The aging man was sweating profusely, and he darted sidelong glances at
the windowless walls of the outer office. By turns, he sat stiffly in a
corner chair or paced uneasily, his head swiveling constantly.
His hand was clammy when Mead shook it.
"Hello, Mr. Mead," he said in a husky, hesitant voice, his eyes never
quite still, never long on Mead's face, but darting hither and yon, his
glance rebounding at every turn from the walls, the floor, the ceiling,
the closed outer door.
Christopher Mead, Assistant Undersecretary for External Affairs,
returned the handshake, smiling. "Please come into my office," he said
quickly. "It's much more spacious."
"Thank you," the aging man said gratefully and hurried into the next
room. Mead rapidly opened the windows, and some of the man's nervousness
left him. He sank down into the visitor's chair in front of Mead's desk,
his eyes drinking in the distances beyond the windows. "Thank you," he
repeated.
Mead sat down behind the desk, leaned back, and waited for the man's
breathing to slow. Finally he said, "It's good to see you again, Mr.
Holliday. What can I do for you?"
Martin Holliday tore his glance away from the window long enough to
raise his eyes to Mead's face and then drop them to the hands he had
folded too deliberately in his lap.
"I'd--" His voice husked into unintelligibility, and he had to begin
again. "I'd like to take an option on a new planet," he finally said.
Mead nodded. "I don't see why not." He gestured expressively at the star
chart papered over one wall of his office. "We've certainly got plenty
of them. But what happened with your first one?"
"It d-d-duh--"
"Mr. Holliday, I certainly won't be offended if you'd prefer to look out
the window," Mead said quickly.
"Thank you." After a moment, he began again. "It didn't work out," he
said, his glance flickering back to Mead for an instant before he had to
look out the window again.
"I don't know where my figuring went wrong. It _didn't_ go wrong. It was
just ... just _things_. I thought I could sell enough subdivisions to
cover the payments and still keep most of it for myself, but it didn't
work out."
He looked quickly at Mead with a flash of groundless guilt in his eyes.
"First I had to sell more than I'd intended, because I had to lower the
original price. Somebody'd optioned another planet in the same system,
and I hadn't counted on the competition. Then, even after I'd covered
the option and posted surety on the payments, there were all kinds of
expenses. Then I couldn't lease the mineral rights--" He looked at Mead
again, as though he had to justify himself. "I don't know how that deal
fell through. The company just ... just _withdrew_, all of a sudden."
"Do you think there might have been anything peculiar about that?" Mead
asked. "I mean--could the company have made a deal with the colonists
for a lower price after you'd been forced out?"
Holliday shook his head quickly. "Oh, no--nothing like that. The
colonists and I got along fine. It wasn't as though I hadn't put the
best land up for sale, or tried to make myself rich. Why, after I'd had
to sell some of the remaining land, and I knew it wasn't worth staying,
any more, some of them offered to lend me enough money to keep fifty
thousand square miles for myself." He smiled warmly, his eyes blank
while he focused on memory.
"But that wasn't it, of course," he went on. "I had my original
investment back. But I couldn't tell them why I couldn't stay. It was
_people_--even if I never saw them, it was the thought of people, with
aircraft and rockets and roads--"
"I understand, Mr. Holliday," Mead said in an effort to spare him
embarrassment.
Holliday looked at him helplessly. "I couldn't tell them that, could I,
Mr. Mead? They were good, friendly people who wanted to help me. I
couldn't tell them it was people, could I?"
He wet his dry lips and locked his eyes on the view outside the window.
"All I want, Mr. Mead, is half a planet to myself," he said softly.
He shook his head. "Well, it'll work out this time. This time, I won't
have to sell so much, and I'll have a place to spend what time I've got
left in peace, without this ... this--" He gestured helplessly in an
effort to convey his tortured consciousness of his own fear.
Mead nodded quickly as he saw his features knot convulsively. "Of
course, Mr. Holliday. We'll get you an option on a new planet as quickly
as we can."
"Thank you," Holliday said again. "Can we ... can we handle it today?
I've had my credit transferred to a local bank."
"Certainly, Mr. Holliday. We won't keep you on Earth a moment longer
than absolutely necessary." He took a standard form out of a desk drawer
and passed it to Holliday for his signature.
"I'll be smarter this time," the aging man said, trying to convince
himself, as he uncapped his pen. "This time, it'll work out."
"I'm sure it will, Mr. Holliday," Mead said.