asteroid "below."
"Ma'am," said Bob, blinking, "did you say something?"
Queazy made a gulping sound and slowly straightened. He automatically
reached up as if he would take off his hat and twist it in his hands.
"I said," remarked the girl, "that you should scram off of my asteroid.
And quit poking around at it with that spectroscope. I've already taken
a reading. Cinnabar, iron ore, quartz crystals, tungsten. Goodbye."
* * * * *
Bob's nose twitched as he adjusted his glasses, which he wore even
inside his suit. He couldn't think of anything pertinent to say. He
knew that he was slowly working up a blush. Mildly speaking, the
girl was beautiful, and though only her carefully made-up face was
visible--cool blue eyes, masterfully coiffed, upswept, glinting brown
hair, wilful lips and chin--Bob suspected the rest of her compared
nicely.
Her expression darkened as she saw the completely instinctive way he
was looking at her and her radioed-voice rapped out, "Now you two boys
go and play somewhere else! Else I'll let the Interplanetary Commission
know you've infringed the law. G'bye!"
She turned and disappeared.